I opened my eyes and blinked. Did I open my eyes and blink? Does a dead man do such things? But yes, I seemed to be awake, although I did not know why, and even as I felt it a final cruelty from the gods to let me linger so long.

A sound. Was it the wind? I tried to turn my head to look but to do so seemed to take more strength than I could find within my frozen body.

Again, the sound. A voice? It couldn't be. Men hear things when they are not long for the world, or so say the gothis. Voices of the warriors and family members who have gone before them. Was it that I heard? Again I tried to move, and again my body did not respond.

Soon. It will be over soon.

But there it was once more and louder this time. I struggled harder to lift my head and saw – something. A dark shape, slowly getting larger as it – was it heading towards me? Across the swamp?

"Jarl! Ragnar!"

One of my men had come back for me. He was making his way across the marsh. I had to warn him. I tried to lift my arm to signal him to stay back, but the limb was useless. I tried to shout at him to stay away but nothing more than a hoarse whisper came from my lips.

"No," I rasped, almost too quiet to heat the word with my own ears. "No! Stay back!"

And then I closed my eyes and opened then again, confused, as the dark shape became three dark shapes and their outlines began to stand out against the gray sky. Three men were coming for me.

"Jarl!" One shouted as they approached, and then spoke to his companions. "Take his arms! Here, give me the fur, it weighs him down. Now – pull!"

I did not feel myself lifted up, as all feeling had gone. But I saw the marsh slip out of view until I took only sky in through my eyes – and then the figures of my men, one on either side and one at the front, their furs flapping in the wind. They spoke, their voices loud and urgent, but I did not understand all that they said. I did not even understand if they spoke to me or each other.

And some time later, it could have been a moment or a lifetime, I was still again, having been laid on the first patch of solid ground my warriors could find. Still they shouted to one another, and beat their hands against me to try to make the blood flow again. It seemed to work, as a sensation like waking up came over me and my eyes and ears began to function once more.

"Jarl!" A voice cried. "Look – his eyes! Jarl Ragnar – do you hear us?"

But my lips were still too frozen to form words. All that came out was a grunt.

"Don't stop rubbing his limbs," another voice came now. "His leathers are soaked from the marsh, the danger is not passed."

"When will she arrive?"

"Who's to say? How long can Brynjulf's horse travel with two riders? She arrives when she arrives, maybe some time from now."

The word hung in my mind, apart from all the other words I was taking in. 'She.' At first it just floated there, like a ship on calm seas, not moving. But then it began to sink in, it began to wake me. She. She.

A woman? What woman? What woman would be coming to me now, as I lay frozen on the beach with my men tending me?

I tried to lift my head, to speak, to ask what woman – which woman? – who? "Wh–" I said, because my lips still would not form around the rest of the word. "Wh–, whhh–"

One of them men discerned what I tried to say. "The woman," he told me, as his hands squeezed and pummeled my right arm, drawing the blood back into it. "The foreign woman – Fiske and the men found her outside camp – we met a scout on our way back, telling us Brynjulf rides north with this woman, to bring her to you."

I collapsed back against the earth, thinking it the cruelest trick of all – if I still lay dying alone in the marshlands – to make everything seem so real. Because it did seem so real.

Was it true? Was she found? Was she coming back to me? I tried to sit up again, but it was still no use. My men continued to work on me, lifting my limbs now, shaking them, and then putting them back down. No more mention was made of her – of Emma – and I was too numb and too afraid of hearing the answer to ask again.

And then, in the distance – hooves. My men heard it, too, because they looked up. They kept looking, as I lay almost helpless on the ground and my poor, tired heart began to beat itself awake again.

"Is it –?" I asked, my words slurring into each other like a man who has taken too much sweet mead. "Is – is it –?"

"Aye, Jarl," someone spoke. "It's Brynjulf, and he has the woman with him."

A jolt ran through my body and I managed to sit up, staring blindly into the distance because my eyes were still blurry. But yes, there was someone on a horse – I could see enough to see that. And as it got closer I saw something else – another person, held in front of the rider, smaller than him. Something flew out in the wind, and my heart almost leapt out of my chest – it was hair. Her dark hair, that she had laid across my chest as she slept, and that I had gently run my fingers through, marveling at its softness.

"They found her!" A triumphant voice came from the man working on my lower legs. "Here she is, Jarl! They got her!"

I managed to pull myself to my feet as Brynjulf approached, but it was difficult to stand and two of my warriors had to hold me. When the horse came close enough I saw, finally, that it was her and a great surge of emotion barreled through me. I moved to go towards them but stumbled and fell to one knee before forcing myself up again.

"Emma," I croaked. "Emma. Bring her – bring her –"

"Bring her here!" Someone instructed Brynjulf. "Bring her to the Jarl"

And so she was lifted off the horse and I saw that her hands were bound in front of her and her cheeks burned bright pink from the cold.

When she was set on the sand in front of me our eyes met and I saw that she was afraid. She should have been afraid. A war raged in my heart, making it difficult to breath, between the half of me that wanted to pull her into my arms and never let go, and the half that wanted her to feel what she'd done. I reached out with one hand, the strength returning to me just slightly, and she flinched away, seeing the way I bared my teeth. Brynjulf pushed her forward again and she managed to utter a single word before my hand closed around her throat:

"No!"

I tightened my grip on her slender neck but I was not strong enough yet to cause any real discomfort. Even bound by the wrists, helpless and cold, she managed to mock me.

"Shall I do it?" Brynjulf asked, gripping the hilt of his sword as he saw the fire in my eyes.

I shook my head quickly, not looking away from Emma even as her eyes went dark with fear and welled with tears that froze on her cheeks.

Gods but she was beautiful. I tried again to tighten my hand and then, when she felt the strength of my grip, her eyes widened in shock, as if she couldn't believe I was doing it.

"Voss!" I snarled. "Vuh, vuh –" I paused and breathed deeply, no longer able to tell how much of my shaking was rage and how much cold. "Voss! What have you done, girl! What have you –"

Emma tried to speak but my hand was too tight on her throat so I let go and curled it into her hair, jerking her head back roughly until she cried with fear. I wanted that. I wanted her fear. And still it wasn't enough, it didn't make up for what she had done.

"Ragnar!" She gasped, as more tears leaked from her eyes. "Ragnar –"

"What is it? I shouted, although my voice still croaked with chill. "You speak to me even now, do you? You speak to me as if you – as if – as if you had any right to do such a thing! What kind of evil lurks in your breast, girl, to dare to do such a thing?!"

But she spoke again, as if she longed for death. And when I heard what she said, she confirmed it.

"Is this your love, Jarl?" Her hands struggled and worked against the ropes that bound them and still she did not look away. "Ragnar? Is it? Go on and kill me, then. But when I'm dead, don't tell yourself it was love!"

Brynjulf and my men stood ready to move, watching intently, waiting for me to give them the order to cut her throat. But she couldn't die yet, because she didn't understand. She still didn't understand.

I managed to lift myself to my feet and lean back, roaring incoherently at the sky before turning right back to her.

"You do not speak of love to me, girl! It's not me who left in the night, is it? It's not me who took another's heart and cast it away like so many dry crusts after a feast! It's not me who –"

"But it's you has your hand around my throat, isn't it?" She squeaked, as Brynjulf jerked her back again. "It's you who intends to kill the one you love, isn't it? Right here on the beach, as your men watch? I came back to you, Ragnar. Look at me here, now, in front of you – I CAME BACK! And now you rage at me as you hold your fucking hand around my throat?! Fuck you, Ragnar! Fuck you! Kill me, then! See if that fills your heart with the things I filled it with!"

I didn't even have my hand around her neck anymore and still she choked on her words, her eyes flashing and a small vein standing out on her forehead. She was angry. As angry as I was, if that was even possible.

"Leave us," I growled at my men. "LEAVE US! NOW! GO!"

Brynjulf tossed his dagger onto the ground in front of Emma, eying me pointedly as he did so, and then they left, heading further up the beach and into the trees.

I leaned in close, breathing in Emma's scent, almost breaking. "Why have you done this?" I whispered. "Why, Emma?"

"I didn't leave," she replied, panting with emotion. "I did – but then I came back to you. Here I am. I came back for you, Ragnar! Do you think I would be back here in this place if it wasn't for you? And now I see you eying that knife on the ground like you can't wait to drive it into me."

As my limbs warmed and began to work again, it seemed my thoughts followed. Emma cowered on her knees in front of me, her eyes speaking of betrayal just as my own heart did. I looked at Brynjulf's dagger for a second and then picked it up to toss it out of reach. And then I bowed my head low in shame.

"You say you came back?" I asked. "Are you certain my men did not take you against your will? Speak the truth, girl, because I mean to question them on the matter."

"I came back," she replied angrily. "I came back for you. Yes, your men took me, but I was on my way to the camp anyway, there was no need for –"

"No need?!" I exclaimed, my voice rising again. "No need? Gods, Emma, you don't know what you do. You don't know how you hold – even now in your bound hands – more power than a thousand blades, a thousand arrows. You don't understand that I fear no man, no warrior, no foe – before you, I feared nothing and no one. And now you've uncovered a new territory in my heart, and shown me what it is to fear. Not death, but worse."

"What could be worse than death? You're going to kill me now, because my death will be less than what you've suffered? Is that it? If my death is nothing to you then I ask again, stop saying you love me. If you must punish me – and what for? for returning to you? – then get it over with. But don't say you love me."

She wept again and I could no longer hold back. I took her cold face in my hands and kissed them away, still torn between wanting to shake her until her eyes rolled back in her head and wanting to clutch her to me. And then, just as I was contemplating that duality of my feelings for her, the anger was gone. She was back. She came back for me. I pulled away and looked into her eyes.

"Is it true? You came back for me?"

"It's true," she replied plainly. "Do you still intend to kill me for it?"

"Emma," I breathed, suddenly filled with remorse where the anger had slipped away. I untied her wrists and pulled her hands free and then I went to pull her to me. She pushed me away. I tried again and again she held me off.

"So you're not going to kill me, then?" She asked, her eyes burning with defiance. "Answer me, Ragnar! Or perhaps I'll hold a dagger to your throat and we'll see how –"

The answer was no. I was not going to kill Emma. I was not going to try to kill her. I was not going to hurt her – not just there, on the beach, but anytime, ever. It was done, I was hers. And she was mine. And there was nothing either of us could do about it.

Instead of responding I bent to kiss her. And she opened her lips to me in spite of herself, darting her little tongue into my mouth and softening under my touch for a moment. A moment later I felt her stiffen again and push me away.

"No," she said. "No!"

But even as she spoke she reached for me, pushing her freezing hands up under my under-dressings and furs and over my chest. And all of the pain and rage and confusion of the last two days came to a point between us, an uncontrollable avalanche of desire that we were both helpless in the face of. She pulled me down to her again, opening her mouth for me once more, laying back on the cold beach.

"You're slow," she panted, noticing my hands fumbling with the ties on my leathers. "Why are you so slow Rag–"

But I kissed her again before she could finish, and pushed the linens up over her thighs, too desperate to worry about the cold. She gasped when my hands found their way to her breasts, shocked by the chill of them, but still she pushed up to me, still she gave herself to me in the only way I wanted.

I groaned when she opened her legs and I sank into her impossibly warm, slippery depths, and again when her sighs began to ring in my ears.

It didn't take long. She rocked her hips up to me faster and faster, her breaths starting to come quick and fast, her back arching up off the cold, wet sand.

And then she grabbed frantically at my furs, burying her face into them and screaming for me, writhing against me like a wild thing. The first little pulses around me were as quick and light as butterfly wings. But when the pleasure took her fully they became more powerful, deeper, teasing and pulling and begging the essence out of me until I pinned her down and let the dam break, filling her with every drop. It seemed almost as if it would go on forever, the sweet agony of the peak continuing as I emptied myself inside her, each throb more intense, more blissful than the last. And then, finally, she had everything. She had all of me. Not just the parts that slickened her thighs, either, but everything. My heart, my soul, all of my hopes and dreams for my life.

We had to dress quickly, before the frostbite came to our tenderest parts – and mine still not fully recovered from the time in the marsh!

"Tell me you're not a spirit," I whispered, pulling her face close to mine before I called my men back. "Emma, tell me you're here, tell me I'm not in the next world already."

She smiled a little smile up at me. "I'm not a spirit, Ragnar. You're not in the next world."