He saw a shadow standing down at the water. It wasn’t even a river, just a small stream that leapt down from the dark cliffs, bending around grey rocks. He ventured a bit closer and stopped in the protection of the trees.
It was her, tall and graceful in the glowing moonlight against the snow. She stood there, her pale face turned to the skies with her eyes closed letting the lacy snowflakes brush her cheeks. Her hair fell down her back. It was covered with sparkling snowflakes and there was no other word for her but goddess.
She was alone in the woods. He was a healthy man with natural drives and desires. He could try for her here and now and most likely die for his mistake. But it wasn’t only simple death he feared. There was something more about her, something beyond this world and this life, and what she might do to him could be far worse than death. He wanted her as he had never wanted any woman, but at what cost?
“Why don’t you show yourself, warrior? Do we have a further business, you and I?” her voice was calm and unreadable.
She had felt his presence, seen it in his eyes in the camp that he would follow. His intentions had been unclear then, as unclear as they were now. He had not charged her boldly and that was good. But she held her dagger firmly, always prepared to protect herself in a world of men of war.
She watched him with guarded interest as he approached, stepping over rocks and stones in the whisps of light. She had known him from the first moment she saw him on the training field. She still remembered the kiss they had shared so long ago, almost as if it were from a different lifetime. He was a man now, a true warrior who was brave enough to give her a bit of a fight. Whether it was from a sense of courage or pride on his part, she admired that. And if she had lived a dozen lifetimes, she would have recognized those blue eyes of his and their mischief.
He nearly lost his balance as rocks gave way under his feet, but he recovered with natural agility. “Your pardon, Commander. It was not my intention...” For a moment he appeared to lose the power of speech.
She turned back to the water to hide her smile over his discomfort. “So, you are saying your being here in this place is a random coincidence, then? You didn’t follow me?”
“Well, follow is maybe not the best word.”
“I see.” She gave him a long sideward glance. “What is your name, warrior?”
“Erik. My name is Erik. You really don’t remember me at all?”
“Should I?”
She felt a bit guilty for playing with him this way, but if he was used to having every woman throw herself at his feet, as she suspected was true, she was going to make it very plain to him that she was not every woman. She started to walk away.
“I have never forgotten, my lady. As hard as I have tried with blood and mead and distance, that night so long ago still rules me. Whether or not either of us likes it, you own my dreams.”
She turned to him. “And is that a possession I should want?”
Unable to resist any longer, she walked over to him and went up on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to his lips. It was an experiment to see if her memories were correct, or if she had been simply young and impressionable. She needed to know.
It was not a kiss of hollow lust but one of a deeper need, a quiet yearning for passion beyond a single night of wild desire and it said far more than she wished to tell him. She drew back before he had time to react, leaving him with an expression of emptiness and confusion on his handsome face. Her sense of pride and leadership returned. She couldn’t give him the advantage of letting him see the sadness that dwelled in her heart.
“So, tell me, warrior, am I the woman you remember?”
“Yes.”
Undaunted by her cold demeanour of authority, he risked her wrath and strode forward, wrapping his arms swiftly and firmly around her, pressing her tightly against his tall, strong body so there could be no question of his wanting her. He had risked his life for her kiss before. He saw no reason not to risk it again now that he had a second chance at long last. As before, he had no choice. He had to do this. With so much at stake, there was no time for hesitation or polite restraint.
For Fljótdís, his kiss was like the river in flood, an all-engulfing torrent that swept away all thought of resistance. She was rushing downstream toward the open sea as the scent of him surrounded her, leather, wood smoke, mead and the exertions of a warrior, a worthy man.
For the span of a heartbeat, she let herself relax in his strong embrace, let him hold her and support her reassuringly against him. She needed it so badly and she shivered from head to toe as the impact hit her like a bolt from Thor himself.
This revelation set fire to the darkness inside her heart and she reacted instinctively, tangling her fingers in his hair to keep his lips close to hers and he chanced a second, even more delving kiss. She rose to his call, giving of herself freely and fully.
He whispered against her ear. “Now, do you remember me, Fljótdís?”
Something snapped inside her mind and she drew back, wrenching free of his arms. He had called her by her name. She loved the sound of it on his lips, but it was a break in protocol, a breach of respect. This was all happening too quickly and it put her mind into turmoil as the two halves of who she was battled each other. She could not allow this, couldn’t let him have so much power over her. It was surrender and she would not surrender to any man, not on the battlefield or in her heart. It was a solemn pledge she had made long ago and it could not be broken.
She wrapped her cape around herself for protection against her own feelings and took on a posture of command. “Enough. Go! Leave me!”
He reacted with shock and uncertainty. “But...”
Her words rang off the trees. “I said go! Get back to camp. That’s an order, warrior! Get out of my sight!”
He made no move to leave but crossed his arms in stubborn determination. “And if I refuse your command?”
Her hand came to rest firmly on her dagger. “Then you will not live to see the dawn. I think you know better than to doubt my words.”
Still, he didn’t move. “It seems a small price to pay, one I was willing to pay before, remember?”
She drew her dagger from her belt menacingly. “You forget who you are, warrior.”
His smile held a sadness that seemed to cross the ages. “Perhaps it is you who forget, my lady.” He nodded his respect and turned away, leaving her standing with her dagger in her hand and emptiness in her eyes.
She watched him disappear into the night, telling herself she needed to be sure he was truly gone. But in fact, she wanted to see every last second of him. She thrust her dagger back into her belt, furious with herself for her own weakness and vulnerability. A part of her was desperate to run after him and throw herself into his arms, to lose herself in just one night of tenderness and sanctuary. She deserved it.
And if she was honest with herself, she needed it badly. But it was impossible and she had to avoid this man in every possible way or all would be lost to her. She couldn’t lose all that she had worked so hard to achieve over a man who would discard or even possibly betray her, despite the persuasiveness of his ways right now. Her heart had to be as disciplined as the rest of her body.
She looked up at the icy and distant stars and whispered against the darkness. “Goddess Freyja, don’t do this to me. I am your warrior and that will never change. But I beg of you, do not let my heart love. Do not let it love.”
When she returned to the camp hours later, it was very quiet. She saw Erik, but he was asleep with his back to her and the fire had gone out. She could only hope the fires burning in her heart would go cold as easily. With a sense of genuine shock, she realized that she was silently calling to him to turn to her. She so wanted to see those eyes of his, those eyes that at once sent her heart soaring and threatened to dash it at the bottom of a jagged cliff.
He did not turn to her and she retreated toward her tent with a mixture of resigned relief and crushing disappointment. A new morning was
ready to be born in the east and with the light of day, she would be the Commander again, in charge of every man in this camp with no exceptions. No man was of any greater or lesser value than another now.
On the battlefield, they were all equals. It was up to the gods to decide if any of them was more worthy of victory, more worthy of Valhalla. For now, they were her army, her brothers in war, and there was no room for weakness or sentiment. It was time to prepare her mind for what was to come.
When he was certain she had gone, Erik turned over and kept a silent watch toward her tent, guarding her safety from a distance whether she wanted it or not. There was no hope of sleep for him tonight anyway.
Fljótdís emerged from her tent in her chainmail and fully armed. She surveyed the storm of activity as everyone rushed to prepare for battle. They had to be ready quickly. She found Ulrik and Helgi barking orders in the middle of the camp.
“How far away are they, Helgi?” She shouted a string of commands to a group of warriors nearby.
Helgi scratched his red beard. “Their camp is on the other side of the forest.”
Her eyes locked with Erik’s coldly for only an instant as he came and stood next to Helgi.
“Ulrik, make sure all is in readiness. I want to see what we’re up against. Helgi, let’s go.” She secured her cape and double checked her weapons.
Helgi nodded eagerly. “With pleasure.”
She gave Erik a long look that revealed nothing to him but her lack of feeling toward him as she gave him his orders. “Go find Hakon. Get him to drag the King out of his tent and prepare for the battle. I don’t care how hungover he is or how much he protests, he must be our King. Do you understand?”
Erik nodded, his eyes trained elsewhere. “I understand all too well, Commander.” He left on his mission.
Helgi raised one eyebrow in speculation. Fljótdís gave him a dark look as they rode out of the camp.
“What happened yesterday?” Helgi asked as the horses picked their way through the dense forest.
She frowned, concentrating on the path before her. “What do you mean?”
Helgi leaned back and gave her a sage look. “You know very well what I mean. Erik returned to the camp last night looking like a whipped dog.”
She didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to concentrate on what was important now, war. War was all that mattered to her. She was ready to bring Hel down on King Torvaldson’s head. It was the only thing that was going to bring order back into her life. She understood war. It made sense to her. She was good at it. And if it cleared her heart of all this chaos, then all the better.
“If he looked whipped, then he probably deserved a beating. He is of no concern to me other than the fact that if he fails to follow my orders, a beating will be as a warm summer breeze compared to what awaits him.”
Helgi noted that her reaction to his questions was stronger than necessary. “Alright, then, have it your way. But if there’s something between the two of you, things might go better if I know about it.”
She stopped her horse. “There’s nothing to know about, Helgi. Do you understand me? Nothing. We have no time for this!”
He stopped his horse beside hers and shifted his weight in the saddle in an unsettled mood. It was a difficult discussion for him and he chose his words with care.
“We have fought all these years together, you and I. You have given all of yourself to wars and raids. You have protected the King with your every breath. Isn’t it time for a little happiness? I know you don’t want to hear this, but don’t you deserve to be a woman sometimes as well as a Commander?”
She felt wounded, deeply wounded. She wanted to hate him for what he had said, but a part of her knew he was right. “Everything and everyone I have ever loved is dead, Helgi. I have no love left in me. There is no room for being a woman as you call it. I want no part of it. I have only my duty. That is all that matters to me, understand? My only love is this.”
She patted the scabbard of her sword, indicating to him that the matter was now closed and urged her horse forward at a reckless pace. He watched her with a mixture of admiration and brotherly concern as he spurred his horse to catch up to her.
They reached the edge of the wood and hid themselves, approaching with great caution. On the other side of a large glade was a great deal of activity. There were scores of tents and a great many warriors, all preparing for the imminent battle. She felt a little shiver when she saw the true size of Torvaldson’s army. She didn’t fear for herself, but the cost to her men could be enormous if the attack was carried out in conventional ways.
She tapped Helgi on the shoulder and pointed to the layout of Torvaldson’s camp. There were dense trees on three sides. This could provide an advantage for her army if the circumstances were right. Torvaldson was hardly a genius at the battle. Fortunately, she was. Perhaps this time the gods would be on their side.
“What do you think?” Helgi asked in a whisper, understanding the revelation she was showing him.
She inclined her head toward their horses and they rushed back in the direction of their camp. They rode at break-neck speed and it brought back memories in her mind, memories of how she had ridden through the night so long ago, hoping to warn King Harald about Earl Ulfson’s attack.
That event, that battle had led her to the place where she was now. It had given her her chance to command the King’s army and a chance to win in battle. She had achieved a lot since that battle. Her only hope now was that her father and Ari were proud of her and that they still watched her from Valhalla.
When they arrived, they found everyone armed and ready, everyone except Harald. She was furious. She jumped off her horse and confronted Erik who stood in front of the King’s tent. She wanted to knock him to the ground. The whole camp saw her anger and things went very quiet.
“You have disobeyed my orders, warrior!”
Erik straightened, steeling himself in case she was about to come at him. “I fetched Hakon as you ordered, but he gave up. The King refuses to come out, Commander.”
“I’ll deal with your worthlessness later, warrior!” With an angry snarl of frustration, she shoved Erik out of the way roughly and entered the tent.
Erik gave Helgi a questioning look. “Was I supposed to drag him out here by the balls? He’s the King.”
Helgi shrugged and patted Erik on the shoulder companionably. “She would have preferred it if you had. Fljótdís will handle this. But if I were you, I’d make myself scarce for a little while till she cools down. Be ready for battle, Erik. And I don’t just mean the one on the far side of the woods.”
Helgi went to see to the final preparations and Erik gave a long look at the door to the King’s tent. He felt like he should go in there and somehow make it up to her, to see if he could be of assistance. But he wasn’t that big a fool. Helgi was right. He would be smarter to stay out of her way right now.
He had failed her in more ways than he even understood and she was not the forgiving type. She had been so warm and gentle for those few moments in his arms last night. Whatever spell she had been under beneath that snowy moon, the spell was now broken into a million pieces. The question was whether he would ever have a chance to try to put those pieces back together before she split his skull with her sword.
Fljótdís found the King inside, not dressed in his armour but sprawled across his furs in his nightclothes. He yawned lazily and gave her a foolish, spoiled pout.
“Do I really have to go, Fljótdís? I really don’t feel like it.”
She planted her fists on her hips in disgust. “Do you really have to go? Of course, you have to go, gods’ dammit! You are the King and those warriors out there expect you to act like one. They expect you to get up off your arse and lead them. They are willing to die for you and you cannot be so disrespectful of their loyalty. Have you forgotten that we are at war?”
Harald raised his hands as a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright, just don’t scream at me.
Head aches.”
Fljótdís came closer, knowing that despite her anger, she had to take a different approach. She could only hope she could get him to focus long enough to understand the importance of this day.
“My King, look at it this way. If we win this war, we can unite both kingdoms into one. Your power will be enormous. But for this you need to rise up again. Where is that man I used to know? Where is that man I fought side by side with when our town was attacked? Where is that great leader? Why don’t I see him now?”
Harald tried to pull himself together, but that was a fight every bit as fierce and exhausting as the real one that was about to take place. It had been too long since he had been sober and mindful of his title and station. Worse still, it had left him beyond caring. He squinted at Fljótdís, in pain from the light and the effort to put his thoughts in order.
She brought his armour and set it beside him in the furs reverently. “The choice is yours, my King. Either you ride onto the battlefield and impress the gods again, taking your destiny and your kingdom into your own hands, or you stay here and drink mead while we fight for your greatness and your honour in your place. But a word of caution, my lord. If you do not fight beside us, if you desert us in this, you would be wise to drink yourself to death this day for to your army and to me, you will be as good as dead.”
She left the King with his mouth hanging open and gathered her most loyal warriors, including Helgi and Ulrik, and brought them all to her tent. She gave Hakon a withering look for failing with the King every bit as much as Erik had and he muttered a clumsy apology.
It was time to explain their new tactics. She couldn’t worry about the King anymore. He was out of the picture. She had to take charge. Whether the King cared or not, they were at war and the lives of this army hung on her ability to deliver victory, not just for the King, but for this brave band of men. More than merely saving their lives, she would give them glory.
There was a disturbance and Fljótdís rushed out, concerned that they might have somehow miscalculated Torvaldson’s tactics. Just outside her tent, two men were on their knees, their hands tied, their heads bowed. Behind them, stood Erik with his sword drawn.
Fljótdís- Daughter of the North Page 14