by T S Florence
“Much as we all want a good outcome, ye must understand lass, Fraser Mackenzie is a man not ken for his diplomatic tendencies,” Logan said, looking to her.
“We will do our best to get him back,” Skald said, though without conviction.
“I will be coming with you to negotiate, whether you like it or not,” Freya fumed.
Freya felt Skald’s calculating eyes gazing at her, while Logan and Lucas looked at each other uncertainly.
“Maybe-” Lucas began.
“She cannot come,” Skald said.
“You are not the boss of me,” Freya felt her face flushing red at the public commotion.
“I’ll lock you away in your room while we negotiate,” Skald looked to one of the guards that was close to Freya.
“You will do no such thing,” Freya said, her voice low with anger.
“It is already done,” Skald looked into the distance, to where the Mackenzie clan would soon arrive on the horizon.
“I will escape. I will escape and go straight to the Mackenzies,” Freya stormed.
“That would weaken all of us, lass,” Logan said, uncertainly.
“Put her in our room. Lock it from the outside and guard it until I am back,” Skald said over Freya’s shoulder.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Freya said, looking to Skald, only to find his eyes were fixed on something behind her.
A pair of strong hands grasped around Freya’s shoulders, causing her to shriek in surprise.
“Skald you wouldn’t dare,” Freya said, her confidence wavering with her voice.
“It’s for your own safety,” Skald said.
“You cannot make decisions on my own safety, that is my choice,” Freya said, feeling desperation at her lack of ability to help save her friend, Jack.
Freya felt the man wrap his arms around her, lifting her over his shoulder, and carrying her into the castle. After struggling at every step, grasping at every stone block that stuck out of the castle walls in an attempt to dislodge herself from the man’s iron grip, she was finally thrown onto the bed she had shared with Skald only the night before.
She attempted to dash to the door, but was pushed back down onto the bed. She watched the musclebound Scotsman shut he door behind himself, and listened to the heavy oak bar slide into its position on the other side of the door, preventing any escape.
Freya felt desperate with helplessness as she walked to the window, where she could see the view of the field. Skald stood with Logan and Lucas. Despite his actions, she couldn’t bring herself to hate him. But lack of hate didn’t mean there was a lack of anger.
Freya looked at Skald’s belongings, set neatly against the wall.
“Skald,” She yelled from the window, as loudly as she could, causing Skald and the rest of the men to look up at the window.
Skald turned to face her, his face was impassive as usual, as far as she could tell, but the distance made it hard to see. She paced to the other side of the room and grabbed the closest thing that was set against the wall, which belonged to Skald. His boots. She walked back, happy to see that she still had their attention. She hung his boots out the window, for all to see, before dropping them to the ground, which was a good fifty feet below.
She heard the roar of laughter from the Scots out in the field, but Skald appeared to be unaffected by the display. Displeased with the lack of reaction, Freya rushed back to the wall, and gathered the rest of his belongings, throwing them from the window one by one. A spare pair of pants, several tunics, arm rings that he would use as currency, a spare helmet, and a dagger.
Still, Skald remained unmoved. He did not so much as change his stance, or the expression on his face. His gaze, however, did not leave her eyes. She could feel his eyes, like rays of the sun, beating down upon her like a hot day, causing her to feel hot and flustered under his discrimination. She was sure this was the gaze that frightened so many people. The gaze that signalled to people that he was dangerous.
“Damn you, Skald,” Freya called, after the Scotsmen had finished laughing.
She walked back to the bed, removing her skirt to cool down, and lay in her undergarments, feeling emotionally exhausted from the morning’s events.
Skald
“I dinna ken how you’d normally deal with an angry lass but I’d suspect a standard floggin’ on her behind wouldn’t work. You’d do well to deal with this one a little differently,” Logan said, puzzlement on his face.
“Aye, I reckon she’d cut ye heart out as quick as she’d kiss ye; A fiery vixen, that one,” Lucas said.
“She’s a valkyrie,” Skald said, mildly, as he took a mental note of all the valuables that Freya had thrown from the window, so that he could make sure none of the Sutherland laird’s men had decided to treat himself to a spring bonus of his hard earned arm rings, won from defeated foe in battle.
The distant sound of bagpipes began crawl through the whispering wheat fields drew Skald’s gaze from the window and over to the broad fields. The hair on the back of his neck stood on its ends, like a dog’s hackles rising in the moment before it makes its attack.
Another man came riding in from the opposite direction, pulling up in front of Logan, with a cloud of dust following him.
“Dinna get me all dusty before I meet my good friend Fraser Mackenzie” Logan quipped, slapping at his kilt, causing the men to laugh.
“Sorry laird, but I thought you’d want to know, Ivar the Cruel’s army crossed the Scottish border over night, they’re but two days ride from reaching us,” The man said, breathless.
“How many?” Logan said, glancing at Skald.
“At least four hundred vikings,” the man said.
“Four hundred vikings, that’s a sizeable army,” Logan said, sounding unsure.
“And another five hundred English knights,” the man said.
“What?” Logan growled.
“The English knights are believed to be Princess Isla’s men. I have it on good authority that she travels with Ivar,” the man said.
“You’re telling me that nine hundred men are coming, simply to collect Skald and his mistress?” Logan slammed his fist into his palm.
“She’s to be my wife,” Skald said, correcting him.
“Aye, to be sure,” Logan said, reigning in his temper.
“You do not need to fear an attack by Ivar,” Skald said, walking closer to Logan.
“How can I be sure to trust you?” Logan said.
“Well, you don’t have much choice,” Skald said.
“I verra well ken that,” Logan growled.
“You have treated me well. I will repay your treatment in kind,” Skald said.
“I’ll be sure to believe ye when you and all your Viking and English friends are back on the other side of the boarder,” Logan said, looking back to the noise from where the sound of bagpipes played along the winds.
“If any Scotsmen die, it will be Mackenzie,” Skald said, resting his hand on his sword.
The Mackenzies arrived in a large force of at least two hundred men, by Skald’s count, though he knew there were likely more stationed out of their view.
As they came closer, Skald knew he hd made the right decision in keeping Freya away from the negotiations. She was too invested. She would have said something to give away more than needed to be given. Of course he wanted to save the Englishman’s life, if only for Freya’s happiness, but he was not willing to risk everything for the man. He was still English, after all.
“Are ye ready viking?” Logan asked.
“I’m ready, highlander,” Skald responded, causing Lucas to chuckle.
“I hope he’s in a better mood than when he left us last time,” Lucas said, causing Skald to think back to the day Fraser Mackenzie had left red faced, with spittle hanging in his beard, which had flown from his mouth in the flurry of words he had thrown at Skald, in his anger. Skald did not see the Englishman in their convoy.
“We will not be reaching an agreement today,”
Skald said, already fearing how Freya would react when he returned to the room without him.
“How do ye ken?” Lucas asked, uncertainly.
“Because the Englishman isn’t with them,” Logan said, answering for Skald.
“Why would they come all this way?” Lucas asked.
“They are betting that you will hand me over to avoid a fight,” Skald said.
“Do they think us cowards?” Lucas growled.
“It would be the wise thing to do,” Logan clipped, displeased with his brother’s knee-jerk reaction. Skald and Logan both knew that to retain power, one must be calculating. And reacting to the bait as obvious what the Mackenzies were dangling in front of them was not smart leadership.
“Handing me over would prevent a war,” Skald said, simply.
“It would prevent a war with the Mackenzies, but it would start a bigger war with your friend, I’d imagine,” Logan said, as the Mackenzies turned the final bend, trotting down the straight path towards them.
“Maybe, or maybe not,” Skald said, earning a curious glance from Logan.
“What do ye mean by that,” Lucas asked.
“Not now, little brother,” Logan barked.
Fraser Mackenzie looked like a true warrior, in all his war glory, as he stood before them on his huge brown horse, its front hooves scratching at the ground in front of it, agitated, and looking for conflict. Dust floated in the air, dirt to stick to the man’s chest.
“Ye look filthy, ye could have at least bathed before ye graced us Sutherlands with ye presence,” Logan said, to the Mackenzie Laird.
“Roll in the mud with pigs and ye get muddy,” Fraser Mackenzie replied, earning an obedient laugh from his men that were within earshot.
A younger man was sitting on a horse, besides Fraser, with a woman besides him.
“That’s his younger brother, Duncan Mackenzie, and his wife, Lyla Mackenzie, Lucas said to Skald.
The girl was beautiful, that much Skald could tell. She had long red hair that flowed down her back, and bright yet subdued eyes, like that of a woman whose soul was being crushed. Duncan was a large, fat, young man, who could have been no older than 23 or 24 years of age, compared to their laird, Fraser Mackenzie, who was in his late twenties, yet lean and muscular; the physique of a man with discipline.
“Where is the Englishman?” Skald asked, looking at the laird, Fraser Mackenzie.
“He’s right where he needs to be,” Fraser said, with a smile that told Skald they were playing dirty.
“If you didn’t bring the Englishman, then you should turn around and leave,” Skald said, furious that the past days had been wasted, all the preparation and discussion had by himself and the Sutherland brothers for nothing.
“Well, you’re nae the one holding aces to ye chest, are ye, viking?” Fraser Mackenzie spat.
“We wish to speak with the man in charge, Logan,” Duncan Mackenzie said.
“Then speak,” Logan said.
“Give us the viking man. We want retribution. We want his head on a spike to show all men what happens when you cross Mackenzie,” Fraser Mackenzie said.
Skald whispered into Logan’s ear, giving him an answer to their problem. An answer that he suspected Logan had not yet been able to answer. Logan nodded his head.
“Aye, but it will nae be today that you get the viking,” Logan said.
“Are ye telling me we would be coming back once again to negotiate? What’s stopping us from taking what we want by force?” Fraser Mackenzie said.
“An army large enough to wipe both our clans from these lands is currently on its way here,” Logan said to Fraser Mackenzie.
“What army?” Fraser laughed, not believing that such a number of men could possibly be marching through the Scottish countryside only a few days ride away.
“Ivar the cruel, married an English princess, and they have combined their forces,” Logan said, stony faced.
“Who orchestrated this?” Fraser Mackenzie boomed, looking to Skald.
Despite Skald’s ability to hide his emotion in such situations, it was not often that he succeeded in suppressing a smug, victorious smirk, while smelling the foul stench of defeat as he was being squeezed in the vice grip of the Scottish highlanders. On that day, he knew that he would be victorious in his efforts.
“Come back with the Englishman, and I will talk with you, Fraser Mackenzie. The only man that stands between the extinction of the Mackenzie name is me,” Skald said, looking toward the man, before turning, and walking back into the Sutherland castle.
“How dare ye insult the Mackenzie name,” Fraser Mackenzie roared, as his horse scratched at the ground in front of itself, hungry to charge.
“You will trade yourself for the Englishman or I will cut him from chest to cock, and leave his gizzards out for the crows,” Fraser Mackenzie spat.
Freya
Freya watched from the window as the men talked. She could hear the familiar, booming voice of Fraser Mackenzie, as he shouted at Skald’s back, who had turned and began walking towards the castle, without Jack Ashborn, her friend.
“I’ll have ye head if it’s the last thing I do, viking,” the Mackenzie laird’s voice echoed across the fields, all the way up to Freya’s window.
The man’s voice gave her goose bumps, as she watched his men move to stop their leaders from attacking. Logan and Lucas Sutherland also had close to two hundred men standing behind them, with both sides knowing that if their leaders decided to fight on that day, there would be hundreds of needless deaths.
She watched as Skald walked across the castle yard to the spot where she had thrown his belongings to the ground, which still lay there. He spoke to a young boy who was nearby, tossing him a coin, and walked into the castle.
The large Mackenzie force slowly turned and commenced the short ride back to their lands.
27
Freya
She listened to the large wooden plank being removed from the other side of the door, before it dropped to the ground, and the sound of the handle being turned, the creak of the door opening, to reveal Skald in the doorway. He took a slow step towards Freya, before closing and bolting the door behind him.
“What game was that you were playing,” Skald said, his voice like ice.
“It was no game,” Freya said, feeling cold under his stony gaze.
“Everything is a game,” Skald said, moving towards her.
“You embarrassed me in front of everybody. You treat me like a child,” Freya said, feeling heat return to her face.
“You embarrassed me, too. You threw all of my belongings out of that window,” Skald gestured to the window, his eyebrows low and dark, casting shadows over his eyes.
“I led an army of men before you decided to baby sit me. I could look after myself,” Freya said.
“Not when I met you,” Skald replied.
“Because you and your horrible leader killed them,” Freya spat.
“Exactly. You couldn’t look after yourself,” Skald said.
Before Freya could stop herself, her hand was in the air, moving towards Skald’s face. But Skald was a warrior renowned for his speed in battle. He moved like a shadow in the night, unseen. He caught her by the wrist, his grip firm yet gentle.
“I may have deserved that,” Skald said, losing his frown.
“I shouldn’t have tried,” Freya said, regretting her attempt to slap him.
“I have never loved before. I feel like a bear trying to hold a new born, and any movement I make will cause the death your death. I am terrified I will make the wrong decision and lose you,” Skald said, looking at her.
Realisation pricked at Freya, and she felt tears in the corners of her eyes. “You locked me in my room because you didn’t want to see me hurt?” Freya asked.
“Fraser Mackenzie might change his mind if he saw you. He might attribute some of the blame of his cousin’s death to you, even though I am solely to blame for his death,” Skald said.
; “Skald, I have looked after myself before,” Freya said.
“And you will have to look after yourself, again. Soon,” Skald said, looking at her.
“Why?” Freya asked.
“Because I will be taking Jack’s place. I will be trading myself for the Englishman,” Skald said.
“Why would you do such a thing?” Freya felt fear rising from her stomach and up her throat.