by Anthology
“Of course.”
“Then as your brother, I cannot bear the thought of saying our farewells in haste.”
Gustaf saw a trace of emotion welling in Jørgen’s eyes.
“I know I speak selfishly, but I am not willing to part ways with you, my lord. It would not feel right in my heart to step off this vessel and let you leave us behind like cargo of little importance…to watch you sail away without…” His voice broke under the strain of his emotions. “Reuniting with my family would not be the same if you were not there to share in my joy. I am only asking for you to spend a few days with us before you set sail for Inis Mór. Please, I beg you. Turn this langskip around and bring Æsa with us. At first light, tomorrow morn, we can sail for Skíringssalr together.”
Gustaf clasped Jørgen’s other shoulder, feeling his friend’s pain. “Speak no more, my brother,” he offered with a sympathetic smile. “I had not given thought to parting with you and what it would mean to sail without your company.” Gustaf extended his hand, gesturing toward his entire crew. “Without all of you at my side. My mind had wandered somewhere else, buried in a woman’s embrace, it seems. I am a man. Can you blame me?”
Hearty chuckles collected within the hull and it felt good to hear his men laugh.
“Does this mean you will accept my offer?” Jørgen asked, his face frozen with anticipation.
Gustaf’s heart skipped a beat as he thought of seeing his Æsa this day. “Lower the mast. We sail for Skúvoy.”
Chapter Two
Æsa stepped into the brisk afternoon air, the cool breeze meeting her face. She breathed in the fresh sea salt coming off the North Atlantic. Autumn had come and she knew winter would soon nip at its heels. With each passing day, she worried over the safety of her warrior lover, Gustaf, and spent many hours gazing out over the ocean for signs of his return.
Counting the days by the cycle of the moon, she determined he had been gone for over a month. It had been the longest stretch of time without his secure presence. From the moment he had left to save his family and bring vengeance on Gunnar Havlocksen, she’d been lost without him.
She recalled the short weeks she’d spent with Gustaf after he rescued her from the callous hands of Ragnar. He’d known the disgraceful life she’d lived, warming countless men’s beds in exchange for food or shelter. It was a life she’d not chosen willingly. She had been forced to that position at the age ten and four when her family had been slaughtered by Harold Fairhair’s command. Ripped from her homeland in Norway, she had been thrust into the slave market and bought because of her beauty and what she could provide with her blossoming body.
Gustaf had known all this, but still he took her in and showed her nothing but kindness. He’d treated her as an equal, asserting she’d never be a slave to any man again, including himself. Choosing of her own free will, she stayed with Gustaf and found more happiness than she’d ever dreamed. She’d found a haven in his arms.
Beneath his tender touch, Æsa had felt like a virgin. She quickly learned it was possible for a woman to enjoy the pleasures of lovemaking. To not fear the approach of a man’s naked body, but glory in its raw beauty.
By Gustaf’s noble actions and kind words, Æsa had learned what a real man was and that chivalry actually existed. He’d shown her a love she’d never known possible. He had instilled in her a sense of worth, a virtue no man had ever offered. He’d cared enough to see to her needs without expecting anything in return. Those simple deeds helped her to realize that not all men were vermin, spawn of Loki. When Gustaf spoke, she knew he meant every word.
So, when he’d promised to return for her, she held his vow close to her heart. She’d wait forever, if need be.
Only two fortnights into her wait, it already felt like forever. She couldn’t get used to Gustaf’s absence. One would think a woman who’d been forced to lie with innumerable men would welcome the emptiness of her bed. To be grateful for the reprieve of a man’s inexorable sexual desires before she closed her eyes to sleep. But since the first night she’d spent with Gustaf, she became accustomed to the delights of a man’s feral appetite. His craving for flesh upon flesh had grown to be hers, and every night that passed without his embrace left her feeling desolate and lonely.
She’d never felt these emotions before. Most times, as she’d lain listening to the snores of the men she serviced, she dreamed of slitting their throats with their own daggers. Or at the least, castrating them for all the despicable things they’d required of her. Oh, the number of ways she plotted their deaths a thousand times over.
But since Gustaf, that kind of hatred had left her. Only passion and joy filled her heart. Since then, a new emotion was added: the feeling of missing someone so great it hurt. To her, waiting for her beloved Gustaf was more painful than any hardship she’d endured from her past.
Many times, she prayed to both Thor and the All-father, Odin, to aid in his return, hoping that one morning she’d discover his langskip coming ashore on the distant banks of the Faroes. And each day, her pleas seemed to go unheard.
From her viewpoint, atop the lush green hill that sat below the mountain of Knúkur, she could see the grassy rooftops of the many houses below. Like her, the inhabitants of the isle had escaped the torments of Harold Fairhair and lived here in relative peace. No one bothered her as she dwelled in solitude, lest they face the wrath of Gustaf Ræliksen. She had come to learn that his reputation as a deadly swordsman was known far and wide and any man would be a fool to try his hand at besting Gustaf’s skills.
The only man who dared to venture up the hillock was an old warrior named Diðrik. Gustaf had assured her that he was a trustworthy friend of many years and the old man would check on her weekly. Though Diðrik bore the likeness of a shady character with his warily shifting eyes and scrubby bearded face, she had come to enjoy his visits. Along with the pleasant conversation about his late wife and his two adventure-seeking sons, he often brought fresh cow’s milk and skerpikjøt. Though the chewy meat was unlike anything she’d ever eaten, it was certainly a treat for her empty belly.
As Æsa gathered her cloak tighter beneath her chin, she picked up a wooden pail near the entrance of the longhouse to gather water from a nearby stream. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a group of men hiking up the hill. Knowing Diðrik was not due for another couple of days, she watched them. They trekked up the steep incline fully armored with helmets and shields, bypassing the cluster of homes below. There was sheer determination in their steps and they resembled the trepidation of raiding Northmen set on plunder.
Her heart sank and the bucket in her grasp dropped to the ground. Stark, cold fear pierced her body like shards of ice. She had witnessed the carnage left behind by these kinds of raids a thousand times over. It was because of this cruelty that her days as a whore had begun, and if not for her persuasive feminine attributes, she wouldn’t have been able to survive. Now that she was free, she wasn’t about to go back. She’d die before she’d let another man force himself upon her.
Æsa turned on her heel and darted back inside, her only thoughts were of Gustaf and making sure not one man made it atop the hill alive.
Chapter Three
Gustaf cocked his head, confused by the sound of the distant slamming door. He’d thought as soon as Æsa saw him, she would have run like mad toward him. Instead, she’d turned her back. He stopped in his tracks and his men did the same. He felt the weight of their stares almost as much as he bore the disappointment of Æsa’s reaction to his return.
“My lord?” Jørgen murmured.
Gustaf gazed at his friend for a moment and then back toward the house on the hill. “Perhaps she wishes not to see me. Was I foolish to believe the promise of a woman?”
“In my experience, the solidity of a woman’s oath is often stronger than that of a man’s.” Jørgen followed the direction of his chieftain’s eyes. “Forgive me for prying, but did you leave her in a state of anger?”
Gustaf shook h
is head. “On the contrary. We parted with a kiss. She vowed she’d wait for me.” Gustaf recalled the softness of Æsa’s touch upon his face and the sincerity of her words. He knew she had plenty of practice at wooing men, but he assumed she’d not stoop to that level of manipulation with him. Mayhap he’d been a fool, like all the rest.
“Then I am certain she waits for you,” Jørgen tried to reason. “Albeit…behind the wood of the door.”
Gustaf gave him a sideways glance, unimpressed with his friend’s sardonic analysis. He swallowed the hard lump of humiliation and tried to exhaust the heat of his embarrassment through a forceful sigh. “Those of you who’ve taken a wife, step forward.”
Out of the seven, only three took the harrowing stride forward. One by one, Gustaf looked at each man in desperation. “In the realm of weaponry and warfare, I am a practiced man. I can outwit any opponent who dares to confront me. This you all know well. But, for the love of Odin, will someone please school me in the mindboggling schemes of the female kind.”
Before any of the men could voice their knowledge, an unexpected arrow thumped into the ground at Gustaf’s feet. Immediately, everyone dropped to their knees and hid behind the safety of their shields, including Gustaf.
“With all due respect, my lord,” Snorri said in jest. “There be no mindboggling schemes here, for without a doubt, your woman is trying to kill you.”
Gustaf glared at him. “Is that so?”
“Either that or she has lost the sight in her eyes and thinks you to be a red stag.”
Gustaf glanced down at the thick gray wolf fur across his shoulders. She would have to be colorblind to mistake his wolf-skin cloak for a deer’s hide. In seeing the ridiculous smile on Snorri’s lips, he scolded himself for even listening to his friend.
Hunkered down like an idiot, Gustaf whipped his head to the right, waiting to hear Jørgen’s best guess. To his surprise, his other friend possessed the same irreverent smile. “You find humor in this, Jørgen?”
“My apologies, my lord. But aye, I do.”
Gustaf sighed and peeked over the rim of his shield, catching a glimpse of Æsa taking aim. Ducking back down, he felt the arrow hit its mark in the wood. Grimacing, he tucked himself tighter behind the shield. “Has she gone mad?”
After an outburst of laughter, Jørgen cleared his throat, trying to gain a sense of seriousness. “Perhaps in your excitement to see her, you have neglected the obvious. My guess is she knows not who beckons her.”
Gustaf furrowed his brow, none the wiser.
Jørgen rolled his eyes and tapped his helmet upon his head. “You look like every other Northman who aims to take his spoils.”
The obvious flooded Gustaf’s brain. How could he be so addlebrained? Before he’d left, he instructed her to do whatever necessary to stay alive. If anyone dared to venture past the harbor, save for Diðrik, he’d demanded she protect herself at all costs. He had even lent his dagger should she need it.
He was pleased she took his admonition to protect herself so seriously, but where had she acquired the bow and who’d taught her to use it?
Another arrow whizzed past, slicing between him and Jørgen. Though Gustaf knew he had to find a way to let Æsa know it was he, the last thing he wanted to do was remove the protective helmet concealing the top half of his face and head.
“Give me an arrow,” he demanded.
Jørgen’s eyes widened in shock. “My lord?”
“Do it!”
Obediently, Jørgen reached over his shoulder and removed an arrow from his quiver. Locking eyes with his chieftain, he tossed it to him.
Gustaf dug into his sleeve and pulled out the embroidered piece of cloth, tying it to the projectile just behind the pointed blade. He pitched it back to his friend and said, “Wait for my signal before firing it.”
Jørgen’s mouth fell agape. “You wish me to kill her?”
“Be not so dim of wit,” Gustaf scolded. “I wish you to shoot it in the wall beside her so she knows ’tis I who have come for her. And you best not miss your mark, or I shall have to kill you.”
Jørgen smiled uneasily and readied himself with his bow. He kept his eyes on Gustaf, waiting for his command. As a fourth arrow careened passed, Gustaf gave the word and Jørgen stood up. With only seconds to spare, he pulled back his bow and let it fly before dropping to the ground and righting his shield in front of him.
With baited breath, Gustaf waited.
As the moments ticked by, he clenched his jaw. “Tell me you hit the longhouse and not her.”
“Of course.”
Impatience got the best of Gustaf. “What is she doing?”
“How would I know, my lord,” Jørgen said in irritation. “As you can see from my crouched position, I favor my body devoid of arrows. Why do you not take a gander for yourself?”
Gustaf growled and tentatively lifted his head above his shield. He could see that Æsa had plucked the arrow from the wood of the longhouse and was scrutinizing the cloth. She jerked her head in his direction, the wind blowing her hair from her face.
In hesitance, he stood, letting his shield fall to his feet. He raised his hand above his head and waved. He thought he heard a squeal come from her as she brought both hands to her mouth.
Gustaf glanced at Jørgen, who had begun to stand as well. “Is that a sound I should be wary of?”
Jørgen laughed. “Not unless you fear the prospect of a woman rushing to leap into your arms,” he concluded, pointing.
Gustaf looked back at Æsa who was now running down the hill, her smiling face beaming with joy and relief.
****
Æsa could not believe her eyes as she fought to get to Gustaf. A million thoughts raced through her mind, each one swiftly on the heels of the next, matching the speed of her stumbling feet. While her heart leapt, she couldn’t believe she had rained down a multitude of arrows set on killing him. By the look on his face, Gustaf didn’t seem to mind that she had threatened his life. His arms were open and ready to enfold her the moment she’d meet his embrace.
In less than five more strides, she had finally closed the distance between them and slammed into his chest, her arms wrapping like a vice around his neck. Gustaf hardly staggered from the brunt of the blow. His thick burly body halted the force of her momentum and his arms gathered her up in a wistful spin. Though he made not a sound, his utter joy could be felt in the compelling strength of his grasp and the endearing way he breathed in her scent. She relished in the grandeur of this moment, content to remain in this position forever.
“You waited for me.”
His muttered whisper singed the sensitive skin of her neck at the same time it goose-pimpled her flesh. As profound as those words were upon her senses, they weren’t audible enough for his men to hear. She tightened her arms around him and replied in the same covert manner. “Tell me you doubted me not, my temperate warrior.”
Gustaf buried his head further into the crevice of her neck. “My heart would not let me, but…” He set her to her feet. “…after the first of many arrows were cast, I must admit you had me thinking twice.”
Æsa hid her guilt beneath a downward glance. “Forgive me. I meant no harm to you and your—”
Her chin lifted beneath the insistence of his strong hand. “We all stand before you unscathed,” he said with a smile, aimed at easing her mind. To instill the assertion further, he threw his men a stern look. “Is that not right, men?”
Collectively, the seven agreed and nodded happily to please their chieftain. Æsa smiled in return, thankful that she hadn’t been an excellent markswoman her first time with the bow. She hated to think what could have happened.
Sidestepping those disturbing thoughts, she gathered her wits and invited the men into the longhouse. “I regret to say I have not lit a fire within the hearth, nor prepared any food, but the walls do oppose the cool winds.”
Gustaf narrowed his eyes. “Had I not bestowed enough silver in your keeping?”
&
nbsp; She stumbled on her words, for she didn’t want Gustaf to think he’d not been generous. “You left me with more than enough, but I was not certain how long ’twould last should you be delayed because of winter. I lived on necessity, my lord, spending your reserves only when my strength of body and mind begged for it.”
There was a sense of discontentment in Gustaf’s face upon hearing her rationale. In all honesty, there was probably enough there to last her more than two winters, but given her lack of experience with living a life of luxury, she had not squandered a single ounce of it simply because of its availability.
Gustaf looked her up and down as if figuring the amount of bodily weight she’d lost since he last saw her. “Jørgen,” he commanded, never averting his eyes from her.
“My lord?”
“Take the men down to the shore and fish. Do not return until there is enough to fill each person’s gut with two.”
Æsa tried to interject, but Gustaf raised his hand and silenced her. “Better yet, make certain my Æsa has three.”
The men did as they were told without complaint, but Jørgen, being the closest, muttered a suggestive question as he turned. “And what will you do, my lord?”
She watched as Gustaf peeled his eyes from her and laid them on his friend. “I shall stoke a fire.”
Jørgen scoffed and landed a hard pat on Gustaf’s back. “I wager the fire you aim to set will not cook a single fish.”
Chapter Four
Æsa felt the burden of Gustaf’s disgruntled stare burning a hole in her back for the entire trek up the hill. Even as they reached the security of the longhouse, she felt the relentless heat of his eyes.
She ushered Gustaf inside and approached the cold hearth in the center of the room. She kept her back to him and endured the intensity of his gaze, unable to face him. “I have angered you,” she stated solemnly.