by T S Florence
“Because it is what must be done,” Skald said.
“His capture wasn’t your fault,” Freya said, feeling tears prick at her eyes.
Skald
“I will not lock you in your room again, if you promise not to interfere with my plans,” Skald said.
“He will kill you,” Freya said, failing to hold back the tears, as she ran to his arms.
Skald held her tight against his chest. Stroking her hair, taking all of her fear and anxiety and letting it pour over him. “It must be done,” he whispered into her hair.
“I can’t lose you, Skald,” she said, as her tears rolled down his chest.
A knock at the door caused Freya to pull her head away from Skald. He walked towards the door and took his belongings from the boy. The gold coin he paid him would be worth several months’ wage, at least, and he doubted that the boy knew the true value of the coin he had given him. Money didn’t matter to Skald, it never had.
Ever since his mother told him that the real value in life was love. Here he was, he thought, with his mother’s and father’s memories in his head, fighting for love. The only love he had felt since he was a child.
Skald bolted the door behind the boy, and turned to Freya, who was dropping her skirt to the ground, revealing her body to him. He immediately felt a movement between his legs.
Skald moved towards her, taking in all her beauty with each step that closed the distance between them. Freya’s delicate hands removed the large black wolfskin that hung around his shoulders, before she lay it on the ground. She removed his top, and then his pants. She was on her knees when she had removed his foot from the leg of his pants, causing his hard member to point towards her.
She looked at it curiously, touching it with her hand. She began to move her hand up and down the shaft, pumping him, causing a low growl to rumble from deep inside him. And then she moved her mouth towards his member. Her small pink lips touched his tip, causing his breath to escape his lips in a silent whisper of delight.
“Freya,” he began, before the sensation took his breath away. She moved her mouth around the tip of his head, before taking it in her mouth, moving up and down, tasting all of him. He groaned in pleasure, the sensation unlike anything he had felt before.
“Does it feel good?” She asked, looking up at him.
“Yes, valkyrie,” he said, as his legs weakened under the pleasure.
He bent down and picked her up, causing a squeal of excitement to escape her lips as he carried her towards their bed. Skald watched as Freya wasted no time using her hands to explore his body, raking her fingers down his chest, along his toned abs, her lips playing around his hips, teasing his member. She wrapped a hand around his shaft, sliding it up and down, while she looked up at him with a devilish look in her eye.
Skald could not take it any longer, he pulled her up to him, and tasted her neck, sucking on her skin, causing a shriek to escape her lips. She put her hands on his chest, as he ran his tongue along her stomach, feeling her breasts and the spot between her legs. He lifted her up and tasted her nipple, basking in the moans that rose from her chest.
“Even your voice makes me hard,” Skald said, as he lowered his head down to the juncture between her legs.
He heard a giggle as he pressed his mouth against her, tasting her. He used his tongue until he heard her gasp, while clutching at the sheets on the bed. Her legs wrapped around his neck as her body shook, telling him that he had done what he wanted.
He his body up, taking in the view of her panting, glistening body. She gasped as he pushed himself inside of her, her eyes opened wide, while her hands grabbed at his neck and shoulders.
He thrust himself in deep, relishing the slap of his skin against hers. He immediately felt the familiar sensation building up, warning him that he didn’t have much time before he would lose control. Rather than slow down, he sped up, thrusting hard and fast, grunting into her neck, feeling her hot breath against his.
“Fuck,” Skald said, as he exploded inside of her, his body tensing under the immense pressure. Freya lay beneath him, panting, a glazed look of someone who was only half in this world.
* * *
The next day, Skald went to the Blacksmith to discuss the work he was paying him to do.
“How is it coming along?” Skald asked the man, as he watched him wrestle with the red hot iron.
“It’s coming along nicely,” The blacksmith said, looking up at Skald.
“Will it be like it was?” He asked.
“It will be even stronger. Though it will be slightly heavier,” the man said, as he dipped the metal into a bucket of water, watching it sizzle, the heat dying its hissing throes of death in the cold water.
“And when will it be ready?” Skald asked.
“It will be ready on the morrow,” the man said.
“Very well, I will return then,” Skald said, turning on his heel.
Skald walked past the men who were training, and stopped only when he heard his name called from across the yard.
“You’re a daft bastard, Skald,” a man called, causing Skald to turn his head.
Campbell Sutherland marched towards him, his face hard.
“I’ve killed men for less,” Skald said, eying the man.
“Aye, I’d not doubt it,” Campbell said, stopping in front of Skald. “Fraser Mackenzie will kill ye,” Campbell said to Skald.
“Possibly, but maybe not,” Skald said.
“If ye think he’s afeared of killing ye, you’re wrong. He must do it to show his strength to his men,” Campbell said.
“I know this,” Skald said, impatiently.
“Well then, if ye so willing to die, then let me take the viking girl and look after her in your absence,” Campbell said, leaning forwards into Skald’s space.
Skald stopped himself before answering, ensuring that his voice would be calm and measured, showing no hint of emotion, as he tilted his chin up “What makes you think she’d want you to look after her?” He asked.
“Frankly, I dinna care if she’d want it or not,” Campbell laughed, the sour smell of beer on his breath.
“If she wants you, then take her, I do not care,” Skald said, as he turned on his heels, heading back to the castle.
Freya
The last day had been almost peaceful with Skald. He hadn’t been discussing so much war strategy with the Sutherland brothers, but had instead chosen to spend his time with her.
“I would like you to spend some time in the kitchen with Housemaid Agnes, tonight,” Skald said.
“Why?” Freya asked, incredulously.
“I have some small business to take care of. If I’m not back, then go to our room and wait for me,” Skald said.
“Tell me what it is,” Freya said, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
“It is some personal business. I will tell you after I have undertaken it. The Mackenzies are coming tomorrow, you know. Jack will be here from then on, to keep a look out for you,” Skald said, his eyes searching the room.
“I don’t want you to go,” Freya said.
“It is necessary,” Skald said, smiling to her.
“Will you go with Agnes, for me?” Skald asked.
“Yes,” Freya said, almost feeling annoyed at her subservience to Skald.
Skald
Everything had to go perfectly. If it didn’t then someone would die, and it would probably be himself, Skald thought. He had been paying attention to the guards movements the past days, and although they were on a higher alert than usual, they knew it was unlikely that an attack would happen in the coming days, and so they were not focussed on their watches, but stood around fires, joking and laughing.
Skald watched Campbell at dinner that night, drinking wine like it was water, cursing and insulting the men and women with whom he sat. Skald gripped the eating knife in his hand, causing his knuckles to go white, as he watched Campbell.
He knew that after dinner, Campbell would seek out a woman
to take back to his room, if he was not too drunk. If he was too drunk, then he would simply go to sleep. Tonight, it was the latter. Campbell stumbled up the stairs, cursing to himself as he bumped into the walls on his way to his chambers.
This was more easier than Skald had planned. As the man stepped into his chambers, Skald crept behind him like a creature of the night, and slipped his arm around the drunk man’s neck. He pulled tight, cutting off the Campbell’s airflow, causing a gurgling noise to erupt from his mouth, as he slapped at Skald’s arms.
After a brief struggle, the man was unconscious. Skald knew that the yard outside Campbell’s window was often unattended during the nights, and tonight was no different. He dragged the unconscious body to the edge of the window, contemplating his next move for a brief moment, before pushing it to the distant ground below.
A loud, dull, thud sounded upon impact. Campbell would no longer be alive, and if he was, he would not be alive for much longer.
Skald knew that Freya would have been in bed for hours, since he had waited so long for Campbell to finish drinking. He unlocked their chamber door, and entered to find Freya deep asleep. He looked at her, considering the act he had just committed, for her. Two family members of two rival clans had died at his hands, for her. He would slaughter every one of them if it meant keeping Freya safe, no matter the friendly treatment they had received.
Freya
Freya awoke to an empty bed, as usual. Skald was an early riser and always seemed to have somewhere else to be in the mornings. She could hear commotion from down below, the noise travelled through her window and caused her to jump and run to her window.
A body was being carried through the yard, with a tartan rug covering the person’s identity. A sick feeling rose in Freya’s stomach. She hadn’t seen Skald since dinner the night before, when she had gone to help Agnes in the kitchen.
She raced out of the room and down the stairs, where she met with the concerned party that was carrying the lifeless body.
“He’s still breathing,” One man said, as they lay the body on a table, clearing all the cups and knives onto the floor, causing a loud clattering sound.
Sweat perspired on Freya’s brow as she fought with her heart in an attempt to calm it. Please be anyone but Skald, she thought, her stomach tying itself in knots.
A man pulled back the tartan kilt that had covered the lifeless body’s identity, revealing Campbell Sutherland. An audible sigh of relief left her lips, earning a disapproving look from a man standing nearby, but he did not say a word.
“What happened?” Freya asked.
“It appears he may have fallen from his window, after drinking too much wine last night,” one of the men said.
Campbell’s chest rose and fell lightly, as men about him argued the best course of action, that was, until Logan Sutherland walked into the room.
“What’s going on here?” He boomed, as he walked towards the table.
The glare on his face was immediately replaced by a wide-eyed look of worry, when he saw his older brother laying unconscious on the table. Men began to talk over one another again, in an attempt to tell Logan what had happened.
“Silence,” he roared.
“Jamie,” Logan turned to a young man, “what happened here?”
“We found him below his window, laird, we believe he fell last night after drinking too much,” The young man named Jamie wiped sweat from his brow, as he addressed his laird.
Logan scanned the room, his eyes landing on Freya, for more than a moment, his calculating look dissected the expression on her face, before he continued to scan the rest of the room. Freya knew that Logan wouldn’t be so easily persuaded by what the men had told themselves was true.
“Send for the healers,” Logan ordered to the young man, as he turned and walked out of the room.
Freya walked out into the yard, desperate for fresh air after the events of the morning. She couldn’t help but admit to herself that it was probably for the best that this man was unwell. He had proven to be no more than a troublesome interference since her arrival in the castle. Although he was a fair enough man when he was sober, his drunken behaviour was a different story.
A hand on Freya’s shoulder caused her to jump, and relief washed over her as Skald’s voice filled her ears.
“You’ve seen the commotion?” Skald asked.
“I have,” Freya said, turning to face him.
She noticed dark bags under his eyes, his face in a deeper scowl than what was normal.
“Are you ok?” Freya asked.
“Never better,” Skald said, looking to the chapel before continuing, “We have no vikings here to bear witness to our marriage, so we will do a christian marriage, now,” Skald said.
“What?” Freya gasped, shocked at the information.
“Ivar and Isla will be here soon. They will not harm you if you are my wife, but I cannot guarantee your safety if you are still Freya the Goddess of Death,” Skald said.
“I think I will take my chances,” Freya said, annoyed at Skald’s sudden insistence of marriage.
“No. We must marry, I have witnesses in the chapel,” Skald said.
“You have-” Freya began, before Skald grabbed her hand and started dragging her towards the chapel.
“But who will witness-” Freya began, before she saw the blacksmith standing in the doorway to the chapel, with Miss Agnes by his side.
“I figured you’d like a friend with you, and who better than the blacksmith’s wife,” Skald smiled.
“The blacksmith is your husband?” Freya asked Miss Agnes, surprised at the new information.
“Aye lass, tis a small community and such things are no uncommon. I didn’t mind settling with Gary,” Miss Agnes said, earning a nudge from the blacksmith.
“Agree,” Skald said.
“What?” Freya asked.
“I cannot allow myself to take you as my wife unless I know you want it,” Skald said, squeezing her hands as he looked into her eyes.
“Men don’t usually care what a woman wants,” Freya mumbled.
“I’m not a usual man,” Skald clipped.
“Well, I do, but this is so sudden,” Freya said.
“That is all I needed to hear,” Skald said, as he dragged Freya into the small chapel.
“You don’t need to drag me around like a barbarian,” Freya huffed, though smiling at the same time.
“Haven’t you spent any time in England? We are barbarians,” Skald smiled to her, as he walked her to the altar of the small chapel.
An old man stood in a dusty brown robe, with a thick rope tied around his waist. He told Freya that he was Welsh and that Welsh don’t take christianity as serious as the English, and that an English priest would never allow to barbarians to marry without first being baptised, but that he believed anyone who wished to profess their love in front of god should be allowed to do so.
He was a charismatic old man, who used hand gestures more than he did words, while he professed his loyalty to his god, in this life and the next, and then went on to introduce Skald and Freya to this god.
“O’ Lord, I present to you two young lovers, Skald and Freya. They have come to me with the wish to be wed by me in one of your sacred churches, O’ Lord Jesus Christ,” he said.
Freya tightened her hand around Skald’s, nervous that her actions would anger their own gods, or would it simply amuse them, she thought, for Loki, the trickster god would surely find this a bit of fun.
Miss Agnes stood behind them, in the front row of the chapel, wiping tears from her eyes; her husband’s arm around her back, affectionately rubbing her shoulder. Freya couldn’t believe that she hadn’t ever asked Miss Agnes about her love life. She simply assumed that the woman lived and breathed her work in the castle, but instead she had a whole other life outside of the castle duties that involved another human being.
Tears pricked at Freya’s eyes, as she listened to the priest speaking, and she looked to Skald,
who she could tell was fighting to hide a smile.
“Don’t fight it,” Freya said, smiling as happy tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Stop crying,” Skald whispered, as his lips began to win the tug of war on his face, arching upwards, revealing the most gorgeous smile Freya had ever seen in her life.
She looked into his eyes, and saw no coldness, but only kindness, warmth, and protection. She noticed pools of tears forming on his bottom eyelids, threatening to drop down his own cheeks. Freya giggled, stepping forward, wiping at his eyes with her sleeve, causing him to laugh.