Strian looked up and gazed at Gressa for a long moment before nodding. Gressa led them through the same small gate that they had used earlier in the day. She was not sure how Strian would react, nervous that he would shut her out, but he held her hand as they walked towards a Christian cemetery. Gressa walked towards a small headstone that stood on its own, in a corner far from the others.
Gressa had spent so many hours laying along the grave, that the earth had become compacted and the grass did not grow as tall as in other parts. She dropped to her knees and ran her hand over the small mound, just as she had done thousands of times during the ten years she had visited the cemetery. She knew nothing about the other graves, having no interest in them. She knew her tiny corner where the Welsh laid her son against her wishes. Gressa looked up when Strian did not come closer. She almost wished she had not. Strian’s stricken face would haunt her nightmares just like the day fate separated her from Strian and the day their son was born and died. She reached out a hand, but Strian did not seem to see it. Gressa rose to her feet and was about to step next to him, but Strian shook his head, backing away. He rushed to the tree that grew near the tiny grave. He heaved over and over as the contents of his stomach sprayed across the exposed roots. Gressa did not know what to do. She was torn between giving him his space and trying to comfort him. For the first time since she could remember, she did not know how Strian felt or what to do for him. She was unprepared for the accusation that filled his eyes when he lifted his head to look at her.
“You haven’t bled since I found you. When were you going to tell me?” Strian’s voice clawed open wounds Gressa thought had healed. She had not allowed herself to think about having more children with Strian, at least not beyond the most general of terms.
“I hadn’t thought about it. I hadn’t realized how long it had been. After,” she waved her hand in the grave's direction, “my courses were never the same. They are not predictable.”
“You were willing to enter another battle carrying our child,” Strian accused. “You would have us lose another babe.”
Gressa gasped and stumbled backwards. She shook her head as she looked at Strian as though he were a stranger.
“How could you say that,” no sound escaping her moving lips.
“Because you could die this time!” Strian bellowed. “You could both die this time.”
Gressa felt as if he had knocked the wind from her. She watched as the strongest man she had ever known, the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had ever desired, seemed to deflate in front of her. He returned to the grave and sank to his knees, his shoulders shaking as they had when she first told him of the child they lost. Gressa understood his fear and understood it drove the words that struck her like blades piercing her heart and mind, but that understanding did not diminish the pain.
“I can’t live without you, Gressa. I don’t want to. What if this time, I not only lose a child but you, too? What then? What’s left for me? What if I can’t find you in Valhalla?” Strian choked out the words that voiced his deepest fears since the first time he feared Gressa had died.
Gressa lowered herself next to Strian. She pried one of his hands free and wove her fingers through his.
“I don’t know that I am carrying yet, my love. It’s far too soon for me to know. My courses don’t always come every month or sometimes they last far longer than the sennight they should. The midwife here told me it was from the deep wound that cut through my back. She said it may have nicked my womb. Strian, I don’t even know for sure that I can have any more children.” Gressa swallowed. “What if I can’t? You deserve sons. You deserve a home filled with your children, your legacy.”
Strian looked at Gressa and saw his fears mirrored in her eyes, but it was there for a very different reason.
“What are you saying, Gressa? Do you think I will set you aside? Will you push me towards another woman who could bear me children? How can you think these things? I can’t overcome my fear of living without you again, and you think I won’t want you if you can’t have more children. Gressa, don’t you understand? I don’t want to live if it’s without you. I’ve been at best half a man while you were gone.”
“Do you not want me to fight? Do you want me to remain aboard your boat? Stay with Sigrid?”
Strian shook his head then nodded before shaking it again.
“I don’t know, Gressa. I know you have as much right to see Grímr breathe his last as any of us, perhaps more than most of us, but I’m afraid.”
Gressa rested her head against Strian’s shoulder. There was nothing more to say. They knew they shared the same fear and the same uncertainty of what the following day would bring. As the sun set, Strian stretched out along the tiny mound where Gressa had so many times before. He had brought his cloak when they left the storeroom, so he wrapped it around them, and Gressa nestled into his embrace. They fell asleep with their fingers once more entwined, resting on the tiny mound that completed their family.
Strian and Gressa awoke feeling as though they had only just shut their eyes. They stared at the grave until there was little time left for them to meet the others at the boats.
“Gressa, go ahead. I will be there in a moment. I need some time here. I need to speak to my son.”
Gressa nodded before walking towards the docks. She looked back once to see Strian kneeling exactly as she had countless times.
“Son, little Strian, I’m sorry I did not protect you and your mama better. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there on the day of your birth. I’m sure your mama has told you how much she loves you; I know she even told you how much I would have loved you. I would have you hear it from me. I love you, son. You will always be my first born. Know that I wanted you as much as I know your mama wanted you.” Strian looked around before he began to dig with his bare hands and a rock he found nearby. “I pray your mama understands what I’m doing, why I’m disturbing you. Your mama and I dreamed of the day you would join our family. You belong with us.”
Strian dug until his fingers brushed against a swath of fabric that had thinned over the years in the ground. He pushed the last of the dirt away until a tiny shroud lay before him. He pulled his cloak from his shoulders before lifting the form from the grave. He wrapped it in his cloak, leaving a gap just as he would for a living baby who would need to draw a breath. He stood and kicked some dirt back in place.
“They had no right to disobey your mama’s wishes, to ignore our gods. We will see your spirit set free, but you may need to wait a little longer, baby Strian.”
Strian choked on a sob as he spoke his son’s name aloud, the name they shared.
Gressa awaited him when he arrived at his ship. She looked at the bundle he carried, and tears streamed down her cheeks, she nodded once before spinning around and stepping onto the deck. She waited for Strian by the tiller. When he joined her, she raised her arms, and he placed the cloak and its precious cargo in her embrace. He tucked Gressa against his chest, and the couple stood together, grieving, as the fleet of boats pushed away from the shore. Both Gressa and Strian knew they would never return. They no longer had a reason to.
Dawn passed into morning as they neared the coast of Angelsey. Gressa had already informed Tyra about where the ruins lay and of the land surrounding it. She had traveled on pilgrimages with Enfys to the ruins many times over the years. She explained to Tyra the most likely place for Grímr to anchor, guided by the remaining Welshmen even if they had no way to speak to one another. When their captors took her and Strian to Grímr’s camp, she had noticed that they seemed to have managed without her.
Tyra navigated them into a natural cover where many of the boats could hide. Only a few had to sail further down the coast to find a safe place to weigh anchor. There were no signs that Grímr was on Angelsey, but they had not passed him either. They went ashore, scouting the best place to ambush Grímr.
“He hasn’t arrived yet, so that means he must have found Highlanders to come back with him. He told me that would be the only thing that would delay him. I was to meet him here with news from the royal home.” Brynjar explained as he stood with Gressa and Strian. The boy had sensed not to ask about what looked like a babe that Gressa held but never moved.
“Is he expecting you to be waiting for him?” Skepticism filled Strian’s voice.
