We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  Sighing heavily while running her hands down her hips and admiring the wonderfully elegant material, Freya looks to her brother standing by the door. “I guess it’s now or never.”

  “Father wouldn’t allow it to be a never, Lass.” Arik smiles, motioning for her to take his hand and she gladly does, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of her brother’s presence.

  As the orange and red of the sunset engulfs them, Freya keeps her chin up and a light smile on her lips, turning back to Bess and Lily to see tears on their lashes. Leaning her head on Arik’s shoulder as the villagers they pass issue their greetings to him, she’s shocked when she hears her name yelled from behind her. Stopping and spinning around, she sees Eska rushing toward her with his leather and mail on, his sword at his side.

  “Freya, you are not going,” he yells, stepping right up to be only a breath away from her. She can smell the ale on his breath, his chest heaving in and out from the anger and anxiety of possibly losing her taking over his every thought. She hears his mother’s voice yelling after him, telling him to stop being a fool and to come back home.

  “Eska,” she starts to say when he grabs her arm, pulling her flush to him and taking her breath away. She can feel the heat rolling off of his heaving chest, his warm breath on her face. She tries to squirm from his grasp as his grip tightens on her upper arms. “You’re hurting me.”

  “You cannot go. I will not have it,” he grinds out, his lips only a whisper from her nose as his eyes lock onto hers. Having him this close is unnerving and she feels like her stomach is flipping around inside of her, her head shaking on its own as her arms try and shake him off. She can’t have him make a scene like this; it will make her father look bad and Eska will no doubt be punished.

  “You have no say.” Arik grabs his arm and flings it off of Freya, shoving Eska back a foot or two as the anger flares in both of their eyes. He slips his fingers around Freya’s upper arm and spins her around, heading toward the great hall as some of the villagers watch with wide eyes.

  The tightness returns to Freya’s chest with every step they take. She’ll be leaving the only home she’s known. She’ll be leaving her one and only true friend, Eska, and he is already upset about it. What if this threat comes and her father can’t stop them; that’s what they’re expecting right? She can’t imagine her father fighting and losing. It brings tears to her eyes, but she fights them away.

  She can see the firelight emanating from the great hall, the sound of the drums lightly filling the air. This is going to be a night of celebration and drink. Her last night.

  As Arik’s fingers tighten around her arm and he smiles down at her, she raises her chin. Her father is giving her an ultimate gift; the gift of safety. Something every father wanted for their children; especially their daughters. She may be angry and distraught, but she will not dishonor him.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  “Brother, have a drink; relax.” Keir slaps Asgar on the back, holding out a mug of ale for him to take, but he just shakes his head. His brother’s blonde hair swishes back and forth as he chuckles and shakes his head, taking the ale for himself, even though he already has a mug.

  Asgar wants to stay sober for now so that he can actually carry on a conversation with Freya when she arrives. He wants to know about his wife before they get back to his village and marry. He can’t help but look toward the open doors of the great hall every chance he gets, effectively ignoring the already rowdy atmosphere and laughing voices around him.

  Freya is more beautiful than he had imagined and he can’t wait to see her face again. The striking green eyes; the perfect, yet pale, skin; the gut wrenching smile. He’s never been one to wait on a woman, or fawn over one, but Freya is pulling at something he has never felt before.

  Nodding to his brother, Herlof, Asgar stands and stretches, the dark blue material of his tunic being tight around his shoulders. Stepping around the bench, he nods and smiles to Ivan’s men that he passes, mingling with his father’s men and sharing drinks and laughs, as he heads for the door; hoping some fresh air will calm his nerves.

  The orange and red are covering the sky. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second and listening in on the tales that his oarsmen are telling Ivan’s guards. The exaggerations make him smile to himself as the men laugh heartily, but a raised, angry voice causes his eyes to snap open and his head to turn up the path.

  There, he spots Freya and she takes his breath away; her blue dress reflecting the meager light as she tries to spin away from that blonde man who caused the scene earlier. Anger at the scene unfolding in front of him fills his veins as he sees the man grab Freya’s arms and pull her into him- his face so close to hers- and Asgar pulls the dagger meant for decoration from his hip, his legs carrying him toward Freya’s struggling figure.

  He barely hears his men asking him if they should follow as he runs past them, because all he sees is her and that man’s hands on her. He stops when he sees her brother, whom he had met earlier, Arik, step in and wrench his sister from the man’s grip. Asgar releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and slips beside the great hall and the blacksmith’s, not wanting Freya to see him.

  He can hear her brother whispering encouraging words, telling her to forget about the man named Eska and focus on her marriage to make their father proud. They pass by the little space where he is hiding in the shadows and Asgar can’t help but stick his face out a little to watch her walk; the gown she is wearing accenting everything that makes a wanton heat pass over his skin.

  Stepping from the shadows, he fixes his tunic, straightening the cord and brushing the dirt from the front of his trousers. The sight of her in that dress makes him want to look perfect for her and he runs his hands back over his hair, laughing to himself at the vanity. She would have to like him no matter what; their fathers had a deal, and she has no choice.

  Slipping his dagger back into its sheath on his right side, Asgar nods to his men, now standing where they were just sitting before he ran by. They shake their heads, knowing the young man almost made a rash decision based on the lust he feels for the young woman.

  Stepping up onto the wooden stairs of the great hall, the light, heat, and drums surround him as he sees Freya just inside, only feet away. Coming up behind her, he sees over her head that Ivan is now standing on his dais, raising his hands and calling everyone to be silent.

  “I’ll take that,” Asgar leans in and whispers to Arik. The man’s hazel eyes peer at him, looking him over before he nods. Asgar skirts his eyes over Freya’s body slowly, as Arik hands him her hand. From her dainty fingers, up the blue material of the dress, across the tight bodice giving away her curves, up her chest seeing a slight red creep onto her beautiful skin. His eyes linger on her lips, taking in their rosy color and the way they are parted slightly, seemingly calling to him, making the heat run over his skin. Finally he reaches her eyes as her hand slides tentatively into his; the green color enveloping him as her fingers lightly squeeze his.

  The room is silent now as he says, “Hello Freya,” drawing the words out as if they are hard to say. Her eyes flutter as he squeezes her fingers back, bringing them slowly up to his lips and holding them just a whisper away. The way her chest is heaving in and out makes his gaze flick to her tightly bound breasts, covered in the blue and gold of the gown, and he smiles, knowing what he is doing to her.

  If only she knew what she was doing to him.

  ~~~~~~~~~

  His skin is burning a path from where it is touching her, just lightly on her fingers holding them close to his lips, all the way up her arm and across her chest, causing her to blush uncontrollably. Freya wants to frantically pull her hand from his grasp, but the way his blue eyes are gazing at her makes her stay still, focusing on trying to calm her breathing.

  “Hello, Asgar,” she barely gets out, swinging her free arm up and placing it on her chest, trying to force her breathing to slow. She can feel that the blush is covering her skin, the h
eat seeping into her cool fingers and she smiles. Lowering her gaze, she notices the room is silent. Everyone had seen that. Her father’s voice breaks the tension just as Asgar’s lips touch her skin, only for a second, sending lightning through her body and she snaps her eyes back to him, seeing a playful smirk on his lips.

  Oh, how she would love to feel those encase her own. She can only imagine what they would feel like, having never been really kissed by a boy. She had playfully kissed Eska a few times when they were younger, but nothing like the urges she had flowing through her right at this moment. She wanted to know what it would feel like to have his large, rough hands roll over her skin sending tingles to all the right places. What it would feel like to have his fingers trailing over her thighs as he pushed up her dress, or how they would feel entangled in her hair tugging her face back giving his mouth full access to the sensitive skin of her neck.

  These thoughts strike her and she has to shake herself, trying to make them go away but they linger, settling low in her belly. She’s never been with a man for more than a simple kiss. She’s never felt the rough of their hands upon her skin but in this instant she wants to feel Asgar’s on her, roaming her, more than anything else. Being deprived of sexual encounters her body acts on instinct and she squirms as the sensations increase ten-fold within her.

  “I welcome everyone!” Her father says proudly, as she sees Arik join him behind the food laden table on the dais. “We are here to celebrate the marriage of my daughter and Asgar.” He waves his hand in their direction and Asgar holds their hands up, the room filling with cheers and shouts as he gives Freya a sidelong smile. A blush covers her skin again as she smiles back at the crowded room.

  “Please, join us,” Ivan says, winking at his daughter and his heart lifts when he sees her laugh lightly; the smile on her face a wonderful change from the anger and hurt he had seen earlier when she learned of her pending marriage.

  Asgar’s hand encases hers and he tucks it into his elbow as he pulls her into his side, giving her another smile and leading her up the aisle and the three simple steps onto the dais. Slipping in front of the chair as he pulls it out for her, Freya looks out over the large room, suddenly nervous as all of the people remain standing with their eyes on her.

  Men that have watched her grow up, friends of her father and brothers. Young men her age who she had at one time hoped would marry her, even though she hadn’t felt anything for them more than a crush; she had only wanted to be married like her friends. Their eyes are all on her, smiles on their lips and a few of her father’s eldest friends, those who had treated her as their own daughter, have tears in their eyes.

  She focuses in on the fat Linden, her father’s best friend and the smile on his face is wide as a tear slips down onto his hairy chin. Freya smiles sweetly at him, nodding, before sitting on her cushioned chair, fixing the skirt of her dress. With all of the eyes on her, she has almost forgotten about Asgar, but as he sits to her left taking her hand in his, she can’t fight the blush flowing over her skin.

  “Celebrate with me, for this is the eve of my only daughter’s departure.” Ivan’s voice pulls at Freya’s heart and she looks up into his warm, loving eyes. She drinks in the golden color, knowing that this may be one of the last times she will get the chance to do so. She takes in his graying blonde braid and the way he always has a piece of leather weaved into it for luck. The lines around his eyes deepen a little as he smiles at her and she sees the moisture on his lashes.

  “My many thanks to Halvard the Hammer.” Cheers erupt in the hall and Freya can feel the heavy wooden table vibrate from the foot stomping and the slamming of mugs. Ivan smiles and laughs, the hearty sound filling the room as the cheers quiet. Freya sees Halvard raise his mug and smile to her father, nodding to his other sons and men who surround him at their table. “I know you have raised Asgar to be a strong man and I can tell he will treat my Freya well.”

  Asgar’s fingers lightly squeeze hers, bringing her eyes from her cup in front of her trying to focus on not crying, to his, seeing the flicker of the candlelight bounce within them and the sweet smirk on his lips. His thumb rubs over hers as she returns the smile, having to lower her gaze to prevent another blush from overtaking her skin.

  “To my Freya.” Her father’s voice breaks the murmurs in the hall once more and she returns her gaze to him, her brother and uncles standing with him now, all smiling at her. They look like a regular band of warriors, dressed in their finest tunics and decorative, ceremonial weapons. She smiles at them all and her father clears his throat, showing an emotion to everyone and the room goes deathly silent.

  “My Freya,” he says, more quietly and almost to himself, peering at her with all his love. “May you be happy in your new land and family. May you raise many sons and daughters, teaching them of their mother’s homeland and their strong fisted,” the room fills with light hearted laughter and Ivan smiles wider, raising his mug and nodding to the room, never moving his eyes from his daughter, “yet good hearted grandfather.”

  As he raises his mug higher, joined by everyone in the room, Freya lets a small tear slip down her cheek and quickly swipes it away, smiling at her father. “To Asgar and Freya,” he says triumphantly with a great smile.

  “To Asgar and Freya,” the room returns in echo, the walls seemingly vibrating and the air buzzing with the sound as they all take a long drink, Asgar right along with them. He offers his mug to Freya, his eyes roaming over her as she hesitantly puts her hands over his, bringing the mug to her lips.

  ***

  Asgar has no idea why the sight of her putting the mug to her lips makes his blood pump so fast, rushing to his groin and making it so that if he stood up, everyone would know. He is rock hard in a split second, watching as her lips seem to caress the edge of the mug as she tips it back, her hands still covering his as he helps her. His skin is on fire where they are touching and, as she drinks, he lets his eyes wander over her bared skin, lingering on the tops of her breasts bound in the fabric of her dress. He wants to know what the material feels like under his skin; what her skin feels like under his fingertips, and what her lips feel like moving with his. The flutter of her lashes and the piercing green of her eyes bring him from his dreaming and he flashes her a smile as she wipes her lips with the back of her hand.

  ***

  Freya lets her hand linger on his as she looks up at him, the mug between them, as the room fills with chatter and the sounds of food being pulled apart. The ale is sour and heavy and she tries not to cringe from the taste as she wipes it from her mouth, embarrassed that it has dribbled down her chin as Asgar’s fingers brush her cheek. A slow burning fire ignites down within as the work roughened pad of his thumb warms her cheek, moving in a leisurely circle. As she watches his eyes move from his fingers swirling over her skin to her lips, and then lower to her chest, she fights off the urge to squirm, an unfamiliar quiver in her thighs makes her squeeze her legs together and a rosy color to rise to the surface of her pale skin. She hasn’t blushed this much, ever, and as his fingers linger on her skin she wants more.

  As he leans in, Freya holds her breath, forcing her eyes to stay open as she feels his warm breath on her cheek. With his lips only a whisper away from her ear, he says, “You are beautiful when you blush.” He smiles, pressing his lips just below her ear and sending shocks through her limbs. “You are just plain beautiful.”

  Releasing her breath, letting her chest heave in and out to gain the oxygen she had deprived herself, Freya brings her hand up to Asgar’s chin, looking him in the eyes as their faces stay only inches apart. The smooth skin of her fingers prickle against the short hair of his beard, her heart racing from the sensation it sends to her core. The thought of being with him, letting him take her maidenhood, sends her nerves into overdrive and she lets her eyes flutter shut as his fingers caress her cheek, moving to smooth the hair behind her ear.

  “I’ve never,” she starts to say, but his lips, light on hers for only a second sto
p her. Her eyes snap open to see him looking her over through heavy lids, a mischievous smile on his mouth.

  “We can worry about that later,” he whispers, running his fingers over her cheek, before cupping it.

  Freya can’t help the tremble that runs over her as his eyes focus in on her lips, displaying the hunger and need that she’s dreamt about seeing in a man’s eyes. His thumb runs over her bottom lip as he kisses her cheek lightly, straightening and bringing her mind back to the present and the room filled with rowdy people.

  Making her mind switch gears, she takes in the food lain out before them. Elk and rabbit being passed around the room by some of the servant girls as the men pinch and prod at their skirts, causing them to giggle. Platters of haddock, smothered in butter and dill, are already half devoured as Freya reaches for one, loving the taste of the melted butter on her fingers as she licks them. Mugs of ale and mead are being refilled every few seconds and the liquid sloshes in the servant girls’ jugs as they hurry to keep up.

  Her and her father’s favorite dogs, a mix of wolf and hound, happily accept bones and scraps thrown from the tables. Their ears perk as her father whistles and they bound up onto the dais, sitting behind her father’s chair and waiting. Not thinking about it, Freya reaches over onto Asgar’s plate and, in one swipe, rids the elk ribs he has of the meat and tosses the dogs the bones, smiling at their happy faces as they lie down to gnaw on them.

  Her smile fades into embarrassment as her gaze rolls over Asgar’s astonished face and she brings her hand up to her mouth to quickly lick her fingers. She gasps as his hand shoots out, stopping her fingers from reaching her lips and she looks into his ice blue eyes, suddenly afraid. She doesn’t know what his reaction will be to her flippant mistake. She wasn’t thinking.