Marc made me change out of my shirt to take a look at the injury hidden by my sleeve. He gave me one of the t-shirts they sold to guests, and the two of us decided it was probably for the best that I keep my arm dry for another day or two before exposing it to much water. He helped me wrap my forearm then protect the stitches I'd earned on my head and the fresh ones on my palm. 

"You will need shots," he said.

"Had a few already, and one more in my bag I need to take tomorrow," I said. "Emma's daughter-in-law is a vet. She does a lot of work with people, too."

Marc insisted I rinse off the majority of the grim, had me hop into a shower down the hall. He'd have someone get a bath going so I could feel human again. After surrendering my jeans and tee to Hanna who'd informed me in a tiny voice that mama would get me new clothes while she was in town, I showered off the day. Once I was damp and wrapped in a fluffy white robe, Marc walked me to the cellar door access in the kitchen and told me there was still another half cord of wood to stack.

"We have an insert back home," I said. "How long's it take for wood to be usable, anyway?"

"What was cut today will need to season. It will keep us warm on winter nights a few years from now."

"Yes it will," Kettil agreed. His father, standing at the kitchen sink, a pitcher of water in his hand, leaned against the granite countertop. What had started as a nice conversation about seasoning turned into an abbreviated goodbye as Marc dragged his father outside.

The Engen's private bath outshone their trophies. Knowing that, I still wrenched open the cellar door expecting a tin tub and a pile of shovels, not a painted white staircase opening into a hall lined with fresh linen and oils.

According to Marc, his mother had grown up poor and worked as an au pair for a wealthy family in Oslo. It had been a dream of hers to have a bath like what she'd seen when she was younger. There were showers upstairs, the usual guest, staff, and master suites for a home and working ranch, but the one she shared with Kettil hadn't been big enough to achieve her vision. The extensive chamber in the finished basement had been a recent anniversary present.

There were three doors. The first led to a sauna, the second a game room and bar. Through the last one I went. The main baths were beautiful; a distant shower set back against warm, polished tile and stonework. It was more spa than bathroom: a wide vanity with double sinks, a comfortable chair in one corner, a flat bench for sitting, even a rustic chandelier. Someone, I had my suspicions concerning who, had dimmed the overhead lights in favor of a dozen lit candles near the tub.

What a tub it was! Carved from petrified wood and placed beside a crackling fire. Vapors of peach steam caressed rose petals on a gently rippled surface. "A girl wouldn't come for the mattress, but she sure could stay for this," I murmured, untying the robe and dipping a finger in. Within seconds the robe was on the floor between the tub and the fire, bubbles tickled my chin, and the hurt melted away in the swirled, sweet wet fragrance.

"Berserkergang—"

I raised my head and exposed my neck to lukewarm air. Embers glowed pale orange beneath a charred log.

"I do not understand how someone that small fends off a polar bear," Kettil said. "She is a cub herself."

"I see the cute but she is needy. Why would you want to set Marc or Eirik up with that?" That mellow, disinterested voice had to have been Nils.

"She is only needing to be nursed back to health."

Reposed in fragrant dreams, the idea floated through my mind that they were speaking English because I was meant to listen.

"Søren klype! You call me here for this?" Marc, it was definitely Marc's voice moving closer, shouted an apology to me through the door. "She is not a stray cat. We are getting her home, not giving her one. Leave her be." He snapped something else in Norwegian, something I think about Hanna.

"Go away," I grunted, for Marc's benefit and my own.

"Has been long time, Rebecca." Concern peppered Kettil's voice. "We think you might have fallen to sleep and drowned."

Bubbles slipped between my gorgeously pruned toes. Beyond them, candles sputtered and the fire mewed. Had I really been soaking that long? I poured soap over a sponge and hurriedly rubbed my neck and shoulders to scrub remnants of dirt away. "It's been a stressful day."

"So it has, but we have talk and agreed you need clean clothes for wearing until my wife is home. Nils has brought some questions from Oleanna to you for sizes." The door popped six inches. "I could have Marc, now that he is here-"

I wasn't sure which one of us said "No!" quicker.

"She cannot come to dinner dressed in a robe, Marcus."

Faster than the speed of light I dragged the closest towel into the rosy water. Bubble coverage was sparse by this point. "Don't anyone come in! I'll be out in a second."

The door slammed; I had a feeling Marc was the reason I didn't have company. "If you are this very tired, no need to come to dinner. Go to bed. Someone will bring you food."

"My future daughter-in-law should not have her first meal alone in a stuffy room!"

"She needs rest, papa." Embarrassment strained Marc's voice.

"She needs a ring. Grandmother's is on your nightstand."

Tucking the waterlogged towel around my breasts, I sloshed over the edge like a hippo abandoning its wallow. "Know what  happens when you poke a bear, Kettil?"

Silence, well, almost. I didn't know many Norwegian curses but I was faintly certain Marc was whispering several very quickly, very heatedly.

"They bite," I continued. "Hard."

The brothers burst into laughter. Kettil banged the door. "Alright, okay, alone you shall be for dinner, but you will eat leftovers."

"That's not fair!" I exclaimed, wringing out the towel and my hair. The only thing better than a hot bath was a full plate.

"Bears are not picky."

And immediately came Marc's voice, herding the lot of them away.

It had to be 80 degrees in here, and after the bath and peeling off the protective layers around my injuries, I was warm and really feeling human again. Even though I'd told them to leave and thought I'd heard them clomp back upstairs, when I opened the bathroom door ten minutes later a shirtless Eirik stood before me, holding his cell in one hand. His eyebrows rose at the sight of me tightening the robe around my waist. The serene warmth of my bath faded into something coolly uncomfortable. Instinctively I stepped back onto the slick tile.

"Eirik, right?" He nodded, but his eyes didn't immediately meet mine. I smiled, stuck out my hand. "Thanks for letting me borrow your room."

"Not a problem," he said, attention roving up at last to my eyes. He shook my hand and smiled. "I have clothes in my dresser, if you want something warmer than a bathrobe."

"Thank you. Now, if you don't mind I'll be heading there to scoot under a blanket before I freeze my ass off," I said, flipping my hair back nervously. Water splattered across his cheek.

His hand brushed the plush damp fabric of my shoulder. From the look in his eyes he felt my shiver and didn't move off. "Mama is on the phone to speak with you," he said, lifting his other hand. "She doesn't speak English well so I am here to translate. She is at the store now."

I wished I spoke better Norwegian. But there was nothing to do- I didn't want to appear ungrateful or rude and really did need proper clothes. Eirik was younger; maybe he didn't mean to be so awkward. So I stood there, being asked my underwear and bra sizes by Oleanna with Eirik translating. Of course American sizes were different. When the call ended and I edged around the gymnast's lanky body he grabbed my arm above the elbow and pushed back the sleeve. His palm idled over the bear's jawline imprinted blue-black on my skin.

"Wow," he said. "You are really something else."

"I'm magnificent," I said, jerking my arm. Eirik apologized but took his time releasing his grip. My skin felt like ice where he'd touched me. "And like any magnificent animal, I should be admired from afar."

Curiosity filled his brown eyes. "Why's that?"

"We're dangerous." Hiding my nerves behind an anemic smile, I headed upstairs in the fastest 'I'm totally chill and definitely magnificent' saunter I could manage.

Come suppertime, Hanna carried an armful of clothes into Eirik's room, while Oleanna arranged a fisherman's platter of baked seafood on the desk and lined up a series of medication for dessert. Kettil's wife was large in the way of a tiger or a dragon. There was fat and muscle and heavy bones to set her into motion with the deft grace of a huntress. The calves she crossed against sturdy black boots were thicker than her breasts.  The runner in me was jealous.  A goldenrod braid draped over her shoulder. Her blue eyes held an intensity to rival Helena's. She spoke in a heavier accent than her husband's, and hardly a word was English. It took time for the two of us to reach a vague understanding.

Identifying unknown fish and vegetables, Oleanna waited while I shivered through the meal. Shy, disinterested or both, Hanna hung a couple long-sleeved shirts and a pair of jeans over the desk and left.

"Emma told a part of your story," her mother said, leaning for a bottle on the floor. "Kettil and I very sorry for you."

I set down my fork. "I'm okay."

Nodding, she ground out a question- what I wanted from her family.

"Not Marc," I said and laughed nervously in her quiet. "I mean, I'm just passing through. Your husband, he is a little . . ."

"Grandchildren," she said and joined me in a shared smile. "He likes to tease his boys."

"I've noticed." Relief washed over me. "I'd like a ride back to Oslo if that's possible, or to somewhere I could find one."

She mimed holding reins. "Do you?"

I chewed a mouthful of scrod to buy time and hide my disappointment. Of course. That barn was full of a different kind of mustang.

"I've ridden," I admitted. "Not well."

Last July, Becky and I had spent two weeks at her godparents' time share in Kentucky. Beautiful horses. Beautiful trails. Absolutely terrific, or terrifying, depending on which of us you'd asked. The first time my ass hit the saddle, Cat O' Nine Tails, my American Quarter Horse for the duration of vacation, clicked off quartermiles at whatever speed he wanted. "Be firm," the instructor had told me. I was, but apparently never enough, because Cat never turned around except for dinner and was always snaking out to nip Becky on Bayou Bourbon. By the final day I'd been able to sit astride him and almost ignore feelings of impending doom as Becky and Bayou Bourbon got galloping. Almost.

"We offer riding tours all summer. All ages, all experiences," she said in clearly rehearsed English.

Great.

Stuck in the wild on a horse was the absolute worst option. I'd take a cantankerous cub over  sixteen hands of pure, unrefined horsepower. 

Where was Amy tonight? Safe? Hurt?

All at once my spine tingled with the uncomfortable, watchful stillness surrounding the mangled corpse. I tucked the edges of the nightgown underneath my lap and imagined my cub fed and safe. Tomorrow maybe Marc would agree to take me there.

Oleanna stretched a colorful wool shawl across her shoulders. The window remained ajar, inviting  enough of a breeze to whip through the thin, semi-translucent silk nightgown she'd bought me. She'd been trying to make me feel at home after hearing I'd arrived looking like a zombie, but this was a little too at home- home alone with the lights down low. I was just thankful it was girl's night here in Eirik's room; I hadn't yet tried on the bra. Later I'd try jamming the window shut single handed because I didn't want to bang on a random door to ask for help and have to explain how after two ACL repairs, tearing any part of my body, especially new stitches, frightened me. I didn't want to look like a wimp to a woman who, far as I could tell in our brief meeting, had her shit together.

She uncorked a bottle. and poured a pale brown drink of spiced caraway- a glass for each of us to clink and drink. Akvavit wasn't half as dry as the wine at Nik's engagement party, and left me tingling and warm. "When do you go?"

"Tomorrow, if possible." The words seemed to take her by surprise. "A lot's happened. It's for the best."

"Not a problem." After several more minutes of chatting, Oleanna collected my plate and the empty glasses, then bid me goodnight. She left the drink in case I needed a sound sleep.

My head hit the pillow to the sound of uproarious laughter and sunny conversation. The beautiful ups and downs of Norwegian whispers would eventually lull me to sleep, but in the meantime my tipsy drugged self imagined a series of jumbled translations. I could hear Kettil now, grilling his wife and son. Was I single, in search of a husband? What did she mean, not interested? Did she not see with her own eyes the muscles of Marcus?

*

Tossing, writhing, twisting sleep, however unsound, was still sleep. Once the mellowing effects of Akvavit wore off I discovered that someone in this house held the reigning title for world's loudest snorer. The straw itched through cotton, or maybe it was just my skin scrubbed a little too raw. My body ached. Dusty moonlight twinkled through the window, which for the life of me I couldn't shut. I didn't want to drink, and so spent the next drafty hours insulated by a sandpaper sheet.

Soon as I got comfortable, bangs, shouts, and shushes stole the rooster's glory. By that point, getting out of bed was easier than going back to it. So I changed into my new clothes and joined the Engens for breakfast. After, we hit the stables. Along the way, the brothers, even Nils, dogged me with the undivided attention of researchers who'd identified a new subspecies. My accent, gestures, strange words for things—even my college major fascinated them. All things I took for granted. They thought my ho-hum life growing up on the far side of the Atlantic in a city famous for baked beans was interesting. Interesting! I missed Boston so much.

Their lives weren't so shabby, either. They traveled a ton, had more money invested in horses and properties than my mom had won in grants. Mom. Guilt panged my gut. Dad. Emma had warned me off communication. "People aren't good with secrets," she'd said. "Especially loved ones."

The stables looked phenomenal, updated modernity blended with the designs and equipment of past eras. Becky would've explored every nook and cranny and understood it all. Myself, I was filled with a blissful, ignorant wonder. The Engens spared no expense in ensuring equine comfort.

Kettil patted a feisty stallion, the first in a long line. "Whichever horse you do not scare is yours."

I agreed dubiously, eying the hot-blooded stallion as he arched his neck and snorted. He had a broad nose, striped mane and thick muscles. Shorter than the leggy Thoroughbreds Becky rode in Boston. Something feral lurked in their posture, not vicious but wild.

"What breed of horse is this?" I asked.

"Most are Norwegian Fjords. They do well in this terrain. The rest are draft and a few are rescues of mixed lineage." Nils pointed across the way, where a shadow observed us through one brown eye. "Try Natt."

At Kettil's urging, I approached.

The closer my hand came to Natt's mane, the more white rolled into the black mare's eye. At a snap of flat teeth my reach retracted into T-Rex arms.

"Bears and horses are sometimes mortal enemies." Marcus spoke through his hand, which hid the grin but not the dimples. "You will not startle mine, Your Majesty."

Sunshine stretched his shadow into mine. The gray tint on my toes brought with it vague satisfaction. It'd taken me all night and part of this morning, but I'd finally thought of an award they hadn't won: jockeying. Even Hanna was growing too tall to compete on a slim, zippy racehorse.

"Beauty before age, Marcus. Mine come first." Eirik had an open path to any stall, but he chose to amble up against my shoulder and feed Natt a sugar cube. "I like dangerous animals," he whispered in passing. "I spent last night wondering what it would be like, wrestling a bear queen."

"You won't like the result," I warned, tightening my ponytail and, involuntarily, my shoulders.

Eirik smirked and retrieved a horse, a broad-shouldered stud that spent the majority of his presentation on two legs. As someone who didn't enjoy riding, none of the horses, even the calmer ones, appealed to me. Before I'd gotten the basest understanding of equine personality we'd zipped through the rest of Eirik's choices and two of Nils'. Several curious heads greeted an ever-confident Marcus as we walked.

"Doesn't matter which you choose," I said, leaning against a horse-free post. "I'm walking."

He glanced over his shoulder, not at me, but his father. Kettil bobbed his head and Marc continued, "I have had your horse ready since breakfast."

"Pretty sure of yourself."

"I have not won more than my brothers just because of this handsome face." The bolt to a wooden half-door slid open. ". . . And I assign horses to guests."

I froze.

The mare he trotted forth was the blonde of October Aspen leaves, her mane and tail cream complements with a centralized copper stripe. She stood compact and brawny, with a thick neck and defined legs. Brown eyes regarded me under the guise of neutrality. A plain saddle and pack girdled her waist.

"Fourteen hands. Strong as she is quiet. Use a firm tone; she ignores requests." Dropping the reins, he spread his arms invitingly, then joined Nils beside the emptied stall.

White-lined ears flicked forward. At my hesitant step she lifted one burnished gold hoof and struck the ground.

"Easy now," Marcus said, lobbing a set of keys at Eirik. Frowning, his brother tramped toward the back of the barn. "Let her come to you."

Leaned against a half-door, Kettil rested his chin in his hands, eyes keen and amused. "Advice for bear or horse?"

I stuck my tongue at him. At that moment Eirik swung open the back doors. Morning sun set fire to the mare's coat. She gleamed polished gold, a radiant, animate sculpture.  In those lucent seconds I forget everything about horses that made me squirm.

"Hey, girl," I cooed, easing forward one slow inch at a time, one slow inch until her nostrils flared gently against my stitches. Her ears flattened. A hoof rose.

She sneezed.

In my rush to escape I took out a hay bale, flipped right over the damn thing and landed on my ass. The men laughed slightly louder than I was cursing. Finagling straw from my ponytail would cost me my remaining pride, so I brushed off my jeans and left the bits in. Redder than my cuts, I pulled myself out of the straw and righted the bale.

The mare stood as she'd been, ears pricked,  eyes soft and observant.

A chuckling Marcus offered me the tail end of a carrot. I accepted, facing the mare with renewed determination.

"Here," I told the mare, stretching toward her.

Liquid gold muscle rippled through her indecisive dance-forward, back, side to side. One wary brown eye assessed me. Then, with a soft rustle, she paced forward one measured half-step at a time. Two chomps later my peace offering disappeared and her head bumped my shoulder like we were old pals.

"Are you seeing this?" I exclaimed, confident enough about my fate to turn and look for Marc. The soft whiskers of her chin tickled my palm as she lipped for more. "She likes me!"

"She is Gull, and she wanted a snack." Marcus knelt beside the mare, fingers cupped. "Time to saddle up."

Head shaking, I backed into the mare's stall. "We just met. Neither of us is ready."

"You dined her. Time for the next step."

"Wining and dining is the expression," I huffed, plucking a piece of straw from my hair. "You aren't supposed to rush these things."

"We do not have the opportunity to take things slow, do we now?" He stood, leaned in to speak out of Kettil's earshot. "Get on," he said, dark eyes bright with mischief. "I am going to lead you somewhere more private and we can go slow."

"I'm not great with horses," I said, but he had already dropped down to boost me up.

Bracing myself on his shoulder, I anchored my legs to Gull's core. From the moment my feet slid unsteadily into the stirrups, I sensed the mare's calm spirit in the steadying lift of her breathing. Graciously taking the reins from her trainer as he adjusted the stirrups to a suitable length, I twisted in the saddle. She'd been packed with my meager belongings, the Rembrandt, and a few extras Oleanna had thought I needed, namely a hunting knife (and, based on my whispered request this morning, some tampons).

Gull turned her head to follow Marc's progress and that flicker of fear returned.

Down in Kentucky I'd asked about saddle lap belts. Now, here I was balancing helmetless on a light draft horse. Becky'd love this story, if she ever planned on speaking to me again. Her friendship meant the world to me, but now was neither the time nor place to go about fixing the damage Mom had caused.

"One relationship at a time," I muttered, touching Gull's silken mane. To Marc's confused expression, I added, "Looks like you win."

His nonchalant shrug came boxed in pride. "Well, I am the best."

His younger brother hadn't stuck around to disagree.

Kettil clasped his son's shoulders. "Will take many days to reach south. Is long journey for tourist, but a horse walks this easy. We have business in Mo i Ranna. Marcus goes with you to there, makes sure you are set with some experience to go forward alone."

I frowned. Sitting astride the most beautiful horse I'd ever laid eyes on didn't make me a cowgirl. "There better be a taxi service."

"Gull takes you to inn near Oslo," Kettil continued. "Volle. Few weeks, but good journey."

"I don't have weeks."

Sighing, the man set his hand on my knee. "You have a heartbeat; you make the time to keep it going. Anders tells me the wolf who is hunting you. You do not know the numbers of her pack or where they run. This is for safety. We smuggle you out before the owls in the moss grow any wiser."

I raised my eyebrows at Marc, who shook his head.

Nils held a fussy stallion steady while his brother grabbed his gear. The horse, a larger draft, was a dappled gray roan with a broad chest and a slight roman nose. I shifted position in the saddle to gawk, forgetting Gull acted as an extension of my body. She pranced beneath me. We spun in tight circles in accordance with my clenched thighs and pulled reins. Marcus laughed, trotted over and grabbed the reins. She quieted instantly.

"What are you, a horse whisperer?" I asked.

"Whistler," he said. "I can teach you."

"You don't need to come," I said out of respect for his time and animals, though I hoped he wouldn't reconsider. I didn't want to spend one more night alone in the wild or more than ten minutes on a horse without an experienced rider nearby. "A lesson would be nice. It's really alright after that. I have a map."

Marcus tapped his head. "I have a better one."

"I'm leaving right away. Well, after I swing by and see if I can find Amy."

He thumbed a burlap saddlebag. "Packed already."

"Then let's get going. The sooner we leave, the sooner I dismount." A thought stopped me. "I've never done rent-a-horse before. Where do I drop Gull off?"

Kettil bent into a teasing half-bow. "Our gift to the bear queen. I leave information in pack. Ship her oversea to you."

"No, don't—"

The strength of his hug almost pulled me off Gull. "Have a good trip. And you," he said, exchanging a firm handshake with his son, "Keep my daughter-in-law safe."

Marcus rolled his eyes and mouthed an apology. He nudged his stallion into a trot. Gull pitied my poor attempts at mimicry and we were off. Based on my description, Amy was on one of the ranch trails. Marc assured me Kettil would head out to search for her and let us know the result.

Horseback riding and walking were similar in that they were both suitable modes of transportation. Riding was bounce and rhythm. The unfamiliar jostle made me antsy, but the soles of my feet appreciated the rest. Come nightfall, I'd rather be bow-legged than blistered.

The horses clip-clopped onto the bridge and down a path secondary to the unpaved road, a winding swath of dirt the forest consumed with nettled ivy teeth. Finches shadowed the ground, lively spirits in the old world gloom.

"How do you get around in the winter?" I asked, scouring branches for a glimpse of aubergine feathers. "The plowing situation can't be great."

"Trucks and snowmobiles."

"My kind of horsepower." My thumb brushed the copper stripe in Gull's mane. "There really isn't a way other than horseback?"

"There are only a few roads, makes for easy watching. You left an island. It is easy to guess who took you and your destination. Queen Joronn has a number of wolves to hunt you with."

I was quiet for a time thinking about my status as prey. To distract myself, I asked him a different question. "Do you get bored,  cooped up all winter?"

"There are other seasons for seeing the world." He glanced skyward with that content smile he'd flashed in Eirik's room. "I like being home in snowfall."

Leaves hissed along the ground ahead. The narrow head of an adder lifted over saffron leaf litter. I gasped and yanked Gull's reins. She cleared the serpent with a tail twitch.

Marcus observed first the snake, then my steed and finally me. "See that?" he asked, pointing behind me at a stacked pile of stones.

"What is it?"

"The marker of our main property." He brought his horse close enough to give my back a sympathetic pat. "This bear is part chicken, isn't she?"