Nine Hours

Chapter 29

It's late when we return to Gunnar's house. The celebration at Lund Hus never seemed to end. Norwegians, I've decided, are closet party animals. Beer and aquavit were passed around like water. After one sip of the potent liquor, I decided sticking with real water—even if it's the mysterious stuff Gunnar has a never-ending supply of—was the best call. On top of that, I feared I'd never remember all of the relatives I met. If I'd been hugged once, I'd been hugged a hundred times. In fact, I'm fairly certain more than a few people came back to embrace me several times.

Karl and Astrid provided a wonderful array of food, however with my appetite still at odds, I didn't eat much. Perhaps it was the boat ride, even though it was shorter and less turbulent this time.

Gunnar grips my hand as we enter the house. He stayed next to me constantly, holding my hand as much as possible, as if he were afraid I'd disappear. It was both charming and comforting. The last thing I wanted was to be sucked through some other vortex and sent back to Las Vegas without Gunnar.

As we enter the bedroom, I can't hold back a yawn.

"You are tired." He studies me, his gaze assessing my body, but not in a sexual way, his brow furrows at what he sees. "You have not been well. You are thin and not eating enough. You merely picked at your food this evening. Perhaps I should have a doctor come tomorrow. I do not want my wife to be ill."

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. "Your wife? Not quite. You've barely proposed. Please don't worry. I am fine. I haven't had much of an appetite since I returned to La Vegas. Food upsets my stomach. Now that everything is back to normal, I'm sure I will be as hungry as an ox."

He looks skeptical. "All right. I'll accept that. For now. If you aren't better in a few days, to the doctor you go." His expression changes. "As far as I am concerned you are my wife. We spoke to the Gods today. They blessed us."

"How do you know they blessed us? I didn't hear anything."

"You will learn to read your surroundings. It was very clear." He cups my chin and kisses my nose which makes me giggle.

"What do you mean?"

"The eagle that was perched on a snag on the point. After you accepted my proposal, Tyr flew above us, granting approval of the Gods."

"Um...I thought all of this was the Gods' doing. Why the eagle?"

He chuckles and sits on the bed with me.

"It is more of a blessing than an approval, dove. You see, centuries ago, Tyr the eagle came to be..."

"Wait. You're telling me that bird is centuries old? That's stretching things, Gunnar."

He roars with laughter. "True. There have been many iterations of Tyr—all from the same lineage." It's my turn to be skeptical, but he continues. "Centuries ago, a man named Tyr lived in the village around what is now known as Halvorsen Point. Raiders attacked the village one day. It was to be his wedding day. The whole clan had been preparing for a joyous occasion. It was not to be. All of the men fought valiantly, beating off the raiders. The women and children knew to stay in their homes if a battle came to the village, and they did. But his bride-to-be had gone to the nearby river to place a wedding day offering to the Gods. When she heard the commotion, she tried to return, but was attacked and brutally killed."

"Oh, my God. That's a horrible story."

"It is a true account. It was written in our Book. Let me continue." He rubs his face, gathering his thoughts. "Tyr was distraught, inconsolable. He ran to the edge of the point, bellowing at the Gods, shouting his eternal love for Hilga, his betrothed. He wasn't able to live without her, his love was so deep. Tyr flung himself off the cliff, the rocks a good sixty meters—about two hundred feet— below, pounded by swirling water, churned up by an incoming storm.