We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “Don’t be nervous,” he laughs, rubbing his thumb over her cheek, tempted to pull her mouth to his. “Everyone will like you and tonight will be over before you know it.”

  ***

  The handsome smile and the feel of his hands on her eases Freya’s frantically beating heart just as the door swings open, revealing a plump, older blonde woman with two brunette followers. She immediately feels under their scrutiny as the door closes and the women’s gazes fall on her.

  “Mother.” Asgar smiles, standing and hugging the plump woman. “This is Freya.” He sweeps his hand toward her and the three women return their stares to her, making her break out in a nervous sweat. “Freya, this is my mother, Leena, and my brothers’ wives, Asa and Katla.”

  The brunettes smile at her as Asgar talks in hushed tones with his mother. Freya sees her bags in Katla’s hands and stands, wincing. “I’ll take those from you,” she says, only making it a step before a pain shoots up her left leg, sending her back onto the mattress with Asgar rushing to her side whispering for her to stay still.

  “The healer will be here soon, girl.” Leena smiles, handing Freya a cup of tea. She is plump, but not overly so, and her bright blonde hair is braided in a circle around her head. Her eyes are exactly like Asgar’s and as Freya looks into them; she can sense a feeling of home or safety and she smiles at the woman, taking a sip of her tea.

  The healer, an old crone of a woman, arrives and Asgar leaves, letting the four women fall into comfortable conversation as the healer looks Freya over. The old woman never talks, just hums as she pokes and prods, applying an herb poultice on every place that Freya winces. She soon learns, among other things, that the healer can’t talk, that Asa and Katla are married to Herlof and Raghnoll respectively, and that their other sister-in-law, Eisa, is down helping prepare the feast.

  As the healer is packing up her apron, Freya is feeling better, the poultice making her skin tingle and she finally stands, removing her clothes at Leena’s instruction. “Oh, my son will be very happy.” She smiles and winks at Freya, who blushes, certain the red finds her toes.

  “Will it be your first time with a man, Freya?” Katla asks as she starts to pull on the gown Freya has brought with her for the ceremony. She nods, her mouth going dry at the thought of lying with Asgar in the matter of hours. The women around her giggle mildly as they secure the dress at her shoulders with the golden rope straps.

  “Well, not to worry.” Leena leans her chin on Freya’s shoulder from behind, peering at their reflection in the mirror before them. “I taught all of my sons to pay attention to the woman’s needs. And, according to the three daughters I have, they are very talented.” Katla and Asa nod and laugh, making Freya join in with nervous giggles. “So, if you come away unsatisfied, tell me and I will beat my son with the flat of a sword.”

  This makes Freya burst out in laughter, with the others joining in. She is laughing so hard she can barely stand as Asa braids her hair, weaving a few flowers into it as she goes. As she finishes, Katla puts the final touches on her gown, tying a sash of golden silk around her waist, matching well with the ivory color of the dress. The material is thin and airy, not letting Freya forget she has no undergarments on as a slight breeze flows through the open window.

  A shiver runs over her as her mind drifts and imagines it as Asgar’s fingers slipping over her skin instead of the breeze. How wonderful would his lips will feel on her neck? What will his voice sound like as he whispers in her ear, kissing it and pulling the lobe between his teeth?

  Her naughty thoughts are interrupted as the door to the cottage swings open, revealing a handful of young children. “Mother! Gleb got himself dirty playing in the mud when I told him not to.” The oldest of the group, a boy with dark brown hair and eyes, stomps in, dragging a younger one by the collar behind him.

  Asa sighs, rolling her eyes and turning to the boys who are flanked by another and a girl. “Egil, take your brother home and get your father to change him. He can’t be muddy for the celebration.” She weaves through the room and grabs the younger boy by the shoulders. His breeches are soaked all the way up to his hips and Freya can’t help but think of Urich and his friends back home. They use to get into some big trouble and Freya would always bail them out, giving them clean clothes or shoes before they got home, and laugh about it later.

  “Now, go home,” she spins young Gleb around and pats him on his butt as the other kids laugh lightly. The young boy spins back around, locking eyes with Freya, smiling wide, and then looking to his mother.

  “She’s pretty, Mama,” he smiles, laughing as he runs out the door and the others follow. His little smile and cute face make Freya melt more than his words and she grins wide, blushing a little bit as she takes another look at herself.

  She still can’t believe this is her wedding day. She can’t believe she has sailed for a week, almost died, and now she is standing in what is to be her home, having her mother-in-law and sister-in-laws helping her. Running her hands over her hips, she feels the shimmery smooth material brush along her bare skin and she pinches herself lightly through it.

  “You’re really here,” Katla laughs in her ear and Freya smiles, knowing her little gesture was noticed. “We’re heading down to the hall to make sure everything goes smoothly. Stay here ‘till Halvard comes to get you. Don’t let anyone in and don’t go outside.”

  “Thank you,” Freya nods, hugging each woman tightly, lingering the longest with Leena.

  “You look beautiful dear,” Asgar’s mother says, kissing her on the cheek. “Now, sit and rest. It will be a long night.” She winks, causing Freya to grin and they leave her with smiles to stand alone in the middle of this cottage.

  She stands silently there just staring at her reflection listening to the crackle of the small fire for countless minutes, before sitting and nervously nibbling on some raspberries. Looking into the fire, she feels her own building deep within, knowing that in the matter of a few hours she’ll be back here and in less clothing than now.

  Rapid knocks scare her from the chair and she stands, her chest heaving from the fright just looking at the back of the closed door. The knocks come again and she pads her way in bare feet over to the open window. Spotting Eska’s figure on the other side of the door, she slips into the shadow so that he can’t see her.

  “I’m not supposed to see anyone,” she says in a raised voice, hoping it won’t unmask her tensions.

  “I know that, but I figure you can make an exception for me.” She can see the smile play on his lips and it makes one of her own appear. She could use his reassurance right now.

  “I cannot,” she shakes her head, knowing that if she were to fail at these simple instructions, the village might look down on her forever for it. One simple mistake can stay with you forever.

  “Not even a peek?” He pleads and she can see him lean his shoulder beside the door, a single wild rose in his fingers. “Not even just your face? I swear I will stay here and not ask for anything more.”

  ***

  Eska says the words, even though he wants more than anything to storm in there, sweep her over his shoulder, and ride off on the horse he has already acquired that is grazing out of sight. He doesn’t want her to marry this man, but he will wait until the time is right to rid her of this marriage, even if it is after she is deflowered. Eska will love her forever, no matter what; so he just stands there, knowing she is in the shadow of the window watching him.

  “Okay,” he hears her huff with a bit of a laugh, “just a peek.”

  He can hear her bare feet slapping against the wooden planks of the cottage floor and then the door creaks open, just a crack. The first thing he sees is the crown of her head, adorned with flowers intertwined in her fiery red hair and it takes his breath away. Then, her eyes find his and he’s pretty sure his heart has stopped beating; the emerald color seemingly reaching down into his soul and bringing it to life.

  ***

  “Well, bless the G
ods,” he breathes out and Freya laughs, the gawking look on her best friend’s face evidence that she does look good.

  Eska has cleaned himself up; his wet hair and the smell of mint wafting around Freya as she hides behind the cracked door. He has on one of his only dress tunic and breeches, both being of a light tan color with white embroidery at the collar and waist. He looks good, as always, and Freya prays silently that he will find a girl in this village to take back home with him.

  “Okay, you got your peek. Now go, before we both are cursed,” she laughs lightly as he smiles, looking bashfully to the ground and scuffing his lambskin boot in the loose stones. She watches a hurt, worried look pass over him and, for a second, his brows furrow, but then it vanishes and he looks up into her eyes, the same old Eska she has always known.

  “I’m always here for you,” he says, giving her a wink and backing away. It is a strange thing to say and Freya ponders it for a second, pushing it away.

  “I know, now go. And have fun later.” She shoos him away with her hand and he waves, smiling as he disappears around the corner and she shuts the door. Sighing, she leans against the wood for a moment while closing her eyes. She is glad her best friend had come with her on this journey, even if he was cranky at the beginning of it.

  She hears the bustling village outside and her nerves kick in again as she sits, taking another raspberry and trying not to look out of the window too often. She can see the shadows growing longer in the room and the sky turning slightly orange as a loud knock fills the silent space; the door opening as she stands.

  “Are you ready, Girl?” Halvard’s tall, wide frame fills the doorway as his son’s had and Freya smiles nervously at him. Running her hands over her hips, she takes a look in the mirror another time as her palms start to sweat. “You look fine. Actually more than fine, but if I say anything more I will get my ass handed to me by my wife and son.”

  “Thank you,” she laughs, turning and slowly making her way to him. With his hand outstretched, she takes in the man’s appearance. His silver streaked brown hair is loose, being held down by a crown of silver and gold. He has on a simple dark blue tunic and breeches, adorned with golden chains and a fur shoulder sash coming across his massive chest. Smiling down at her, he takes her hand, squeezing it lightly.

  “Now, let us go make you a member of my family,” he says as he grins.

  “Yes. Please,” she says as she smiles, knowing that this is her future.

  CHAPTER SIX:

  The orange of the sunset is pronounced by the torches lining the cart path from the cottage to the village below. As Freya takes a deep breath of the cooler dusk air, she squeezes Halvard’s hand. The sounds of drums thrumming from the great hall make her heart race and, as they slowly make their way, she wraps her free hand on his forearm.

  Reaching over, Halvard rests his large hand over hers, leaning in to whisper, “First, you will meet some of the jarls of our brother tribes. They are here to welcome you, but to also make sure the marriage is consummated.”

  “What?” Freya gasps in a whisper as they come around a corner; four tall, burly men standing before them with their eyes trained on her and she falls silent, feeling Halvard’s hand squeeze hers in reassurance.

  “Bracka, Olaf, and Tine.” Halvard smiles, shaking all of their hands as they nod at him, their eyes leaving Freya for only a second, before returning and working her over. She tries her hardest not to blush, keeping her eyes on them or past them to the great hall. “This is Freya. Soon to be my son, Asgar’s, wife, and soon, but hopefully not too soon, to be Lady of our tribe.”

  “So, it is true,” the one named Bracka speaks up, looking to Freya like he is the youngest of the three being about her age, the fourth man lingering slightly behind him with his eyes locked on her, burning a hole through her dress and making her want to squirm. Bracka’s short blonde beard is braided with leather tangled around it, his hair shaved on each side of his head with a warrior’s band wrapped around the remaining length of it, flowing down to the middle of his back.

  The other men issue an agreeing mumble as Halvard gives them a slight chuckle, pulling Freya tighter to his side and wrapping his hand over hers more. “Yes, my son will be taking over for me. These old bones are getting weary of the sea and I have grandchildren to watch grow.”

  This softer side of Halvard warms Freya’s heart. As she looks up at him with a smile, he winks. One of the strangers’ voices snap her attention back to them.

  “Now, girl,” the one named Olaf spits, the missing teeth in his mouth making her cringe as he smiles. “You can forego this marriage and come with one of us.” The laugh that breaks forth from this man makes Freya sick to her stomach, and she steps closer to Halvard.

  Olaf looks to be the only one who seems to think his offer is funny and as the other men around him scowl and Halvard tenses, Freya is anxious to move past them as the crude man clears his throat. “I was only joking, Halvard,” he says with a touch of pleading.

  Halvard grumbles something, more to himself than to the others. Gripping Freya’s hand tight and looking her in the eye, he nods, moving them past the group of men. “See to it that you keep those comments to yourself, or my son will not have as much patience as I.”

  The drums seem to beat louder and louder with each step they take toward the great hall, but Freya’s heart beat is drowning them out. It’s in her ears, making her head swim as her limbs start to tremble from the nerves. Halvard stops at the bottom of the steps, the light from inside bathing her in warmth as she looks to him.

  His warm brown eyes peer down at her as a sweet smile finds his lips. “I will give you the option your father denied you. You may choose not to go through with this and we will take you home tomorrow. No debts owed. No bad blood.”

  The words confuse her and she can feel the frown fill her face as her brows furrow, searching his gaze for the source of this proposal. Why would he say this? She wonders, still searching his face for the answer but finding only a sincere smile. Can she walk away? Go back to the home she loves and the father who loves her?

  Pictures of her island roll through her mind, making her heart ache for the sound of her father’s voice and the laughter from her brothers. They did this to save her from the potential harm; she can’t just go back and disgrace them. Looking to the great hall, seeing the people standing waiting for her to enter, she looks back up at Halvard, giving him a small smile and placing her hand on his rough cheek.

  “No. I cannot do that,” she says, moving her hand from his cheek to rest on top of his hand holding hers. “I am here to stay,” she whispers, the lingering lust and desire she feels for Asgar fueling her words. She wants to know what it is like to be a wife, a mother, a Lady of the people.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he grins, tucking her arm into his more and straightening his stance. This is it, the moment she had never worried about until a little over a week ago, and now butterflies are at war within her.

  That first step seems to take all her strength and she clings to Halvard’s arm, leaning into him and taking a deep breath as they reach the top step. The voices and music go silent and everyone stands, the chairs and benches scraping at the wooden floor. She can’t look up from the spot her eyes are focused on before her bare feet until Halvard lightly squeezes her fingers.

  Slowly raising her head, Freya smiles at Leena and her future sister-in-laws standing to her left. They wink at her, Katla leaning over and whispering in whom she assumed was Eisa’s ear, scooping a small baby from her hip. Taking a deep breath as Halvard pulls her along, her legs stiff and wanting to grow into the floor, Freya smiles and blushes at Asgar’s brothers as they grin at her.

  Then she spots him, standing at the front of the room right before the dais and her heart skips a beat; her legs feel as if they might fall off and she grips onto Halvard’s arm tighter. Asgar’s tall, broad frame is hugged by the blue tunic and grey breeches. His hands are clasped in front of him and just the t
hought of them slipping up her dress makes a sweat break out over her body, making her shiver, and she averts her eyes back to the floor as Halvard pulls her hand from his arm, holding it out to the priest standing before them.

  “Do you present yourself before our All Father and ask for his guidance in this journey?” The priest’s voice rings out over the crowded, warm room and Freya looks up into his gaze. His dark blue eyes seem to seep into her soul; locking her gaze and making her breath catch in her throat. As Halvard passes her hand to this priest, Freya’s skin seems to freeze at the feeling, the man’s fingers running over hers as a small smile plays on his painted face.

  The silence in the room- everyone waiting for her to reply- finally hits her and she shakes her head slightly, her words scratchy and weak. “Yes. Yes I do. I ask my namesake goddess for the blessing to provide Asgar, son of Halvard, with many sons of his own.”

  The priest smiles and nods, taking her hand and clasping it with Asgar’s, her skin going from cold to searing hot in the blink of an eye, causing a flush of lust to run through her. She can’t stop her eyes from fluttering shut as the priest issues a prayer to the room for long lives and happiness. Asgar rubs his thumb over her fingers and she looks up to him through her lashes, knowing her chest is heaving, trying to bring the oxygen into her lungs.

  His ice blue eyes seem to sparkle in the candle and torch light, a small smirk lifting up the one side of his mouth as the priest asks him, “Do you ask Freyr for his help in carrying on your name? In providing you with healthy sons to help your people remember you?”

  “I do,” Asgar says, his eyes never leaving hers and she smiles, the fantasies that she has played in her mind flashing before her eyes and making her bite her bottom lip to stop a moan from escaping. She stands straighter as she feels the priest start to wrap their hands in the blue and yellow colored wool, representing Asgar’s family, as he prays in their native language. Freya loves the way it sounds as it echoes through the room.