Seduction of the Bear (Bear Kamp Book 1)

by Rachel Robins

  Her father had raised her better than to go down without a fight.

  The raider leered at her and pulled out a mighty broadsword, and Frida gulped. Her seax, although its blade was about as long as her forearm, was no match for a sword like that. She took a couple steps back, feeling foolish. She knew she should put her seax back away, but that would leave her staring down a naked blade with nothing between it and her flesh. She didn't think the raider would still attack her, but…

  “Oi, Finnr,” a raider said, appearing in the doorway. “Agnarr wants everyone gathered in the Great Hall. We will sail out tonight.” The raider's eyes skimmed Frida with amusement. “Bring the peasant-boy. He looks a little scrawny, but perhaps he can scrub the blood off our shoes.”

  Frida took the opportunity to meekly sheath her seax. Then, she slowly unhooked it from her belt and handed the weapon over to her captor, who accepted it with merely another lopsided grin. Then, he deftly bound her hands with a length of rough rope.

  Out in the courtyard, things were still eerily calm. Most of the fighting, Frida surmised, must have taken place up on the walls. She could see other men from around the fortress being dragged towards the Great Hall. A couple of them looked at her with a hint of surprise, but no one blew her cover.

  Frida had never been inside the Great Hall before; it was the domain of only men. The long building was dimly-lit inside, but she could still make out rich carvings twining up the pillars and along the ceiling beams. The floor was earthen, but the years had packed it flat and even. There was a long table that usually ran the length of the hall, where the men would sit and discuss justice and the future of their fortress, but it was now thrown on its side, near one set of columns that supported the hall's roof.

  At the far end of the hall, in the king's throne, sat one of the raiders.

  The man looked more beast than man, with his golden hair sticking out in a tangled mane around his face, which had been painted white and red for battle. Even sitting, Frida could tell that he was a predator, ready to leap from his chair at a moment's notice. His eyes surveyed the hall, watching the proceedings. But as she and her captor entered, those eyes came to rest solely on her.

  The war-king, Agnarr, rose smoothly and trod down the hall towards them. Frida's captor, Finnr, pushed her forwards. “My lord,” the man said, inclining his head a little.

  “Oh Finnr,” Agnarr said, his voice a deep rumble in his chest. “What a lovely gift you've brought me.” He began to pace around Frida, eyeing her from all angles. “In the prime of his life, but still young enough that I will one day have him swearing allegiance to myself and our clan...” When he grinned at Frida, she saw that the man's teeth had been filed to sharp points, and she couldn't help but shudder with revulsion. That only made the man's grin widen.

  A pale ghost of a man appeared behind Agnarr. He was dressed in the dark, full-length robes of a priest, and his face bore no makeup unlike the rest of the marauders. He stared at Frida with his deep, emerald-bright eyes. For a moment, it felt to Frida as though the man was looking into her very soul. But she had never fully believed in the ancient religions, and she had a feeling this man pretended to have more supernatural skill than he really could lay claim to. She sneered at him; he looked momentarily amused before his own look faded back to neutral.

  “Agnarr,” the newcomer said, turning to the war-king, “I must again insist that we return to the boats at once. There is a mighty storm coming in from the east, and it would do well for us to be far from here before the storm breaks. I am talented as you know, but I am no match for the gods themselves.”

  Agnarr gave the man a look. “Daegal, be careful that you don't overstep the authority that I grant to you,” he warned the priest. “We will leave this shore when I am ready for us to leave—and not a moment sooner.” He turned back to Finnr. “I would like there to be a feast prepared, with everything we can salvage from their dingy, rat-infested larder.” He looked around at his men and called out, “Tonight is a night for wenching and celebration!”

  A cry rose up amongst the raiders, and Frida found herself thrust to one side along with the rest of the able-bodied men of Daelfjord. As they huddled silently beneath one of the vast pillars, Frida glanced towards the priest, Daegal, and found that the man's eyes were still upon her. Her face twisted a little and she very deliberately spat to one side.

  Chapter 2

  Midway through the feasting, it began to rain outside, hard enough that the noise was clearly audible in the hall. There was a loud burst of thunder just outside, and Agnarr clapped Daegal on the back, saying something in the priest's ear. Frida watched covertly from her spot in the corner and saw how the edges of Daegal's mouth turned down into a frown.

  She was surprised a little while later when the priest came and crouched next to her on the floor. “What's your name?” he asked.

  “Fridrik,” Frida lied.

  Daegal nodded, his eyes fixed on the festivities. It was one of the few times all night that his gaze hadn't been directed consideringly towards Frida. “You'll need to be careful once we're on the boats,” he told her in an undertone. He glanced towards the other townspeople, who had moved a little ways away from Frida, clearly not wanting to be implicated in her scheme.

  “How do you mean?” Frida asked slowly.

  Daegal gave her a look. “I've never seen a man with such narrow shoulders before,” he commented. He held up a hand to stave off Frida's protest. “And even beyond your physical characteristics, your aura marks you very obviously as a female.” He looked around the hall. “No one else in this group has the eyes to see that. But when we return to Groenthjal, you will be found out. If you aren't already...”

  Frida eyed the priest for a moment, wondering why he hadn't already ratted her out to Agnarr. “Why will I need to be careful once we're on the boats?” she asked finally. “I can pull my weight.”

  “It's not that,” Daegal said. “Not to be uncouth, but what do you plan to do when you need to relieve yourself?”

  Frida felt a sharp blush tinge her cheeks momentarily and looked away from the man. “I doubt they'll give us food or water,” she said, trying to sound haughty. “It won't be an issue.” Daegal only shrugged, and Frida scowled at him. “Well, what do you suggest I do?” Frida snapped.

  Daegal looked over at her, something strange in his eyes. “I suggest you tell Agnarr the truth of who you are,” he said solemnly.

  “I know what you barbarians do with women,” Frida said bitterly. “I won't stand for that.”

  The priest smiled crookedly at her. “I didn't mean you should tell him tonight,” he said. “But Agnarr is a reasonable man. He isn't going to throw you overboard when you tell him.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Frida asked suspiciously. “Why haven't you already told Agnarr that I'm not who he thinks I am?”

  The priest smiled mysteriously at her and held out a bit of bread. “We will see much of each other during this journey, Fridrik.” He stood gracefully and slipped back over towards the raiders, as though nothing had happened.

  Frida blinked after him, wondering how the man had known her name. Then, she looked down at the roll in her hands. Although hunger had been gnawing at her stomach for hours now, she looked over at the rest of the townspeople. Alvar was sat closest to her, and she knew that of all people, he needed this bread more than she did.

  She whistled softly under her breath to get his attention and then tossed the roll towards the gaunt and sickly man. Of all the townspeople, he probably was the least able-bodied of them all, so she wasn't sure why he had been brought into the hall with them. He would probably die within the first couple days out on the seas. But then again, she wasn't truly meant to be there either.

  Alvar caught the roll in both his hands and looked uncertainly between it and her. Then he quickly wolfed it down.

  Frida nodded at him and looked back out towards the feasting marauders.

  It was two days before the r
ains abated and they were able to make their way down to the shoreline. During that time, Frida remained huddled back in the corner of the Great Hall, avoiding notice as much as she could. Although Daegal caught her eye a few times and she could feel his gaze on her at other times, he didn't approach her again.

  Frida was disgusted with the marauders, but she was more disgusted with the women from her clan who lined up to bend themselves over for the high-ranking raiders. She knew it was mostly done out of self-preservation, but she couldn't help feeling…

  She shook her head and fingered the end of her short hair, sending a silent prayer to gods she didn't really believe in to keep her safe and disguised at least until they were far enough away from shore that Agnarr wouldn't throw her overboard or worse.

  When the raiders finally came to the men of the town, pulling them to their feet, Frida realized the delay had been deliberate on the war-king's part. Lacking sustenance over the past couple days, only a handful of the men were able to make it to their feet. Frida found herself grateful for that: it meant that Daelfjord might yet survive, although with a depletion of their youngest and strongest men. Still, the older men would be able to bring in the harvest and the townspeople together would be able to begin to rebuild. Frida had hope for them.

  But for herself, it was down to the shore and onto the boats, which bobbed unsteadily in the shallow water. Frida waded out behind Finnr, who still clutched the rope that bound her now-swollen wrists. She shivered a little in the autumn waters and surreptitiously tried to dunk her wrists in the water, hoping that the swelling might go down a little and allow her to free her hands.

  It was a needless exercise: as soon as they were on the longboats and had pushed away from shore, Finnr looked over at Frida and cut her wrists free. “Help us row,” he ordered her.

  Frida took an oar in unskilled hands and hesitantly pulled it through the water. The raider growled at her. “Not like that,” he said, moving to sit next to her and roughly guiding her hands on the oar. Frida could feel the rough wood already cutting blisters into her palms, but she knew better than to protest. Fortunately, before she had even managed a couple strokes, Daegal appeared alongside their bench.

  “Agnarr requests that one of the new slaves assist him,” the priest said, looking beyond Frida, at a point just over Finnr's shoulder.

  Finnr narrowed his eyes. “Ask one of the others,” he snapped. “Don't you see that I already have assigned my slave a task?”

  Daegal's eyes focused on the other man finally. “Agnarr specifically requested Fridrik's presence,” the man said, giving a small shrug. “If you wish to protest, you'll need to take it up directly with him.”

  Finnr's mouth tightened into a thin line. “Very well,” he said. Although he was clearly still unhappy, he knew as well as anyone that the last thing he wanted to do was challenge his war-king on something so trivial.

  Frida stood slowly and followed Daegal silently up the benches of rowers and down into the underbelly of the boat. “Why did Agnarr request me?” she asked quietly. Had the war-king already found out her secret? She knew Daegal said everything would be okay if she revealed her secret once they were on the boats, but she couldn't help wondering if that would really be the case. As the only female there amongst these barbarians, having seen their behavior over the past few days… She shuddered a little to even think about it.

  “He didn't request your present,” Daegal said, turning to face the woman. “He didn't request the assistance of any slave. But he did retire to his private chambers for the rest of the journey.” He gave Frida an unreadable look and then reached down to touch her wrists. “Those look painful.”

  Frida pulled her hands away, not sure what it was about the man's touch that made her feel so uncomfortable. It wasn't unpleasant, per se, but she felt as though… She shook her head. “They'll be fine,” she said, even though now that she was thinking of them, she was aware how much the cuts really stung.

  Daegal tsked softly and pulled a small jar from the depths of his robes, setting it down on the edge of a nearby shelf and uncapping it. Slowly, he began to rub cream into the welts. “What's your real name?” he asked her as he worked on the mangled skin. “Fridrik is a man's name.”

  Frida rolled her eyes. “What is it to you?” she asked. But she didn't draw her wrists away; the ointment was soothing, and she could smell that it was rich with tuleyran, which would keep the welts from scarring.

  Daegal glanced up at her and shrugged. “Finnr will be bored of you soon enough, and I imagine then you and I will be spending quite a bit of time together.”

  “Oh?” Frida asked archly. “Is that what the priests do where you're from, take the slaves the others have grown weary of? I suppose that's how you keep from having your own slaves whilst still refraining from doing any physical work.”

  Daegal gave her a strange look and tilted his head to the side, as though he was trying to understand her. But he didn't respond to that comment. Instead, he did one final inspection of her wrists. “I'd bandage these if I could, but Finnr would notice easily.” After a brief pause, he released Frida's hands, and she found that for some reason, she ached at the loss of his touch. Of course, it was undoubtedly only because he was the only person to be nice to her in days.

  She squared her shoulders. “What am I to do now, if I'm not meant to be helping Agnarr?” she asked the priest.

  Daegal shrugged and gestured around the area below deck. “I'd suggest you keep out of the way as much as you can,” he said. “It won't take us more than a day to reach Groenthjal.”

  “Won't Finnr come looking for me?” Frida asked worriedly. She expected the man could become unpleasant if he found her skulking around in the underbelly of the ship rather than helping out with any of the work.

  Daegal shrugged again. “They don't really expect you to behave,” he told her. “You haven't been formally pronounced a slave yet, and they expect you to continue acting like a free man until then.” He emphasized the word 'man' and Frida grimaced.

  “I just can't tell them,” she told the priest, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. “You saw them with the women in the hall. I don't want...” She swallowed hard, unable to put words to it.

  Something flickered across Daegal's expression, and he reached up a warm hand to cup Frida's cheek. “Either way, I will make sure no harm comes to you,” he told her, his voice soft. He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her sharp cheekbone for a moment and then suddenly flinched back as though he'd been burnt.

  Frida stared at him in silence for a long moment. She wanted to ask why he was so bent on protecting her. She wanted to ask why he hadn't turned her in to Agnarr already. And she wanted to ask what he would do with her if she were his slave. But at the moment, she knew that she needed him on her side, and she wasn't sure how he would react to her questions. So she remained silent. As the priest retreated upstairs, she surveyed her options in the ship's hold and found a shadowy corner to hide in during the journey.

  Chapter 3

  Groenthjal, when they arrived there, was smaller than Frida had expected. She had imagined it to be a fortress like Daelfjord, but larger and more ostentatious. She'd expected the clan to flaunt the wealth that they'd made raiding other settlements. And she'd expected the place to be filled with hardened barbarians whose slaves did all the work around the fortress. Otherwise, how could the place field such a frightening force on the seas?

  But instead of anything she'd ever imagined, Groenthjal appeared to be nothing more than a quiet farming settlement. They had a Great Hall, but there were no walls surrounding the village, which was just a small cluster of houses scattered around the Great Hall. There were a few children playing in the dirt off to one side, and as the raiders strode up from the sea, one of the kids ran pell-mell towards them and flung himself into Agnarr's arms. To Frida's surprise, the war-king caught the boy and spun him around in the air before settling him down on his hip.

  Frida watched the scene unf
old uneasily, not wanting to humanize these people who were her captors. She wanted to remember them the way that they'd been in battle, or in those first few nights in Daelfjord. She wanted to feel only anger so that she would eventually be able to best them, to leave and go back to her life, or to maybe send some of them to the grave.

  “You'll want to get yourself placed with Reidun, Agnarr's wife,” Daegal said under his breath, and Frida jolted a little, not having realized that the man had fallen into step beside her. “That is, once you admit to Agnarr that you're a woman. Which you're not going to have a choice about soon.”

  Frida swallowed hard. “He'll kill me,” she said. “Or if he won't, Finnr will.” She glanced towards the man, remembering the blow he had dealt to the side of her head when they'd found her down in the underbelly of the boat as they were unloading. He hadn't had a chance to do more than that, but she could tell that the man was massively displeased with her already, and she didn't doubt that there would be more punishment.

  “You'll be fine,” Daegal said. “Trust me. Just get yourself placed with Reidun. Finnr's daughters do all the work for his family, so he doesn't need you, and if he doesn't need you for work...”

  “Which one is Reidun?” Frida asked, her eyes scanning the women who were tumbling out of the houses to meet the returning marauders. But before Daegal had even answered the question, she spotted the woman making her way over to Agnarr's side, whom she assumed must be Reidun.

  Reidun was a proud-looking woman with long black hair pulled back in neat pleats and an aristocratic nose. She held herself loftily, her eyes as sharp as a hawk's. And as with Daegal when Frida had first entered the Great Hal, the woman's eyes quickly came to rest on Frida, as though she could sense something about the other woman that no one else could.