Pursued by a Viking

by T S Florence

  Skald knew that the bow had been beautifully resurrected, but he was still hesitant at what Freya’s reaction would be before he had shown it to her. The reaction had caused him more joy than he had felt in his life, ever. More joy than he had ever felt even when his parents were alive.

  I found the other half of my soul, mother and father.

  Skald rode a strong white horse through fields of flowers, with Freya clutching around his stomach, the sun sitting high in the sky, warming their skin. He stopped the horse by the cliffside, in a bed of flowers, where they watched the waves crashing against the cliffs below.

  The smell of flowers filled Skald’s senses as he lifted Freya down from the horse, settling her on the bed of flowers, beneath their feet. The horse was content to absentmindedly eat at the lush grass and flowers that surrounded them, for it was a far sweeter treat than the hay it would have been used to eating in the stables.

  “It’s beautiful,” Freya said, admiring gold that spiralled from one end of the bow to the other.

  “I was worried you would not like what I had done to it,” Skald said.

  “It was perfect before, but it is even more perfect now,” Freya said, admiring it before continuing, “Now it connects the two most important people in my life, my father, and you,” Freya said, running her hand down the polished wood.

  “Does it feel the same?” Skald asked.

  “It feels exactly the same, I don’t know how the blacksmith, Gary, managed to do such a fine job,” Freya gushed.

  “I’m glad,” Skald said.

  “I felt like I lost a piece of myself, a connection to my father, when Gregor broke it and threw it to the ground, that day,” Freya said quietly, as she lay the bow in the flowers.

  “Well, you have found that piece of yourself again,” Skald said.

  “My father said that as long as I had this bow, I would be able to survive and live a happy life. He was mostly right,” Freya said.

  “Mostly?” Skald asked.

  “Well, he didn’t mention that I wouldn’t be able to live a happy life without you, but then again, he didn’t know you,” Freya said, smiling at him.

  They made love in the bed of flowers, under the warm sun, with the waves crashing below them, professing their love to one another over and over, Skald basking in Freya’s love, as she shrieked in ecstasy for all he world, yet nobody, to hear.

  Freya

  They rode back to the castle as the sun was beginning to set in the Sky, Freya had her arm holding Skald tight, knowing that she would be happy to sit there and hold him for the rest of her days.

  “It’s a sad thing what happened to Campbell. It completely left my mind due to you dragging me into the chapel,” Freya said, remembering the events of the morning.

  “Yes, an unfortunate death,” Skald said.

  “He’s not dead, he was breathing when I left the hall,” Freya said, muffled by Skald’s shoulder.

  “Breathing?” Skald said? His body tensing under Freya’s arms.

  “Yes, but not conscious. The poor man fell from his window when he was drunk, ” Freya said.

  “I thought he was dead” Skald said, as he steered the horse into the stables.

  “Thankfully, no, but he might still die yet,” Freya said, for even though she disliked the man immensely, it would have been a sad and tragic death.

  “It’s very sad,” Skald said.

  Freya looked to her husband, and observed the frown on his face as he lifted her down, from the horse, putting her gently onto the ground.

  “I didn’t know you cared for him so much,” Freya said, surprised at the concern on his face.

  “Well, it’s sad to see any man hurt like that,” Skald shrugged his shoulders, as they walked towards the castle.

  “Sad? I’ve seen you kill many men without showing a hint of emotion,” Freya prodded, looking at him.

  “I didn’t eat and drink with those men before killing them,” Skald said.

  “Well it wasn’t you who hurt Campbell,” Freya said, but a realisation struck her as soon as the words left her mouth. “It was you?” Freya said, stopping him by pulling on his arm.

  “What?” Skald asked, his lips pressing hard into each other, going white.

  “You threw him from his window last night, that’s where you went,” Freya hissed quietly, hardly believing what she had realised.

  “Keep your voice down, wife,” Skald said, grabbing her hand and walking towards the castle.

  Freya couldn’t stop glaring at Skald throughout dinner, disappointed that he would do such a thing to a man who was hosting them, stomping on his foot when he asked Logan as to the health of the laird’s brother.

  “He’s not awake, yet. But I believe he will. He’s stubborn as a mule,” Logan said, putting on a brave face.

  Skald raised his drink to Campbell’s good health, making Freya even angrier at his apparent lack of emotion for the man he had tried to kill. Freya knew that killing a man who you are living with is a far different story from killing a man who is also trying to kill you on a battlefield.

  As soon as was polite to do so, Freya excused herself and went up to their room, where she sat to take in the idea of Skald trying to murder Campbell.

  “Was there a reason for it?” She demanded, as he entered the room a while after her.

  “There’s a reason for everything I do, valkyrie,” Skald said.

  “Then tell me,” Freya demanded.

  “No,” Skald said.

  “How can you expect me to obey every single order you give me, yet you won’t ever tell me what is going on in your head? You think I’m too weak to carry the burden of your secrets?” Freya took a deep breath after rubbing her temples as she sat on the bed.

  “I will tell you everything after this is all over,” Skald said.

  “After what is all over? This is all we have, right now, Skald,” Freya snapped, her voice sharp.

  “You’re right, and you will find out soon,” Skald said, lying down next to her.

  “I regret marrying you already,” Freya huffed, as she lay down next to him.

  “Really?” Skald asked, his frown deepening.

  “No,” Freya sighed.

  “You’re very emotional for a valkyrie,” Skald quipped.

  “You’re walking a dangerous line,” Freya turned her head, facing him.

  “What might that danger be?” Skald asked, looking to her.

  “Well I have my bow back, now,” Freya said, frowning at him.

  They talked back and forth for the rest of the night, until Freya finally fell asleep, without having gotten any further information from Skald.

  The dream of the battle returned to Freya in her sleep that night. Magnus fell to the ground, his huge body thudding on the ground like a boulder being dropped from a cliff. Skald stood behind him, and began to walk towards her, as he had in the last dreams she had about this very moment.

  Once he reached her, again he pulled her into the nearby forest, to shield them from the trees. He had her pulled tight against him, pushing her against a tree, shielding her from the battle.

  “Skald,” she said, speaking for the first time in the dream.

  His face locked on hers, a fury in his eyes that she had never seen before, a growl emitting from his lips.

  “You’re scaring me,” tried to say, but no words would leave her mouth.

  Slowly, his body began to slide down her front, his vice grip loosening on her shoulders, as he slumped to his knees. She looked down, to find his back filled with arrows. A silent scream erupted from her lips, as she tried to pick him up, but his eyes were no longer there, his face was empty, a blank nothingness.

  She looked up, back to the battle, trying to scream, but no noise would come out. Ivar stood in the middle of the battlefield, his great white bear fur around his shoulders, a look of murder filled his face.

  Freya jolted awake, feeling for Skald, who was not there. Panic filled her chest, creeping up her
throat, causing it to tighten, as she leaped from bed.

  “Skald,” She called, looking around the room. All his belongings were laid out on his side of the bed, perfectly positioned.

  She hastily put on her clothes, and ran to the door, only to find it bolted closed. She beat on the door, screaming for help.

  “He’s gone, mistress,” a voice came from the other side of the door.

  “Gone where?” Freya yelled into the door, her voice laced with desperation.

  “He’s gone to make the trade with the Mackenzies,” the man on the other side of the door said.

  Freya felt her world falling down, her heart tightening until each beat felt like a knife through her chest.

  “No,” she cried to herself, as her back slid down against the door, her behind thudding onto the floor. “How could you do this to me, Skald,” she cried, silently.

  Skald

  Skald felt naked without this black wolfskin around his shoulders, without his sword and bow crossed at his back, and without his dagger in his boot.

  “Ye sure this is what ye want?” Logan said, as they rode to meet the Mackenzie laird, Fraser, in the middle of the field.

  “It’s the only way,” Skald said.

  As they came into sight, Skald was pleased to see that this time they had brought the Englishman with them, though he was not a picture of health. Jack’s face was swollen, as if a thousand bees had stung his face. Both his eyes were purple, the swelling closing over them, rendering him unable to see. He was slumped on his knees, tied by his hands, which was held by the laird’s brother, Duncan.

  “Bastards,” Skald seethed, as he looked at the man, unable to hold his own weight.

  A sickening feeling settled in Skald’s stomach, as he knew that the treatment that Jack had received would not come close to the treatment he would receive, for killing Dougal Mackenzie, the laird’s cousin.

  “This is not a good idea, ye ken that,” Lucas said.

  “It’s too late,” Skald said.

  “Here’s your precious little Englishman,” Fraser Clipped, as he yanked on the rope, dragging Jack forward.

  “Take him,” Skald said to Logan, who obliged his order, despite his status as the Sutherland Laird, who took orders from no one.

  “Come here, ye filthy savage,” Duncan said to Skald.

  “Ye see I did a bit a work to make your Englishman a little more pretty,” Ducan proclaimed, for everyone to hear, earning a laugh from his men, and disgruntled noises from Logan’s men.

  “I’m gonna make ye suffer, viking. I’ll keep ye alive for weeks, just to hear you whimper as you break,” Fraser whispered, as he grabbed Skald’s arms, tying his arms with the same rope that had just been untied from Jack’s wrists.

  “Ye gonna regret this, ye ken,” Logan said, coming closer to Fraser.

  “I don’t think I will. In fact, I think this is one of the best decisions I’ve made yet,” Fraser Mackenzie said, his chest pushed out, defying Logan’s threat.

  “All hell will rain down on you and your men,” Lucas Sutherland said, gripping his sword.

  “Unless you want your wee cock chopped off, I’d suggest you take your hand off that sword, man,” Fraser said, as he turned his horse, pulling Skald with the rope.

  Skald did not listen to the rest of the talking and insulting that was exchanged between the two clans; instead, he looked to the sky, silently asking the English god if he was looking down upon him now, for he needed all the gods help, now more than ever. And if the gods couldn’t answer his calls for help, then he hoped Ivar would quicken his damn pace.

  The walk was a blur, and surprisingly, Skald was not treated too badly, on the travel back. Besides being yanked to the ground every now and then, as Duncan Mackenzie kicked his horse into a fast trot, surprising Skald.

  “I reckon a year of solid torture will please my cousin’s memory,” Fraser said, as he rode next to Skald.

  Skald did not answer, but instead looked ahead at the Mackenzie castle that they were slowly approaching.

  “You’re afeared, I ken that for sure,” Fraser smiled, before he trotted to he front of the pack, joking with his men.

  Skald saw wooden stocks set up in the middle of the castle grounds, set on a wooden stage, with a waiting crowd.

  “Aye, you dinna like the look of that, do ye, savage?” Duncan said, as he yanked Skald towards the stocks.

  “First, we’ll break your spirit, and then, we will break your body,” Fraser said, as he opened the stocks, motioning for men to wrestle Skald into position.

  The booing and hissing of the crowd barely registered to Skald as he looked at the ground, observing the fresh bloodstained woodwork, which Skald realised must have been Jack’s own blood.

  “It might still be warm, from your Englishman,” Fraser laughed as he kicked Skald’s feet our from under him, causing him to briefly choke in the stocks, without the support of his legs.

  The crowd cheered as his feet were kicked out from under him, and people began to pelt rocks and rotten food at his head. Ugly faces filled the crowd, expressions filled with hatred and disdain, a desperation to cause harm to a man they had never met - a man that could not retaliate.

  These types of people disgusted Skald, and he was now at their mercy, locked into the stocks, unable to defend his honour. He thought of Freya, safe, locked in her room, where no-one could hurt her. He thought of Ragnar, returning to the Sutherland castle, who he knew would protect Freya when he discovered they had married. Despite the situation, a smile crept over his face.

  “He’s smiling,” He heard one woman yell, who was clearly displeased with the fact that he wasn’t suffering as she would have liked.

  The objects began to rain down on him harder than before, rocks both large and small hit is head and hands, causing blood to drip through his hair and onto the wooden boards. Some objects that were not aimed high enough hit his shins, causing them to slip out from underneath him, making him choke on the stocks. This pleased the crowd greatly, Skald knew, for they cheered when he sprawled out in desperation, trying to re-plant his feet beneath himself.

  The afternoon seemed to pass in slow motion, as the crowd slowly began to disperse, the fruit and vegetables that had been reused and thrown at him had eventually gotten mushy and broken apart, leaving only rocks, which the Mackenzie’s prevented after a while, for they did not want Skald to die prematurely, which would prevent them from giving him the long, drawn out torture that he deserved.

  After the sun had set, a man came and unlocked the stocks, and dragged skald through a doorway, and down a set of stairs, where a large iron gate acted as the barrier of a chamber, presumably for criminals, or prisoners, such as himself.

  Once the gate was opened, the guard kicked Skald hard in his behind, sending him sprawling onto the floor of the dungeon. A hard piece of bread was thrown onto the floor. Despite the pain he was in, and despite the grubby floor on which the bread lay, Skald ate the bread gratefully, appreciating any strength that it might restore; for this was just another plan, and another game. And as all the games Skald played, he won.

  Freya found him in his dreams that night, yet he could not hear her talk. She cried silent tears, slapping at his chest, her look accusing him of betrayal, for leaving her only a day after their marriage. But it was necessary, he begged her to understand. He tried to explain to her that he had to marry her on that day, it was a matter of life or death, almost certainly.

  10

  Freya

  Freya was eventually released from her room the next day, but only on the condition that she left her bow and all other weapons in the room, and a guard be present, at her side, at all times.

  “You don’t need to always be so close,” Freya said, smelling the breath of the man whose arm brushed hers, a they walked towards the room in which Jack was sleeping.

  “Laird’s orders,” He said simply.

  Speaking of the Laird, Freya had not seen Logan or Lucas Sutherland sinc
e before Skald had left, and she had questions that she wanted answered. The sight of Jack made Freya’s breath catch in her throat.

  His entire face was different shades of purple, making Freya immediately think of Skald, who was now in his position, likely receiving the same treatment.

  “Jack,” She said, causing him to stir, slight slits of his eyes opening, though just barely, due to the swelling.

  “Freya, I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jack said, quietly.