The Northmen Series Box Set
Page 20
“You let a woman do the killing?” Ragnar said, surprised.
“Freya always did it. I guess she felt responsible. She’s a good woman but a better killer,” Jack said, defensively.
“Well you’ll kill a Scot or two by the time we’re back to England,” Ragnar said to him jovially.
“I have heard stories about the both of you, Skald the Heartless and Ragnar the Brave,” Jack said.
“And so what?” Skald said, coolly.
“Freya was protecting herself. She doesn’t deserve to die. You attacked her. She never wanted that battle,” Jack said.
“Just focus on staying on your horse, Englishman,” Skald said, causing Ragnar to laugh.
As they reached the crest of a hill, Skald could see Scots charging up the trail after them. They were still several leagues away, and would struggle to catch them at the pace that Skald had set.
Freya
Pain shot through Freya’s back and stomach, from being tied over the back of Gregor’s horse for the entire day. She wanted to cry, but the constant jolting up and down, took all of her energy, leaving her mind to become numb from the pain.
As night began to fall, they found shelter just beyond the edge of a wooded area, using the thick foliage for shelter. Freya noticed Gregor’s extra care in scouting the area, but more importantly, he did not set a fire that night. However, the thought of Gregor fearing that someone pursued them gave Freya little comfort, for she didn’t feel any more compelled to continue surviving in this bleak world than a man with mortal wounds on a bloody battle field.
“You’re curious as to where we’re taking you, aren’t you, girl,” Gregor said to Freya.
Freya shook her head, disagreeing with the man.
“You are a sour bitch. I’m taking you back to our place in Iceland. You’re more beautiful than I realised. I think I’ll keep you as a slave for some years. Break your spirit before I end your life.” He said, his already hostile smile curled into a cruel glare, assisted by the scars that criss-crossed along his face.
“Why don’t you make a fire and cook some food, Gorm?” Freya said to the brother, causing Gregor to get irritated.
“Pay attention to me when I’m speaking to you, you little bitch,” Gregor said, stepping closer to her.
“Damage not she,” Gorm said, in his broken English.
Gregor ignored Gorm, backhanding Freya, causing her to lose consciousness. Freya spent the rest of the night drifting in and out of consciousness, her fragmented dreams coming in pieces.
She was shooting Magnus and he was falling. The man behind Magnus, who she now knew to be Skald, began to walk towards her, his icy glare a physical force in her dream, freezing her to the spot. He broke his gaze, glancing down at the body, allowing Freya to wake.
At first, Freya was confused by the action surrounding her when she woke. Three men on horses had appeared over the crest of a hill, and she recognised all of them. Jack, Skald the heartless, and Ragnar the brave. They haven’t killed Jack, in fact, he has a sword around his waist, what are they doing?
Gregor and Gorm were still snoring heavily, clearly not experiencing terrible dreams like Freya had. She rose to her feet, careful not to wake either man. First light was beginning to show as they came near, Freya instinctually began to run towards them.
Skald came the closest, his charcoal hair, black wolfskin, and huge black horse made him look like a devil sent from the depths of hell. He put his hand out, signalling to pick her up. She put her hand up, allowing him to pull. The ease at which he lifted her onto his horse surprised her, even though he was so clearly built of nothing but muscle and rage.
“Those are the men you warned me of,” Freya said gripping Skald’s arm for balance.
“Yes,” Skald clipped, kicking into his horses belly. Freya fell back into skald’s chest, his body warming her. Despite only just waking, she felt exhausted, collapsing into his body, and sleeping almost instantly. This time, she did not have the dreams. It was a deep, dreamless sleep.
Skald
“Skald you rotten bastard I’ll take your fucking head,” Gregor yelled.
Skald looked behind, and saw Gregor and Gorm readying their horses. The MacKenzie’s could not be far away either, Skald thought, so they rode hard. Skald was surprised at how weak Freya was. Her beauty was still captivating, drawing his eyes on her like a magnet. Her pale white skin only accentuated the dark bruise on the side of her face. Fucking Gregor, Skald thought, knowing it would have been that bastard who did this.
He wrapped his arms around Freya’s body and took the reins, securing her against falling.
“She doesn’t look good,” Jack said, looking too Freya.
“There is nothing we can do now,” Skald said, despite feeling a need to look after her, even though his mission was to take her back to Ivar for retribution. He knew that if they stopped, then they would be dead before the sun reached the middle of the sky.
Skald’s mind was an eruption of thoughts and confusion as they rode hard along the Scottish highlands. How was this small, young woman of no more than twenty or twenty one years old, one of the most famous valkyrie shield maidens in England? She seemed so fragile and innocent, even awake, but especially asleep.
She spoke of harming him without conviction on the day he had found her wandering alone, which gave him his initial impression that she was not so much Freya the Goddess of Death, as much as she was simply a girl who was surviving.
Freya
By the time Freya woke, it was becoming dark.
“Have I been asleep the entire day?” Freya asked, surprised.
“Yes,” a deep, cold voice sounded behind her, the chest of the man vibrating through her skull that was rested against him.
“I’m still tired,” Freya said, though not complaining.
“We must use the last of the daylight, then we will stop,” Skald said.
“What are you doing with me?” Freya asked, as they rode on.
“Taking you to Newcastle,” Skald said, as he turned into a thick wooded area.
“Why?” Freya asked.
“Retribution,” Skald said.
“Very well,” Freya said.
“I know how this goes,” Skald replied, “You try to escape, I catch you, and then we go to Newcastle anyway. Save us both the trouble and don’t try to escape.”
“I don’t want to escape,” Freya said. She was tired.
“Why, because we’re not a pair of ugly bastards like Gregor and Gorm?” Ragnar interjected.
“You haven’t killed Jack yet, so I think I’m safer with you and Skald, than those other two,” Freya said.
“You hear that, Skald? A woman that isn’t afraid of you,” Ragnar laughed, without malice.
Freya felt Skald’s body stiffen behind her, but he didn’t say a word.
“What is there to be afraid of?” Freya said.
“Haven’t you heard, Freya, Goddess of Death? Skald has no heart. He acts with devastating efficiency because he doesn’t feel,” Ragnar said, but the beating of Skald’s heart once Ragnar finished speaking told Freya that this wasn’t true, and that Skald did feel, regardless of the hard armour he had put up.
“My title is not Goddess of Death. It’s just Freya,” she said in response. And you could relinquish your titles as well, Skald, all you have to do is say.
By the time they were well into the woods, they lit a small fire. Skald took his bow from his back, and began to walk into the darkness. The sight of his bow caused Freya’s heart to sting with the memories of her own bow.
“What are you doing?” Freya asked.
“To find dinner,” Skald said.
“Can I come? I’m a good shot,” she said, surprising herself that she wanted to do something, for the first time in days, despite her situation.
“I know you’re a good shot, I watched you take down Magnus,” Skald clipped.
“Well, that’s not a good example. He was a big target,” Freya said inst
antly regretting her dark sense of humour, but to her surprise, Skald laughed. He looked odd when he laughed. Odd, but beautiful, like how a knight is described in English poems. He suddenly looked dashing, handsome, and not the otherwise stone-faced, Skald the Heartless.
“Promise you won’t shoot me,” Skald said, turning to her, his expression turned serious.
“I swear it,” Freya said.
“Very well,” Skald said, a slight tug at the corner of his lips told her he would enjoy her company.
Jack and Ragnar stayed behind, staying on watch and also making sure the fire didn’t grow too much. They were lucky on this night, for the infamous Scottish fog was beginning to set in, which would make any further searching by Gregor and Gorm and the Mackenzies futile.
“Can I look at your bow?” Freya asked Skald, eying the long, polished piece of wood.
Skald handed Freya the bow, his jaw muscles flexing and relaxing as he let go.
“I don’t normally let people touch my bow. It’s set just right,” he said.
“I’ll be gentle,” Freya said, smiling at remembering how she was the same with hers. It people messed with her bow it might take her a day before she got it back to just how she liked it.
“It’s bigger than what mine was,” Freya felt the grooves of it in her hands, the object felt so similar, yet so different, to hers.
“Can I shoot it?” She asked.
“Yes, just don’t shoot me,” Skald said, eyeing her.
They continued walking through the thick wooded area, staying quiet like good hunters did, in the hopes of hearing an animal. He handed her an arrow. Eventually, they came across a small stream. Freya walked into the stream, with her bow half pulled.
“You’re not going to fish, are you?” Skald asked, curiosity on his face.
“Well, I’ll try. You can feel fish moving about your feet, if you stay still long enough,” Freya said.
After five minutes or so, Freya begin to feel the old, yet familiar, feeling of fish exploring around her legs and feet.
“Are you watching?” She smiled at Skald, as she pulled her bow back.
Freya pulled the bow tight, feeling its power in her hands, waiting for the right moment to shoot. It had gotten dark, so she was shooting into black water, completely reliant on her sense of feel.
Skald
Skald was beyond surprised. The famed Freya the Goddess of Death, who now just went by Freya, had shot three fat fish, straight through their heads, which would provide food for two days or more.
“I’m impressed,” Skald said.
“My shooting is what allowed me to gain followers,” Freya said.
“And it could, again. You could re-build if you live to survive this,” Skald replied.
“I don’t want to. I want a quiet life, away from everything. Anyway, I thought you were taking me for retribution,” Freya said.
“I don’t think you should worry about the retribution, so much. Death happens in battle,” Skald said, not wanting Freya to suffer any more.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Freya was nothing like Skald could have ever imagined. She was certainly more beautiful, but more quiet, more gentle. He felt her hand rub his leg when Ragnar made the comment about his reputation; about women being afraid of him. He suspected it was Freya telling him that she wasn’t afraid of him, not like the other women. Women were attracted to Skald, he never had a problem in that department. His problem was women staying when they saw his heartlessness. His coldness scared them. His apathy made them run.
22
Freya
Freya noticed that Skald was never more than a few steps away from her, ever since he had lifted her onto his horse. When she sat to eat the fish Ragnar had cooked, he sat close enough to reach out and touch her.
While he was always close enough, Freya felt he would not look at her often; Skald would find anything more interesting to look at than her. This was fine for Freya.
She knew that Skald couldn’t be right for her. He might be strong enough to care for her, but he had never cared for a woman before, and he didn’t deny it, so he probably wouldn’t want to look after Freya. And why would he? She killed his blood warrior, his friend. She lost all her own men. She was worth nothing to him now. He was probably waiting for the moment he could kill her. The moment he got her to Newcastle, surely.
Jack was the first to sleep, and then Ragnar. Freya looked around, contemplating where to sleep. She knew Jack the best, but didn’t relish the idea of sharing a bed with an Englishman.
“So, where am I supposed to sleep?” Freya asked.
Skald looked around, as if searching for more animal furs and blankets, “I didn’t prepare bedding when we began pursuing you yesterday,” Skald said.
“So… where shall I sleep?” Freya asked, feeling an awkward excitement at the implication of the situation.
“We will have to sleep on the same furs, unless you’d rather sleep with the Englishman,” Skald said.
“I’ll sleep with you,” Freya said, blushing.
Without missing a beat, Skald laid out the animal furs, and softly patted the ground once the makeshift bed was ready.
“It looks fit for a queen,” Freya said, looking at him, and this time he looked into her eyes, the intensity of her gaze taking her breath away. She lay down, positioning her back against Skald’s chest.
“Can you get the blanket, Skald? I’m a little cold,” Freya whispered.
Without a word, Skald lay a blanket over the pair of them, and pulled Freya closer, into his embrace. For a man who looked so cold, he felt warm. His body felt hot, like a warm fire on a cold winter’s night. That night, she dreamed of him again.
The same beginning, with Magnus falling to his knees, and then onto his chest, dead. Skald’s intense, ice cold gaze held her in place, like a physical force. He walked toward her again, this time closer than before. His face was emotionless, his hand reaching out to her. She woke in a sweat.
Skald’s muscled body was sprawled out next to her, his breathing was deep and quiet, showing he was still asleep. Freya moved as quietly as she could, careful not to wake Skald or any of the others.
Skald looked peaceful. His terrifying, icy gaze was not present, and his face looked… handsome. Peaceful. She wrapped a cloak around her body, put kindling on the fire, stoking it for breakfast, and silently crept into the still sleeping forest, that was wrapped in a blanket of thick Scottish fog, with Skalds bow over her back.
Skald
Skald awoke to a stoked, warm fire, but the bed was empty. Freya was gone. Skald hated to wake and find new events transpired without his planning or knowing, such as that of waking to find his blood warriors Haaken and Erik dead. Skald reached for his bow, which was not there. Skald then reached for his sword, which was there. So she took my bow with her.
He wrapped his wolfskin around his body for warmth, and walked towards the stream. If she wasn’t by the stream, he decided she must have began a trek through the forest, and they would have to follow.
He went silently, each footstep intentionally placed, to avoid so much as snapping a twig. The eerie fog was not only good for people being pursued due to not being able to be seen, but it also stopped sound from travelling too far. Finally, Skald heard the quiet flowing of the stream, the noise of water travelling over and around rocks.
The fog was so thick that it wasn’t until the water was at his toes before he could see across to the other side, but he didn’t need to see to the other side, for Freya was bathing in the middle of the stream.
Skald stood by the edge of the river, watching her. Her pale skin was goose-bumped from the cold, and her body and skin was surprisingly unmarked considering her years of battle.
Skald cleared his throat, causing Freya to jump. When she stood, he saw the hair between her legs, causing him to harden in his pants. She looked up at him, stifling a shriek with her mouth, before lowing her body, so her breasts were covered by the water.
“You weren’t at the camp, and my bow was gone, so I came to check here before I set out looking for you” Skald leaned against a tree, and scratched the back of his head.
Freya stayed in the water, watching him watch her, and her gaze dropped to his pants.