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She slapped him again, harder. “Are you not going to be afraid to leave me here alone?”

“Do you have your strange pink suit with you? All enemies will run at the sight of it.”

She laughed, and he joined her.

“But in all earnestness,” he said. “I am not afraid to leave you unprotected. You will be a great shield-maiden, and I will help you become one. And I know my life will be in good hands with you.”

She kissed him, sending bursts of happiness through his veins.

“I will be your wife,” she said. “But only if you give yoga one more shot.”

A broad smile spread his lips as happiness filled him like a jug of mead. He said, “Me watching you every morning with your sweet arse up in the air is the only way our marriage will go.”

He sealed the deal with a kiss that made him wish to consummate the marriage right then and there.

EPILOGUE

Hvaldalen, September 15, 878 AD

“Now, turn inward,” the sweetest voice in the world instructed, “and breathe through the third eye.”

Andor inhaled deeply through the spot of pure light he imagined between his eyebrows, and his body slowly filled with sunlight—every corner of his being, every muscle, every blood vessel, every burning sinew.

His hands and his feet were on the ground while he was trying hard to keep his legs straight as well as his back. An agonizing exercise. He was stretched to the limit, but it felt good. The pain was healthy. Pleasant even.

There was only one thing that could make this moment even better.

He opened his eyes and glanced up to where the roundest arse in Midgard was stuck in the air. He could see her beautiful face upside down behind her long, straight legs, her eyes closed. The sight brought the most enjoyable memories to his mind. Last night, he had held that arse in his hands as Cathy rode his cock, her eyes closed in pure bliss. Forgetting the pain in the backs of his legs, he smiled. The tightness dissolved a little, and his legs stretched even further.

“Breathe,” his wife said and looked straight at him. “Andor!”

“I am dealing with the discomfort as best as I can. It seems that the sight of your arse is the best cure.”

Behind him, three men and five women, who were exercising as well, chuckled. Cathy suppressed a smile.

“You need to breathe,” she said.

He wiggled his eyebrows. “I like my way better.”

She rolled her eyes, but he knew he’d brought a smile to her face, and that made his day even brighter.

He breathed in the sweet air of the hillside meadow in the autumn morning, with a whiff of freshly cut wood from the village below. Cathy did a yoga routine every morning. And Andor had begun joining her, which had led to other people being curious and trying it. Cathy encouraged anyone who wanted to join. The view from here was spectacular: the fjord curving among the mountains, the freshly built village below. The great hall was finished, as well as several other houses, the granary, the storage buildings, the smithy and carpentry, and all the other buildings necessary to winter in Hvaldalen.

Today was the harvest festival. There were guests in Hvaldalen to celebrate the rebuilding of the village. Andor’s friends and allies from Norway and even Viking Bretland, including the most important ones of all—Svana’s parents.

Cathy continued the sun salutation routine, which brought Andor the connection with his inner self that he had come to value. There were no ghosts anymore within him. No closed doors. There was peace and quiet and love.

After the yoga routine, he was warm, sweaty, and happy. Fridstein and the others thanked Cathy for the session, rolled their leather yoga mats and went down to the village.

Andor drew Cathy to himself, and she grimaced. “We’re both sweaty.”

She evaded his arms with a playful smile, making him growl.

“Ah well, then I better wash you,” Andor said. “Although I think you are delicious when you’re a little salty.”

She took a step back. “Only if you can catch me.”

With a squeal, she picked up her mat and the purse with clean clothes and ran down the path towards the fjord. There was an inlet, away from the village, where a small river flowed into the fjord. It was a favorite place for the people to do their Saturday bathing. Except, it was not a Saturday, and everyone kept away from there after yoga, knowing they might see the jarl and his wife enjoying a bath.