"Gyda Ragnarsdottir," She answered. He sounded English, and if he was from an early time such as herself, she wondered if he knew of Ragnar Lothbrok-or he could easily imagine she's the daughter of another man by the same name.

There was also the possibility that he might take revenge if she'd known; though her family tried to hide it from her, she knew Christians could kill as much as the Northman, whatever their commandments said. She casually made to look like she was just fingering the fringe on her belt, though in reality she was making certain that the knife her brother insisted on wearing was still there.

"What're you called?" Now that she was closer, there was something in his manner that was familiar, but she couldn't recall how or why she should think that; she'd certainly never seen him before.