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“Thank you, Svanhild.” Holly smiled, brushed Svanhild’s cheek, and put the wreath on her head.

She wore a simple, white, ankle-length linen shift and a white apron dress with beautiful silver brooches that held the straps. The brooches had a female figure in the middle of a circle, with her legs standing broadly apart. Holly wondered if it could be a mystical symbol.

Between the two brooches, strings with polished beads of white and cloudy glass and moonstones hung.

Holly wished she could see herself in the mirror, but there were none.

“You will be my new mother,” Svanhild said and hugged Holly. “I don’t remember my real mother.”

Holly’s chest tightened as she returned the embrace, tears stinging her eyes. She knew how that felt, to not know what her real mother looked like. That had been the big, dark shadow in the back of her psyche for her whole life. What was so wrong with her that her biological parents didn’t want her?

Growing up, she’d felt like an outsider, like a broken thing pretending to fit in. That was why she’d wanted to have her own children—because she wanted to feel the sense of belonging that it seemed only a blood connection could forge. From the age of twelve—when her parents had told her she was adopted—she had felt like something invisible was broken inside of her. She wanted to give any child she had, a feeling of normality and wholeness.

Did Svanhild feel like that, too? Could she give that to Svanhild? Likely not. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Svanhild that she’d be leaving at the first opportunity.

“Marriages like this,” she said through a clenched throat, fighting her tears away, “when the two parties do not know each other, might not end well, dear. But whatever happens, your father loves you very much.”

Svanhild looked confused. “But most marriages are arranged between a man and a woman who do not know each other.”

These were certainly different times. Had she been born in Viking times, Holly would have been married off to someone, and her husband wouldn’t have the option of abandoning her. She wouldn’t wonder what was so wrong with her that every single man she had a relationship with chose to leave.

For better or for worse, she was about to get married. She had been looking forward to this day ever since she was a little girl. Was it ironic that the sole purpose of marrying Einar was so that she could leave him?

“Let’s go,” Holly said and straightened the wreath on her head with trembling hands.

“Are you nervous?” Svanhild asked as they both began walking towards the door.

Holly inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to relieve the tension that squeezed her lungs and airways.

“I think so.”

“Is it because you like my father? Or because you are afraid of him?”

Holly shook her hands to stop them from trembling. Good question. Why was she so nervous? She was nervous because, silly her, Einar made her feel like the sun was shining on her alone. When he’d saved her from Thorir, when he’d ensured that she was healed, when they’d talked and worked together in the garden, and then, finally, when he’d kissed her.

He was kind and big and brave, and he made her feel like the air she breathed held more joy and more life than it ever had before. He made her forget that something was wrong with her.

She was nervous because she was getting married.

She was nervous because, deep down, she hated that she had to make a choice between going back home and marrying a man she actually liked.

She was afraid that she was going to break her own heart by leaving a man and a child she was coming to care about very much.

Einar, a single dad with a wonderful daughter, was not only a gorgeous man who made her quiver in the most delicious way possible, but he was also someone she admired: strong, committed, and ready to risk everything for his people. A man of honor and a man of strength. A leader, she could tell.

And then their kiss… No one had ever kissed her like that. No one had ever made her want to get naked and jump on him right then and there just from one kiss.

What would happen once they were married?

No, she couldn’t possibly agree to have sex with him. She needed to get a hold of herself. No matter how good his kiss had been, no matter how warm and pliable she felt in his strong hands, and no matter how excited she had been to feel his body pressed against hers, she would never allow it to go further than what was necessary for social appearance. A kiss, maybe. Or holding hands.

Holly straightened her back. “I’m not afraid of your father, Svanhild. Are you?”

Svanhild shrugged. “Maybe a little. I know he would never hurt me. But I just do not know him. He is like a stranger who takes care of me and tells me what to do.”

Holly wanted to say something, but at that moment, they reached the doors and opened them.

Outside, the wooden path towards the water was covered with the same small white flowers that were in Holly’s wreath, and that decorated the house. Down below, by the jetty, men, women, and children looked up at her as Holly and Svanhild began descending towards them.