It was almost December, and the world already festooned with gaudy Christmas decorations – which I secretly did not mind – when Heather's dagger sold at auction in New York. Professor Foxwell called me one night during dinner, as my daughter and I chatted.

"Is it him?" She asked, biting her lip and bouncing in her chair in anticipation.

I hadn't shared the whole story with Ashley, but she knew Heather as my friend, and that an object in Heather's possession, which had turned out to be very rare and old, was being sold for what we all hoped would be a healthy sum of money.

I looked up and nodded as the phone chimed in my hand, almost too afraid to take the call.

"Mom! Answer it!"

Heather Renner's Viking husband's dagger ended up selling for just over 62 million dollars. It had been a fine weapon in its time, well made and only carried by the higher people in Viking society. It's hilt was made of gold, and inlaid with rough-cut gems. But its worth was not to do with gold or gems, no. The daggers' worth reflected its rarity, its status as the only known intact Viking dagger on earth. The woman at the auction house later told Heather that in the end a middle-eastern art collector and an American billionaire had fought a bidding war, driving the price up so high that newspapers around the world published small articles in their Arts sections, noting the sale.

The middle-eastern winner of the bidding war, who remained anonymous, notified the public one week after the sale that, upon his death, ownership of the dagger was to be transferred – at no cost to the institution – to the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo, Norway.

And so it was that Heather Renner, daughter of both the 20th and the 9th centuries, suddenly found herself a very wealthy woman because of a weapon forged in one time and sold in another. As did I, when she insisted on handing over half of the proceeds – about 19 million dollars in total after taxes and fees to the auction house were paid.

Less than a week after the sale, we found ourselves in the cabin that was still Heather's temporary home – although not for much longer – cooking dinner with my daughter, my mom and Maria for company and all talking at once of what should be done with our windfall.

And although I had a number of different things in mind to do with my money, from buying a new house to setting up a trust fund for Ashley (not to be touched until she was 25) to paying off Maria's family's debts and gifting them a lump sum large enough to allow them to buy the restaurant premises they had been renting for years, one thing was certain:

I was staying in River Falls with my daughter. So was my mom, who was also in line for a new house and, for the first time in her life, a new car. So was Heather herself, although she planned to buy property and live in the country just outside of town.

We sat around the table that night, with the remains of two perfectly roasted chickens, a mountain of empty dishes and plates and five or six candles flickering between us – and spoke of things that none of us had ever been able to speak of before. Maria spoke of her family's future, of perhaps finally being able to open the second location they had never been able to before because the rent was so high, and their debts so burdensome. She spoke of being able to train and hire new workers, to give her parents and grandparents the rest they so deserved after lifetimes of working from morning to night.

My daughter talked about getting a waterslide installed in the backyard, and of horse-riding lessons. The horse-riding lessons were fine, but I told her she was probably going to be disappointed on the waterslide front.

"But grandma will have a new house, though, right mom?" She asked excitedly. "Maybe grandma can get a waterslide in her backyard?"

"We'll have to see about that," my mom told her, grinning. "But you'll be able to go to college now, Ash, and without getting yourself into debt. You'll be able to study what you like, and you won't have to marry some awful man just so you can afford to pay your bills."

"Right," Maria joined in, laughing. "Now you can marry a gorgeous hottie, even if he doesn't have any money!"

I gave my best friend a look and she shrugged. "What? It's true!"

"I'm going to buy a house with a big kitchen," Heather said, and we all turned to her, the way people do when the wisest in their group speaks up. "And a big table, so I can invite all of you to dinner every weekend."

"And a big garden!" Ashley piped up, because she and Heather had been talking at length about Heather's plans. "So you can grow fresh vegetables! And a chicken coop so you can have fresh eggs – and fresh chickens."

"Yes," Heather nodded. "So I can have fresh chickens. So I can feed my friends good food and we can all have many nights like this together."

"Will my baby brother or sister be able to come?" Ashley continued, turning to rub my belly, which was just beginning to show.

"Of course. And when Maria has babies of her own, they can come too. And you, when the time comes."

Maria grinned and made a face. "Not anytime soon – maybe someday."

"It'll be just like a family," my daughter pronounced, looking around at the people seated around the table. "Like a big family of people, even if we aren't all related."

A twinge went through my heart, although I did not allow the smile on my face to falter. Everything was so close to being perfect. All of the people – all except one – who I loved most were happier than I had ever seen them. My mother and Heather especially seemed to glow with it, sitting back in their chairs and looking over the gathering with their eyes shining with contentment. Nothing had given me more satisfaction in life than being able, with Heather's help, to ensure that those who mattered most to me, those who were family – whether there were blood ties or not – were taken care of.

And yet something was missing. Someone was missing. I thought of him that night as we ate our chicken in the warmth of the cabin's small kitchen, and wondered where he might be. Thetford, most likely, sleeping in his roundhouse because without electric lights people in the past went to bed at dusk and rose at dawn, with the daylight. Was he alone in his bed? Probably not, I told myself, more bothered by the fact than I felt comfortable admitting. He was handsome, strong, the Jarl of Jarls, better in bed than I'd ever thought it possible for a man to be – of course he wasn't alone.

"What is it mom?" Ashley asked as we washed dishes together, me washing and her drying before Maria did the putting away. "Why do you look sad?"

"Do I?" I asked. "I don't know. I don't feel sad."

"Your mom misses Ivar," Maria said, simply and truthfully, making me feel bad about lying to Ashley even if it had only been in the service of keeping the feeling of the evening going, of not marring it with my own sadness.

Maria and Ashley knew a little about Ivar – although they did not know the main thing about him, which was that he was a Viking from the 9th century. They knew he was my baby's father, and that although we had not known each other long, we loved each other. They knew he had to leave, to attend to family issues, and that he was from a very faraway place. And they also knew, after I'd snapped unfairly at both of them for their natural curiosity, to be careful when they spoke to me about him.

"Oh," Ashley said quietly, handing a dry dinner plate to Maria. "OK."

* * *

I woke early the next morning, roused from an already disturbed sleep by the nausea that, although it was dissipating during the rest of the day, still seemed to cling to the early hours. Ashley and Heather were still sleeping, and my mom and Maria had gone back to their homes the previous night. I tip-toed down the narrow wooden staircase that led to the kitchen and put some water on to boil – lemon and ginger tea was my saving grace at that point in my pregnancy.

When my tea was ready I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and stepped out onto the back porch, so I could drink it in the silence of the misty morning woods. The summer was well and truly gone by then, and with it my time with the Vikings. I wasn't back at work yet. Chief Sawchuk assured me that after I had the baby and when I felt ready to come back, he and Dan would be happy to have me. As it was, I was pregnant and emotional – happy because the sale of the dagger was going to allow me to do things I had never thought possible, but sad because Ivar, who'd shown me even in our brief time together what it was to be with a man, was gone. His manliness was the very thing that had taken him from me, his refusal to let those who depended on him down.

Perhaps I should have been more clear about how much I depended on him? Perhaps I should have told him about the baby?

I closed my eyes and breathed in the lemony steam from the tea, silently reprimanding myself for playing the 'what if' game.

A sound came from the woods, carried on the mist. A twig snapping? Probably a deer. Heather fed them sometimes and a few of them had become quite bold, sometimes appearing out of nowhere and staring through the windows with hopeful looks in their eyes.

I continued sipping my tea – tiny sips, tiny swallows, keeping myself very still so as to keep the nausea at bay. And as I sipped my drink and tried to concentrate on anything that wasn't how sick I felt or how much I missed Ivar, I began to get the distinct feeling that I was being watched. A few more little sounds came from the woods, purposeful sounds, not like wind in the bare branches or dry leaves scudding across the ground. I turned my head to the right and peered into the mist. Had someone's dog gotten out? Had the greedy deer developed a sudden bashfulness?

I wasn't scared, because I'm not really the type to get scared of rustlings in the woods in broad daylight – even if it was one of the little black bears we had in that part of the state, all it would take is a few stern words to send him packing.

"Is someone there?" I said a few moments later, when what sounded like footsteps approaching started up again. No answer came. I went back to drinking my tea. More footsteps, closer now.

"You're on private property," I added, turning to make sure the door back into the kitchen was unlatched. "And I have a gun I'm willing to use. Who's there?"

Silence. And then, a beat later, a male voice:

"Are you threatening me already, woman? I should have known..."

That voice. My head jerked up and I dropped the teacup, which shattered near my feet, entirely unnoticed.

Calm down, it's not him. How can it be him? It's just some guy, a lost hunter, or a neighbor looking for his lost –

But it was him. It was him. He stepped out of the fog and we stood there, about 15 feet apart, staring at each other for a few seconds. I looked down at the broken teacup for a moment and then up again, willing my mind to stop playing cruel tricks on me at once if I was seeing things.

But there he was again, dressed in thicker leather and more furs than he done during the warm summer, but just as tall and broad and blue-eyed as I remembered.

He covered the distance between us in no time at all when my knees collapsed underneath me, and caught me before I could fall. He pulled me tightly against him and we clung to each other. It didn't feel like a dream, if it was. It felt real, although – how could it be? Even the scent of his neck – a mixture of woods, leather and man – was the same.

"Is it you?" I asked, slipping my arms around that big, solid body – the one I never thought I would feel so close to me again. "Is it y–"

"Aye it's me, woman. It's me. I should never have left you as I did! I should never have –"

"I don't care," I breathed, as I began to realize it was happening, it was true, and I was in Ivar's arms again. "I don't care. Are you – you're back? You're here?! What – I mean, why – how did you get here? How did you –"

"I walked. I knew the direction to travel, and the rough distance. It was –"

"Wait," I said, almost grateful to have something specific to talk about so I didn't have to worry about exploding with joy. "Wait – Ivar, you walked here? You walked?"

"What would you have had me do? There don't seem to be horses in this world, and I can't ride one of those – cars, is it? – I can't ride a car as you can."

"You don't ride cars," I choked out as tears welled up in my eyes and I pulled away just enough so I could study his face, make sure it was really him and not just someone who looked very much like him. "You drive cars. And how long did it take you to walk here?"

"I came through the tree 3 nights ago, and –"

"You – what? 3 nights?!" I exclaimed, horrified. "How did you – aren't you cold?!"

"Of course I'm cold, woman," he chuckled, placing the tip of one finger in the center of my forehead and then tracing it slowly down the center of my nose and over my lips and chin.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, although I knew he was doing just what I had been doing a moment earlier – making sure it was really me.

"I'm sorry," he said again, his blue eyes darkening. "I left you, Sophie. I left you because I thought it my duty to leave you. I thought too much of my duty – of myself. I didn't see what was right in front of my eyes, I didn't see where I was truly needed."

I began to cry for real when he said that, and he kissed the tears off my cheeks. "Why do you cry? I'm here with you now, you are in my arms where you belong. Why do the tears come still?"

"Because," I said, my voice breaking. "Because this whole time since you left, I haven't been able to admit that I needed you. All I could do was pretend I didn't. I have a daughter to look after. I have responsibilities. If I –"

"If you admitted your weakness, you wouldn't have been able to attend to those responsibilities. I know the feeling well. I think perhaps the time that has passed since I returned to my people has made them think differently about their Jarl of Jarls – that he is a hot-tempered man, with little patience in his heart. And they're right to think it – there is no patience in my heart. Ever since I left you, there is no room for anything except your absence, that empty place where you should be."

"No one could ever think bad things about you," I told him fiercely, "especially your people, Ivar. You led them. You kept them safe and fed and warm. They could never –" I stopped talking then, when my gaze happened to drop to the Viking's feet, which, I was horrified to see, were not well covered in fur. The flesh was bright red, almost purple. I stood up and opened the cabin door, urging him in, and grabbing the box of kindling next to the door to start a fire in the woodstove.

"Come in!" I ordered, as he ducked under the top of the doorframe, where it stood not quite high enough to accommodate his great height. "Come inside where it's warm. I'll make you some – actually, no, I'll get some blankets and then I'll build a fire. Just – sit down, and I'll be right –"

"Mommy?"

My head jerked up to the sight of my daughter standing at the bottom of the stairs, bleary-eyed because it was way too early for her to be up. She was staring at Ivar.

"Who's that?"

"It's – uh. It's – Ashley, honey, why are you awake so –"

"You were being noisy! I heard you talking to a man and –"

"I'm Ivar," the Jarl said calmly, going to Ashley and then crouching low when she balked at the sheer size of him looming over her. "I know your mother quite well, but I haven't seen her in a very long time."

Ashley's eyes grew very wide and she looked at me, then back up at the blond man kneeling in front of her. "Ivar?" She repeated. "Are you the baby's daddy?"

"Ashley!" A third voice – Heather's – piped up from the top of the stairs. "Get your shoes on if you're awake, and come to the backyard to fetch firewood with me. Your mother needs to talk to –"

"The baby?" Ivar asked, frowning with confusion. I still had the blanket wrapped around me, and I wasn't showing much anyway. "What baby? Sophie, what –"

"Come on!" Heather hustled my curious daughter towards the back door. "There are your shoes, Ash."

"What about my coat? What about – mom, what about –"

"Here's your coat, child. Come on, quickly! Your mother needs to speak to her friend now."

"But –"

"Come on!"

Ivar and I stood watching as Heather led my still-protesting child outside, luring her with promises of trips to the ice-cream parlor, and then turned to look at each other when the door finally closed.

Was he going to be angry with me for not telling him? I couldn't rightly be upset if he was, and there was no way I was going to be able to keep my belly out of view for long. My heart pounded and I opened my mouth to say something, although no words came out.

"Baby?" Ivar asked, glancing around the room as if there might have been an infant he hadn't spotted yet. "What – Sophie, what baby? You – you said you had only one child. What is –"

There was nothing else to do. I looked outside to make sure Ashley wasn't watching through the window, and then let the blanket drop to the floor before lifting my flimsy pajama top up, revealing my midsection.

The Jarl of Jarls looked at my belly, and then up to my eyes, and then down at my belly again. He started to say something and then stopped. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, laughing and then frowning almost at the same time.

And then he took a great, heaving breath and fell to his knees at my feet.

"You're pregnant," he whispered, placing a hand against my stomach, running his fingers over the swelling. And then he looked up at me. "It's mine."

It wasn't a question. Ivar wasn't asking if the baby was his – he knew. I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised – the Vikings live close to the earth, and close to the cycles of birth and reproduction and death.

"Yes," I said quietly. "I didn't – Ivar, I couldn't tell you. I didn't want you to think I was trying to force you to stay with –"

"You were wise not to say it," he replied, running a hand up the back of one of my thighs. "I would have taken you, had I known. I would have taken you back to Thetford, where you would have hated me for the rest of your life."

I pushed my fingers into his hair, brushing it off his sharp cheekbones and his high forehead, and knew that he was telling the truth. He would have taken me back to Thetford against my will.

"You understand now that you can't do a thing like that, right?" I asked, sensing already that he did. "You understand that if you've come back to be with me – to really be with me – that I can't live with a man who thinks it his right to force me to –"

"I understand," the Viking said, resting his cheek very gently against my little bump. "Desolation has turned out to be a great teacher – as great a teacher as war, although the lessons were different. I think I am older than most to learn that I can't have anything I want – or anyone I want – so long as I can take it by strength. It's only that way when men fight, isn't it? It's not that way with love."

"No," I whispered, taking one of his hands and lifting it to my mouth to kiss his fingers. "It's not that way with love."

"Is it true?" He asked, caressing my belly again. "Do I dream this moment, woman? Am I about to wake up in Thetford, with the cold wind sneaking under my furs?"

"It's true," I replied, although I, too, was half-convinced I was about to wake up in my bed upstairs, alone.