by T S Florence
“It’s not fair that you’ve seen me naked, but I haven’t seen you naked,” Freya said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Freya
Freya could see his hardness in his pants. In all of her twenty years, she’d never seen a man when it was hard. Her heart was thundering in her chest like a great war drum, as she watched him push off the tree, and walk to the edge of the riverbank.
First, he unwrapped the black wolfskin that was over his shoulders, and then his top. Freya hadn’t seen his body in daylight before, and she was surprised at just how muscular he actually was. Hard muscles poked out of his chest, and his stomach was lined with striations, finishing with a V shape that led down to his hard member.
She sank back into the cool water, watching him as he slid his pants down, his shaft springing out as it was released. His long, muscular legs moved slowly as he walked carefully into the stream, his eyes not leaving hers.
In a moment of passion, Freya stood back to her feet, so Skald could see her in all of her nakedness. She felt his eyes feasting on her breasts, before ravaging between her legs. He stood before her, throbbing.
She was too nervous to touch him, but instead sunk back down to sit in the stream. Skald did the same, moving closer, until he could reach out and touch her, if he wanted. Freya felt hot, despite the cool water and crisp air.
the crunching of footsteps on the forest floor caused tingles to shoot up Freya’s spine, her hands grasped Skald’s, and she looked to him to tell her what to do. He nodded to her clothes, and guided her to the edge of the stream, as calmly as if he was taking a leisurely stroll with her. She watched Skald put on his clothes as calmly, yet efficiently, with the calculating precision of a warrior who has been in more battles than he’s had birthdays. He took Freya’s hand and led her back towards their camp. The distinct voices of Scotsmen penetrated the fog from the other side of the river, as they crept away.
Despite the obvious danger of the situation, Freya couldn’t help but look at Skald and feel safer than she had in years. This man, who said he would protect her from retribution when they arrived at Newcastle was on her side, at least for now. His cold, calculating eyes and precision movements showed an indomitable mind that was matched by few, other than perhaps his own leader, Ivar.
Skald
When they arrived back at the camp, Ragnar and Jack were already awake.
“There are people close by, but they haven’t seen us yet,” Ragnar whispered to Skald.
Freya looked to Skald, her terrified eyes showing a different girl to the one he had seen take down one of the most fearsome warriors he had ever known. She still clasped both her hands around his.
“Take Freya and the Englishman. Ride towards Edinburgh. If I do not find you before you arrive at the stables by the docks, then go to Newcastle without me,” Skald said.
“You’re going to fight them?” Freya asked, as Ragnar began saddling his horse, not questioning what Skald said. Skald knew that Ragnar understood these situations. One man dead was better than three men and a woman dead.
“I will fight them if they catch me, but no one has caught me before, and no one has beaten me before, so I’ll take my chances,” Skald said.
“You can’t,” Freya said, her voice pleading, “Just come with us,” her scared eyes almost made Skald change his mind, but he did not live to see this day by changing his mind. He knew leaving was the right decision.
“I will find you, bow kona.” Skald said, squeezing her hand. For the first time in Skald’s life, he felt a real reason to fight. A real reason to live. His mother’s words from thirteen years earlier, still fresh in his mind as if she spoke them to him that morning, exploded in his soul, bringing emotion to life, like one spectacular combustion, like a great fire explosion he had once seen spew from a great mountain.
Odin, in all his wisdom, splits souls in two, and sends them down to earth. If your soul can find its other half, then your heart will know true happiness. Until then, you must search, my son. For love is the greatest thing a man and woman can have in life, more than any amount of gold and glory.
I have found what you spoke of mother. A girl is saving my soul. I feel a reason to live.
“Skald, please, let me come with you,” Freya said.
“When I find you, we must marry. If you are married to me then no man in England will seek retribution for Magnus,” Skald said, holding her face in his hands.
Her eyes widened at his confession. “You feel it too? So soon?” Freya asked.
“I felt it even in the moment you killed my friend,” Skald took in her scent before continuing, “I just didn’t know what it was,” he said.
“Protect her with your life,” Skald looked to Ragnar. They made the blood warrior’s hand shake, and Skald lifted Freya onto Ragnar’s horse. The voices began to grow louder, and so Skald leaped onto his horse, and drew his reins towards the sound, riding in the opposite direction from his soul’s counterpart, Freya, the Goddess of Death; Freya, the scared girl.
Freya
They rode into the thick morning fog, with each stride taking Freya further away from Skald. The only thought running through Freya’s mind was whether she would ever see him again, for the odds were stacked against him higher than any man would care to bet on.
They took a quiet path down into a valley, thick with trees, with great mountains wrapping around each side of them. Ragnar had Jack and Skald continue along the path as he went deeper into the surrounding forest to check for men lying in wait for an ambush.
“So you trust these men?” Jack said, looking to Freya.
“We do not have a choice,” Freya said, looking at Jack, before continuing. Jack was not an ugly man. In fact, he was far more handsome than the average man. He was broad shouldered, with thick blond hair like straw on his head. His muscles were well defined but heavily scarred from a lifetime as a blacksmith’s son.
Due to growing up around swords, he was well apt at using one, too, judging by his training with the highlanders, though she had not ever see him kill a man. “But, I do trust them. They are not your typical savages,” Freya said.
“Aye,” Jack said, sounding a little Scottish.
“Have you ever killed a man?” Freya asked Jack.
“Once, I killed three men.” Jack said.
“What happened?” Freya asked.
“I was thirteen. Isla, the girl who I was with when you found us, was twelve. We were good friends from a young age. But, because Isla grew up in a castle surrounded by guards, she never truly saw the bad in men, at least, not until she was older. One day, I was walking through the village markets getting some supplies for my father, and I overheard three men talking.
Now, men under English law are branded in some way for crimes they commit. Usually, with a burning, the cutting off of lips, or ears, or a hand. One of the men had no ears, and another had no lips. This caused frightening look that does not easily go unnoticed. The third man had only one hand.
They were talking of kidnapping Isla and taking her, using her for their pleasure, and then ransoming her back to her father, for everyone knew that he would pay any sum to rescue his daughter from such men. I did not know if this was typical criminal talk, or if they intended to follow through with their plansSo I followed them for the rest of that day. That day turned into a week. I overheard more conversations of a similar nature, until finally, they had the trap set.
Isla would often go on walks out to surrounding farms to see the farmers and their children and wives. The men were waiting just off a main path, outside the castle walls, hidden by the forest. What they didn’t know was that I was behind them. I took my father’s sword, which was as great as the best swords ever made, for my father spent thousands of hours on this sword, and its edge could cut a huge oak tree nearly in half with one swing. I crept up behind the men and took all three of their lives, before they ever had a chance to even see my face.” Jack took a long breath after the telling of the story where he killed men for
Isla.
Freya was shocked at this admission, and the actions of a blacksmith boy at only thirteen years old. He had the courage that she would have valued in one of her warriors, in her former life.
“And what did Isla do?” She asked.
“She didn’t know. She still doesn’t,” Jack said, looking ahead.
“And the men?” Freya asked, “what did you do with them?”
“I left them there. They were outlaws. Most outlaws met endings like those men did, so whoever found them would not have been too surprised,” Jack said.
Ragnar broke back through the edge of the forest, startling the pair, “We are alone, so far as I can tell,” Ragnar said.
“How far from Edinburgh?” Freya asked.
“I have not a clue, we may not even be riding directly there. We will find out soon enough,” Ragnar said.
If Freya’s mind was not so preoccupied thinking of Skald and his safety, she would have noticed the sheer natural beauty of the valley that they were in. The stream that flowed beside them was fresh, clear water, with fish leaping from it in large numbers. Butterflies flew around their heads filled the sky surrounding them, giving the place a magical feel. Thick moss covered branches reached out over the path, protecting them from the sun.
“Do you think Skald will be ok?” Freya asked Ragnar.
“If any man can fight a small army and come back unharmed, it’s Skald.” Ragnar said. “He’s like a ghost. You never truly know where he is, you simply feel his presence. And if you can feel his presence, then you’ll likely be dead before you can do anything about it, if he so wishes,” Ragnar said, smiling at her. “And if he is pursued, I know of no man who has a better aim with a bow and arrow, while riding a horse at full speed,” Ragnar finished.
Skald
Skald’s black wolfskin and black horse allowed him to stay well hidden in the thick, dark Scottish fog. Skald was unmatched in the art of silent preying, for he had never found a man awaiting his arrival who he did not wish to alert of his presence. This fog only added to his prowess ability.
He had found several scouting parties spread out across the forest, and additional scouts out in the open plains. They were performing a full sweep of the area, like a blanket being pulled back across a bed of hay, searching for mice hiding in its warmth. Only Skald was no mouse, He was the wolf that watched the hunters, waiting for their guard to be lowered, before leaping from the darkness, tearing their throats from their necks, only to howl a howl of victory on their bloody corpse.
Skald started from the field. He took the three men’s lives easily, for they did not have comrades to protect them. By the time they were aware of his attack, their heads were already half severed from their bodies.
And then he moved into the forest, where the men travelled in pairs. Two Scotsmen had found their camp from the night before and were feeling the warmth of the fire. They were searching the surrounds for any clues that might have lead them to the direction they had taken. Skald dismounted from his horse, tying its reins to a nearby tree branch.
He moved quietly to the man that was closer to him, and thrust his sword through the man’s back, piercing his heart, before pulling it back out. The man fell to the ground with a thud, alerting his friend of Skald’s presence. Before the man could pull out his sword, Skald’s blade was at his throat.
“Whose man are you?” Skald asked, pressing the bloody tip of his sword against the man’s throat.
“I’m MacKenzie,” the Scot said, his voice soft.
“How many more men are searching?” Skald asked.
“Why should I tell ye, if you’ll kill me anyhow?” The Scot said.
“Tell me the truth and the gods may grant you life,” Skald said, in response, for he knew that if one thing would bring a man to tell the truth, it was the mentioning of gods and death or life. Skald pressed the tip of the sword harder against the man’s throat, feeling his skin start to break beneath the sharp blade, causing blood to drip down his neck.
“You’ve got at least eighty men out looking for ye. The man ye killed, Dougal, was an important man. And ye have the two ugly Northmen who’ve ridden ahead in an attempt to route ye. We MacKenzies will not stop until we’ve had our revenge, and those two huge bastards are intent on taking your woman” the Mackenzie man said.
“Turn around and face the fire,” Skald said.
The man did as he was told. Skald tied his hands and feet, and left him lying by the warmth of the warm coals.
“You do not call for help until you’ve waited for over a hundred counts. If I hear you, I’ll come back and kill you,” Skald said.
“Aye,” the Scot said.
Skald moved swiftly, for time was now of the essence. Even Ragnar, with all his might and bravery, would not stand a chance if Gregor and Gorm managed a successful ambush.
23
Freya
They camped that night in the middle of the valley, though this night there was less fog, and so they had to spend the night cold, without a fire. Freya spent the night under Jack’s furs, though they did not touch, she was pleased to have someone close by, who she had known for some time, and who she trusted.
When sleep came to Freya, she entered the same dream that had haunted her since the ambush led by Ivar the Cruel. She watched the mighty warrior Magnus fall to his chest, and she saw Skald standing behind him. He walked faster this time. He dropped his sword the ground, and reached out to her, desperation in his eyes. This time, he touched her, something that had never happened before. She woke in a cold sweat, as usual, though this time Skald was standing Over her, his eyes scanning her.
“You were having a bad dream,” Skald said.
“You’re ok,” Freya said, pushing herself off the ground and into his embrace, feeling at home in a man’s arms who she had not known for more than a few days, as if a part of her had already known him in a former life, and they were only now reuniting.
“We must move now,” Skald said, holding her, breathing in her hair.
Jack and Ragnar began to stir, so Skald repeated himself, although louder this time, to get the men moving.
“They are closing in on us,” Skald said, as he paced surrounds of their camp, looking out into the woods.
“Who, the brothers, or the Scots?” Ragnar asked.
“Both,” Skald said.
Jack and Ragnar were rolling up their bedding and readying their horses by the time Skald turned back to face them. Freya simply stood and stared in shock, as if she didn’t quite believe that he was already back with them. Skald grabbed Freya’s hand as he mounted his horse, and pulled her up without any more words.
“If we are chased, we must split,” Skald said to Ragnar, as they started to the end of the valley. “Whoever may get out ahead should go to Newcastle and alert Ivar, and get him to bring his forces to assist us,” Skald said.
Despite the situation of impending violence, Freya felt safe. Nobody was expecting her to take charge of an upcoming battle, but instead she could rely on someone else to look after her, and it was a welcome change. As they rounded a bend, jack was pulled from his horse onto the ground. Freya looked to see Jack pull his sword just in time, to block an attack from the larger of the two huge brothers, Gregor.
Before she could react, Skald had leapt from his horse, and slapped the behind of his horse, in an attempt to send Freya to safety. Freya pulled the reins, bringing the horse to a halt, watching the fight.
Ragnar was at the head of the pack and was turning his horse in an attempt to get back to the battle, but the horse was too skittish due to the violence.
Skald went to Gorm, who was moving to attack Jack from the legs, and drove his sword into Gorm’s shield. Gorm was on his back foot, surprised from Skald’s lightning fast attack, and swung his axe in return, but Skald had already moved out of the way. He moved in and out, his sword like a cobra’s head, spitting fury at its prey.
Gorm’s eyes began to widen, as he realised for the first t
ime in his life, he was in a fight with a man whose skill surpassed his own by such a level that left him almost defenseless, despite his size and shield and weapon.”
“Help-” Gorm began, in his native tongue, but his plea was cut short by a swipe that cut clean across his throat, causing blood to pour out like a gushing waterfall after a winter of heavy snow.
A howl erupted from Gregor, his attention moved from Jack, who was barely managing to fend off the relentless barrage of attack. Jack fell backwards over a fallen tree, leaving Skald to face Gregor alone. Gregor dropped his shield, and took his axe with both hands, swinging with the ferociousness of a mother bear protecting her cubs.