Despite the arrival of his beloved mother, Torsten still sat with me as I slathered the elk meat with crushed juniper berries and prepared the morning’s harvest of vegetables from the garden. It was quiet in the kitchen. The crackling of the fire and my gentle footsteps on the cold stone floor were the only sounds to be heard. It was unusual for him to be so quiet; usually he had some farfetched tale to relay, imagined up from the sheer boredom of a featureless boyhood.

As I brought the food to the fire and leant against the oak table to take a break, my eyes wandered to him. He was sitting on his wooden stool on the other side of the firepit, watching the flames with grey eyes that seemed beyond his years. He reminded me of his mother, then. His hair was the same dull red, like rust, and was now long enough to wear in braids. His father had tried to keep it short, hoping he would tread the scholarly path. It was clear to me now that Torsten took after his mother.

I waited a while, studying his distance, before I finally spoke. ‘Are you happy to see her?’

He jumped, shaken from his reverie. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

‘Are you happy to see your mother?’ I dropped my eyes back to my cooking, pretending it was a throwaway question.

‘I am,’ he said, though the way he said the words implied there would be a “but”.

I’d only been with the family for three months, but I knew him better than that. ‘You must have missed her.’ I said, airily.

‘Yes, I did.’ He answered, his tone defeated.

I quietly padded around the table, to resume my work of sorting the herbs. Sif had attempted to cook yesterday, and the kitchen had certainly suffered for it. Pots and pans were in disarray, and the ingredients had reorganised into disorganisation. It was, in the words of Sif, an unnecessary job that no one had asked me to do, but I simply couldn’t leave it. Meanwhile, Sif was off to town, sent out on an errand to pick up the finest mead to celebrate the lady’s arrival.

The lady herself had made herself scarce. She’d spent a little time with Torsten, answering his excited questions about her trip. Though her husband greeted her with lukewarm affection, he was quick to comment on her bedraggled appearance. I felt taken aback on her behalf, but she merely nodded and dismissed herself to bathe in the river. She didn’t say a word to him.

‘She’ll be gone again soon.’ Torsten said. ‘And I’ll miss her all the more.’

I glanced back over my shoulder at him. ‘Does she not plan to stay long?’

He shook his head. ‘She never does.’ He was still looking at the flames, and his cheek twitched where he clenched his teeth.

I turned away from him and continued my work, keeping my hands busy as I said, ‘I can tell your mother has missed you.’ He seemed to snort. ‘You know how I know that? The very first thing she asked me when she arrived was how you were.’

I plucked some of the dried herbs from overhead and added them to my freshly made piles, listening to the sound of his silence. I knew he was still glowering at the fire, in two minds about his mother’s arrival.

‘It may seem like a small, insignificant thing, my lord,’ I said, comfortingly, ‘but she wouldn’t ask if she didn’t care.’

He nodded and rose to his feet. He’d grown since I arrived. He was taller than me; perhaps as tall as his mother. He was almost a man now. It wouldn’t be long before he’d start venturing out in armour, perhaps even at his mother’s side. But he was still too young to see that. Too young, and too hurt. Perhaps by that time, he would have given up on her entirely. Hopefully there was still time for their bond to mend. After all, they clearly both loved each other.

The same could not be said for the lord and lady. She didn’t reappear to dine with her family that afternoon, and his disapproving huffs from the main hall were audible in the kitchen. In the end, I was sent out to look for her. At first, I thought she couldn’t possibly have spent the entire day bathing, so I wasted time by searching the outhouses and stable first. When it was clear that she hadn’t returned, I headed down to the riverside.

She was still in the water when I got there, a fresh tunic and leggings laid out at my feet on the rocky bank. She hadn’t noticed me; her attention was fixed on the waterfall. I followed her gaze. No, it wasn’t the waterfall. A lone fox was foraging in the bushes, its copper fur dark and wet from the spray. I would never have noticed such a thing here, where the crashing of the water cloaked all other sounds, and the cold made bathing torturous.

‘Come on in,’ I heard her say above the noise, ‘there’s no need to be shy.’

I turned back to her. Her eyes, as striking as iron, were on my face. She wore nothing but a callous smile.

‘I’ve been sent to call you back to the hall, my lady.’ I said, dropping my gaze to her clothes. ‘They are expecting you for dinner.’

She made a discontented noise, then waded towards me. Her wet hair was pushed back from her clean face, and in the light of the late afternoon sun, I could see all the marks, all the indents in her skin. The knick above her right eyebrow; the fresh graze on her jaw; the sharp, pink cut on the side of her mouth that stretched over her lips. As she emerged from the water, I took in the scars on her body, too. Over her broad shoulders; over her sculpted stomach; even over her strong thighs and round breasts.

‘You have fought a great many battles.’ I said, quietly, without thinking. My knees were weak - was I afraid?

Water droplets smacked on stone as she stood before me, her proud eyes on my face. I quickly looked to the floor, at her feet, where speckles of water stained the rock. At least they were unscathed by the ferocity of war.

No. I wasn’t afraid.

‘I have.’ She agreed, her tone pensive. Then she bent to pick up her clothes, and swiftly dressed. ‘I assume they are waiting for me?’

‘Yes, my lady.’ I said.

‘You can cut out the “my lady” crap.’ She said, smiling up at me as she pulled on her leggings. ‘You must have noticed I’m not the noble or domesticated type.’

I kept my eyes trained on the ground. ‘But you are my mistress.’

That breathy laugh. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Now fully clothed, her sword at her hip on her belt, she stretched to her full height and inclined her head towards the hall. ‘Let’s go.’

Without anything underneath her plain tunic, I could see that she was cold - so I averted my eyes from her chest and allowed her to take the lead, just as a good servant would. I followed two steps behind as she marched back towards her home, her wet hair soaking through the material on her back.

‘Once my hair has dried,’ she said over her shoulder, as though she read my mind, ‘would you comb it?’

‘As you wish, my lady.’ I answered.

She stopped in her tracks, and I halted behind her. She looked back at me and the unscarred side of her mouth rose in an amused smile. ‘Will you not walk by my side?’

I watched her inquisitively. ‘I am your servant-’

‘Come, let me see you.’ She waved her arm to encourage me forwards. I followed, hesitant and uncertain.

“Let me see you.” A servant did not need to be seen. Indeed, her husband had hardly glanced in my direction. I doubted he even knew the difference between Sif and I. Yet… her grey eyes, silver in this light, saw me. I wonder how much they saw.

‘That’s better.’ She said. ‘A woman like yourself should never walk in someone’s shadow.’

I was all too aware of my heartbeat, all of a sudden. I kept my eyes straight ahead, doing my best to appear unaffected. Inside, my mind raced with questions, confused by her comment. A woman like myself was a lowly maid. Nothing more.

Inside, the great hall was gloomy. The warm-coloured wood walls were windowless here; all rooms branched off from the ground floor or the wooden balconies running along either side. The fire in the hearth roared at all hours, casting the waiting men at the long table in a yellow glow. She took her place on the bench beside her son, and observed my offering. She took a deep breath, and released a satisfied sigh.

‘What a feast!’ She proclaimed, helping herself to the food and ignoring her husband’s glare.

He turned to me, his lips turned downwards in displeasure. ‘We are running low on firewood. See to it.’

‘Yes, my lord.’

I felt her eyes on me as I left the hall, closing the door behind me.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

*

I was balled up on my bed in the corner of the kitchen when I spoke to her next. My limbs were aching from chopping firewood. After such a task, I could hardly lift a cup to my mouth. But I always did it, as I was bid. I was perhaps foolishly determined to run myself into the ground - or at least, that’s what Sif would say.

Sif had gone to the river to bathe, and I would normally join her. Not today, though. I couldn’t think of anything worse after such an arduous task. A dip in a hot spring, yes, by all means. A dip in the icy cold river? No.

So when the mistress came in, there was no one else but me in the shadowy kitchen. I watched her from my hidden place as she approached the fire, glancing around the room. She had seen me retire to the kitchen, so she knew I was here.

‘Helly,’ she said, softly. My poor tired heart beat loudly in my ears in answer.

‘Yes, my lady.’ I replied, unfolding from my position on the bed.

She noticed. ‘I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?’

I shook my head. ‘Just taking a moment to myself.’

She rounded the table to sit with me on the bed. It seemed that the kitchen was suddenly too small. Her wide shoulders and thick arms knocked against me as she made herself comfortable.

‘My hair is dry now. Would you still comb it?’ She looked at me from the corner of her eyes, made warm by the flames in the fire.

I nodded and began to rise from the bed. She grabbed my wrist. Her hand was rough with calluses, and warm.

‘I brought my comb.’ She showed me what was in her other hand as I sunk back onto the furs. It was made from bone, like mine. She handed it to me, and I rose onto my knees, moving around the back of her. I started from the very top of her head, and took my time to work out any knots. My arms shook with the exertion, but she had asked so nicely…

She noticed when I came round to her side, and immediately lifted her arm to lower mine. ‘You’re exhausted.’ When I didn’t say anything, she shook her head. ‘I’m not a slave driver. You can say no if you can’t or don’t want to do something.’ I ignored her and kept at my work. She released a heavy sigh. ‘What am I to do with you?’

My mind offered several things she could do with me, and it was then that I realised why my heart was beating so fast. Not fear, not nervousness, though that was a little part of it. No, it was… something else.

Once her hair was thoroughly tamed, I took a section at her brow and began braiding. She hadn’t asked me to do it, but I wanted to. Despite the tiredness of my arms, I braided around her face, with a large plait in the middle, and let her hair tumble over her shoulders at the back. She sat patiently through it, her eyes closed and her head tilted back. It almost looked as though she was enjoying it.

I finished before I wanted to. I ran my fingers through her hair one last time, slow and gentle, and felt the overwhelming urge to smell it. Instead, I let my hands drop to my side, and sat back against the wall, my face hot.

She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at me, though it was hard to see her expression in this darkness. She didn’t say anything for a long while, before she gave me a casual, ‘thank you.’

I nodded. ‘You’re welcome, my lady.’

She hesitated for a moment. I couldn’t tell for certain, but it looked as though she had something else to say to me. Her lips were slightly parted, ready for words to come out. She obviously thought better of it, and instead, rose to her feet.

‘You may take the night off,’ she said, as she headed towards the door. She hesitated before she went through to the main hall. ‘Let me know if you need anything.’

She left before I could say thank you. Then, alone in the warmth of the kitchen, I flopped on my bed face-down.

Until tomorrow then, my lady.

*

I went to the river to wash early the next morning. It was freezing cold, and my dully aching arms were beaded with white goosebumps, but I begrudgingly admitted that the water made me feel fresh and energised.

It was so early that the birds were still singing their encouragement to the shy sun, which was only just rising. Today, the sky burned overhead, and the river glowed a deep orange. I gazed up at the blood red sky. I remembered mornings like these with my mother-

‘You have black hair.’

I knew who had spoken without turning to look.

‘Yes.’ I replied.

‘It’s longer than mine.’ I glanced at her then. She was sitting on the stony bank, watching me. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there, and my cheeks started to warm.

Although I was embarrassed to think she’d been watching me for a while, I was also embarrassed because of last night. Not the hair brushing, though that could have been part of it, too. No, last night from the kitchen, Sif and I had been kept awake by sounds from the master bedroom, which was built partly over the kitchen, leaving room for a hole in the ceiling for smoke to escape. She had been silent, but the master… Sif spent most of the night suppressing giggles while I suppressed a strange, queasy feeling.

I turned my back to her, remembering those noises and suddenly unable to meet her gaze.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘if you wish to bathe, I will leave now.’

Even over the waterfall, I could hear her breathy laugh. ‘No, no. I’m just enjoying the view.’ I whipped round to face her, but she was looking elsewhere, up at the mountains. Of course, she didn’t mean me. I felt foolish for even thinking it. ‘I come here most mornings to listen to the birds and gaze out on the river.’

‘It is beautiful here.’ I conceded, lowering myself in the water to wet my hair again and push it back from my face. The water was chest height here, covering most of my private areas, but I still felt self-conscious.

‘What brought you to Riverfell Hall?’ She asked. Then shook her head and looked at the ground. ‘Ignore me. You needed the work, I suppose.’

‘Yes.’ I replied. ‘I was working at an inn nearby when I heard you were looking for a maid.’

‘What were you doing at the inn?’

‘Drink pouring. Cleaning. A bit of cooking. Whatever needed doing.’ I said. ‘I worked at a few different inns.’

‘And you lived with your family?’

I turned my face away as I replied. ‘No.’

‘Are they no longer around?’

I debated about what to say, then settled on ‘no.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She said, genuinely. I didn’t look at her. ‘Then where did you stay?’

‘In whatever accommodation they provided. Outhouses, cellars…’

‘I can see why you would want to leave that work.’ She reclined back on the stone, supporting her weight on her elbows as she watched me lift my hair over my shoulder. ‘Are you from around these parts?’

I shook my head. ‘I was brought up in the wilds. Near Norraskogen.’

I heard her sharp intake of breath. ‘Norraskogen. You have travelled very far.’

I turned and smiled at her, to hide the seriousness behind my statement. ‘I had to.’

She assessed me with curious eyes, and I turned away again, bringing water to my face to rinse off any remaining herbs. Sif thought I was strange for bringing lavender and chamomile with me to bathe. The lady probably would probably think the same.

There was a long moment of silence before she asked, ‘did you know this is my house? When you came for the job.’

‘No.’ I said. ‘In truth, I thought the master was a widower.’

‘Have they treated you well?’ She asked.

‘The master has treated me well enough.’ I replied, politely.

‘And Torsten?’

‘He is more a friend than a master.’ I said, absently, noticing how my fingertips were starting to shrivel.

It was time to get out. I turned back to the bank and hesitated. The lady’s eyes were still on me. It had been a little nerve wracking to be naked in front of Sif at first, but not like this. This was different. My heart pounded as I began wading towards her. Her keen eye would see everything. She was observant, unlike Sif. She would see it.

I saw her eyes brush over my body, and then linger, where I had hoped they wouldn’t.

‘What happened?’ She asked, her grey eyes resting on the pink line on my lower belly.

‘I cannot bear children.’

She hesitated before she asked, ‘you were pregnant?’

‘No.’ I shook my head and felt my throat close up around the word.

Her eyes didn’t leave me as I pulled on my undergarments and my dress. I wondered what she was thinking. Pity, perhaps. I’d never told anyone because I didn’t want to feel that shame.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I have upset you. I never should have-’

‘It’s quite all right, my lady.’ I said, without meeting her gaze.

I straightened up from dressing and took a seat on one of the rocks, my cap balled up in my fist. I reached up to bundle my hair beneath it.

‘Leave it,’ she said, ‘I wish to return the favour.’

I glanced at her questioningly. ‘The favour?’

She picked up my comb, lying forgotten by her leg. She rose to her feet and approached me, waggling it at me. ‘Perhaps I might braid your pretty hair.’

My face must have turned the same red as the sky. I hoped that it wasn’t so obvious in the dim light, though she had still managed to see my scar. She stood behind me and gently pulled back any stray strands over my shoulders. My heart thrummed in my chest as her fingertips lightly brushed the sensitive skin of my neck. I was scared she might be able to feel it.

She was delicate, and patient. My hair hadn’t been cared for like this before. Once I’d gotten over the initial nervousness, I let myself relax. My eyes drooped shut and I let out a satisfied hum without a second thought. I heard her breathy laugh, deeper and huskier than before, and a shiver ran up my spine.

This woman… What kind of shieldmaiden spent her time combing a servant’s hair like this? As deftly fingered as a lutist, as gently as a weaver?

She started to braid my hair. Not like hers, in a style fit for a warrior, but like a noble woman’s. She took her time to place small braids into an elaborate style, though she left the majority of my wet hair free.

The sun had risen by the time she was finished. I inspected my reflection in the water before we left. My hair had never looked so pretty. I reached up to stroke my fingers over her work. I felt the overwhelming urge to cry.

‘Thank you,’ I said, so quietly I doubted she would hear over the crashing of the waterfall.

‘You are very welcome,’ she said, stepping over to gently brush my hair back with her fingers.

There was a heavy silence between us. Then I said, ‘I must return to the house. The lord will need his breakfast-’

‘Are you to thank for last night’s feast?’ She asked, marching to meet my step as I started to head back.

‘There is no need to thank me, my lady.’ I said, abashed.

‘Don’t be so modest.’ She smiled at me, her grey eyes crinkling at the sides. ‘It was divine.’

I looked anywhere but at her. I settled for staring at the brown dirt of the track, and listened to the muffled thud of our boots on the packed earth. She needn’t praise me like this. It was my job to provide food that she and the family would like. Whilst I was officially hired to ease the load off Sif, it was a secret understanding between the master and I that I should make up for her weaknesses - largely in the kitchen. I’d seen her try to fry a fish. It wasn’t pretty. If I didn’t cook to their standards, I would have been thrown out by now and back in the dark, dank cellar of a roadside inn.

As we converged onto the main road, I heard dull thumps ahead. I lifted my eyes to the hall, now visible through the trees. Torsten was up early, practising his swordplay with a broom handle and a straw-stuffed sack, which had been made into a practise dummy. Perfecting his technique to impress his mother, no doubt.

She laughed and took wide strides forward to greet him. ‘You have learnt well, my son.’

He clearly hadn’t heard our approach - he jumped and spun on the spot, knocking into the dummy. His cheeks glowed crimson as his mother’s hand came down upon his shoulder. Seeing them stand eye-to-eye like that, I was struck again by how similar they looked. Yet Torsten had some wars to win and some bulking to do before he could match her battleworn hardness.

I made to walk past them, unnoticed, dropping my gaze again. But the young master made a noise that sounded something between a gasp and a cry, and I hesitated, looking up in alarm. He was staring at me as he proclaimed, ‘Helly, your hair, it’s…’

His mother stepped back to stand beside him, her proud eyes returning to me. ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’

My face burned. ‘Excuse me.’ I muttered, and rushed into the hall. Sif glanced up from her sweeping, startled, as I ran into the kitchen and slammed the door behind me.

In the safety of the warm, familiar room, I released a loud, long breath and sunk onto the floor.

I felt lightheaded.