Page 3

Fiona sighed. “Ye need tae be more delicate. This is nae a fight. Ye need tae pluck the berries,” she said, and demonstrated as though she was showing a small child. Hilda rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“This is what I mean, Ma. I’m just nae made for this kind of thing.”

“It’s a valuable skill that will serve ye well in life. What if one day ye are stranded in the forest and hae no food? Ye cannae eat a sword,” Fiona said.

“And ye are gaeing tae hae tae learn how tae feed a husband one of these days,” Laurel said with narrowed eyes. She had always been envious of Hilda’s natural beauty and had never passed up an opportunity to display her spite. Hilda always ignored it because she didn’t have any reason to feud with Laurel because of something as petty as the way she looked, but sometimes the barbs did become particularly tiresome.

Hilda merely snorted. All these women prized marriage so much, and she didn’t understand why. It was a shame they all had so little in their lives to be proud of that they had to put all their ambition into marriage.

“None of the men in this village hae what it takes tae tame me,” Hilda boasted. “They’re all boys. The only real man I know is Da, sae how can I marry a man who is nae my equal?” she asked.

The women murmured at her, and Laural chuckled darkly.

“There’s sae much ye dinnae understand about life, Hilda. Men dinnae want women who can fight with them. They spend all their days fighting. They need something different when they return home.” As she said this, she plucked a ripe, juicy berry deftly off a branch and popped it into her mouth, sliding it between her supple lips.

“Ye are wasting yer time gossiping about this. I hae no intention tae marry, and if I did, it certainly would nae be tae anyone in the village. I think that ye should learn tae fight again, like the women a generation ago. It doesnae seem tae serve them tae badly, aye, Ma? Ye hae always told me about how the clan came taegether with the Vikings and fought alongside one another. Why cannae we fight as well? Why shouldnae we be warriors?” she asked.

“That was different. That was war,” Laurel said, shaking her head, as though Hilda simply didn’t understand the way the world worked. “Why would we fight when we didnae hae tae? If this village were invaded, I would be the first tae pick up a sword.”

Hilda muttered something under her breath. She didn’t think there would be much point in Laurel fighting, considering she had never picked up a sword before. She was more liable to chop off her own hands rather than wound anyone else. Instead of saying anything else, Hilda turned her back to the rest of the women and continued picking berries. She tried to listen to what her mother had told her, but she inevitably grew impatient and went back to yanking off great handfuls of berries, losing many in the process as they were squashed by her strong hands. It annoyed her that she seemed to be the only one to want to pay proper respect to the woman of the clan, and she didn’t feel as though it was fair for her to be treated this way just because she wanted to be strong and powerful.

She could feel Thor’s hammer resting against the hollow of her throat. The metal was cold, but the feelings it inspired in her were burning. She wanted to earn her place in Valhalla and sing songs with the great warriors of old. She wanted to meet her ancestors and run into battle with them, then feast and share tales of their glory. As far as she was concerned, there was no glory in plucking berries from trees, and she didn’t make any effort to hide her disdain for the task. As the day continued, she thought about the forms her father had taught her, and she practiced positioning her feet, shifting them to control the momentum of her body so that she could make every strike as effective as it could be. She certainly thought it was more useful to think about this than spend time thinking about marriage.

That was almost enough to make her shudder.