“There is no such thing as a bad fuck when it’s my wife, Prete,” Asgar yelled back, pulling Freya in for a passionate kiss to the whistles of the crowd. She sinks into his embrace, moaning as his lips move over hers and she opens when his tongue begs entrance with a quick swipe.
“Please. Brother, there is enough time for that in your own home.” Herlof’s teasing tone breaks their little haze and Asgar grumbles against her lips as Freya starts to giggle, smoothing her dress and hair as her husband releases her to return to their seats. The hall fills with slight laughter as Asgar smacks his brother on the back of the head, having to dodge a thrown rib bone from Herlof’s plate.
Settling into her seat, Freya is happy to see Leena headed her way from her husband, Halvard’s, lap. Leaning in, the plump, top heavy woman kisses her cheek, whispering a snippet of advice for the newlywed. “Don’t rush the idea of babes, my daughter. The Gods will bless you when you and my son are ready. Trying to rush only brings heartbreak.” Her genuine smile lifts the meaning of her words from being too hard on Freya’s mood and she pats the woman on the back of the hand, smiling and noting her gratitude.
Freya and Asgar fall into the feast, celebrating and drinking, sharing kisses and stolen moments of whispers that someone always has to comment loudly on when the music picks up for dancing. A large fire had been started just outside the hall and as Freya slips onto Asgar’s lap, she spots her sisters making their way toward her and she tries to snuggle into her husband’s chest to shoo them away.
“Oh no, Sister, there is no getting out of this.” Katla grabs her upper arm as Freya tries to hold on to her husband, who pats her on the butt and pushes her up, betraying her with a laugh and a smile. “Your husband knows what is best,” Katla and the others laugh as they drag her away, her eyes still narrowed on Asgar as he shrugs, making her laugh.
Looking around her in the fire lit night, Freya sees that almost all of the villages women are dancing around the flames, enjoying the freedom that the celebration and feel of the flames seems to bring. Her laugh joins the others as she follows Asa and Eisa around in a circle, spinning and twirling to the fast beat of the drums and high pitched tone of the flute.
She loses herself in the sound of the music, in the sound of her sisters’ laughter and in the heat of the flames, closing her eyes to the night until the feeling of hands on her hips stops her. Spinning, with a smile on her face, Freya faces Eska, who is dressed in battle gear complete with a chest plate and short sword.
Knowing his touching her is very wrong, Freya shoves his hands from her waist frantically looking around her to see if anyone caught it but they all seem engrossed in dancing, talking or drinking. Looking back to her friend she sees the grin wide on his lips, a different kind of look in his eye that makes the hair stand up on the back of her neck and arms.
“Eska, you know you cannot be doing that!” She whispers harshly, going to turn away from him when he pulls her into his arms, spinning and turning to the beat, tugging her along. She pushes against his chest to try and be free but her palms meet the cool metal and his strength keeps her still. He pulls her face close to his and for a second she thinks he is going to kiss her, but his lips only lightly brush her chin as he whispers in her ear.
“Stop fighting me or I will make sure your husband suffers greatly.” She stops moving, easing back to look him in the face as his words send a chill down her spine. She shakes her head, not understanding and he pulls her close once more, his hand slipping around her waist to squeeze her buttocks as she squeals. “You will be mine and blood will be shed. This is all you need to know.”
The words slip from his lips as a snake slinks through the grass, silent yet deadly, and as they sink in a scream builds within Freya. She looks around frantically as everyone around her seems to not see her fright, the dancing and drinking not stopping as her heart threatens to explode. She searches for her husband, knowing he will see that something is wrong if she can catch his eye and she finally finds him, sitting with his father and brothers just inside the hall, his head thrown back in laughter as she silently prays for him to look at her.
Eska’s fingertips brush her cheek as she spots torches approaching from the distance, lots of them, and she looks back to her husband, praying harder when his blue eyes snap to hers. His brow furrows as he sees her in the arms of another and she tries to jerk from Eska’s grip. His fingers dig into her upper arms and she lets out a scream, seeing the torches in the distance growing closer.
“Ambush!” She screams, trying her hardest to wrench from her once best friend’s arms, but feeling a steel like fist connect with her cheek instead, sending her to her knees. His hand wraps around her wrist tugging her up as screams and yells start to fill the night air, the sound of swords and shields being pounded together spinning around her as her back meets his chest. “Why?” She cries, trying to keep her face from Eska’s grasp as he squeezes her cheeks, holding her vision on the spot where her husband is rushing toward them.
“Why couldn’t you just be quiet?” He asks in retort, laughing as Callen and Bracka appear behind Asgar, striking fear in Freya’s eyes and she screams a warning just in time for him to react, spinning on the brothers as Eska starts to drag her away.
She grabs for Eska’s sword as he pulls her off her feet, wrapping his arm around her waist but he just tangles up her hands with one of his. He is still every bit the strong man she remembers sparring happily with and she lets out a frustrated scream. Turning her eyes back to the fighting, she sees Halvard swinging his mighty hammer, taking three men out at a time as his sons fight at his sides. Where had they gotten all these men to fight for them? She wonders, squirming and landing a kick to Eska’s shin, tripping him up and causing him to drop her, the air gushing from her lungs as her back meets the hard ground.
She tries to waste little time in getting to her hands and knees, scrambling away as Eska’s hand wraps around her ankle, tugging her back. Her dress rips as he pulls her underneath him, pinning her hands above her head with one of his as he stays her kicking legs with his weight. He growls, knowing he has only one option.
Freya’s eyes go wide as she sees Eska’s fist pull back. She can’t believe he is going to hit her. “No, please don’t. Eska, please. I’m your friend, remember?” She sees the hurt pass through his eyes as he looks down at her, his lips forming a hard line.
“That’s all I’ve ever been. A friend,” he grinds out, bringing his fist down hard onto the side of her face, quieting her short scream as she’s knocked unconscious, going limp on the ground beneath him.
He hauls her up and over his shoulder, sparing the fight behind him one last glance as he mounts his waiting horse, steering her toward the woods. He knows Bracka and Callen will not be far behind him, their conversation the entire afternoon being all about how they are going to rape Freya. Scowling, Eska pushes his horse faster, past the first waterfall hoping that he can get to their hide out with enough time so that he can have Freya to himself. To show her what love he can give her without prying eyes.
CHAPTER TEN:
The metal of Asgar’s sword sparks with Bracka’s as they meet in the air, sliding down until their fists brush each other’s and Asgar pushes him back, spinning his sword deftly in his right hand and stabbing a charging man in the gut. Sticking his deerskin boot right above the wound, Asgar shows no mercy as he yanks the blade from the suffering man, his screams being ended by a quick swipe across the throat. The blood spraying across his tunic is nothing new and it incites the anger within even more.
Turning his attention back to Bracka, Asgar sees him trying to flee through the bedlam. Surveying the scene around him he sees most of the opposing men fleeing and being cut down by his people, male and female alike, chasing them and leaving no prisoners. He lets out a shrill whistle, his brothers’ and father’s attention spinning his way as he swings himself up onto the closest horse. His sword, along with others, are drenched in blood, faces being splattered and clothes
being stained and torn from the fight, but for the most part his well-trained, hard driven people are unhurt.
They thought they would have the upper hand, but as Bracka scurries up onto a horse, he knows he was an utter failure. Asgar watches Bracka ride away only for a second and then scans the crowd looking for his heart.
“Freya!” He yells, cupping his bloody hands around his mouth as the screams of the dying intruders’ echo in the night. No reply and Asgar’s intuition tells him something is not right. He sees his brothers and their wives looking around as well, their voices mixing with him yelling his wife’s name.
“He took her!” The little voice comes from behind him and Asgar tugs the horse’s mane, making it turn and he sees his nephews, Egil and Fenris, with their little brother between them. Egil points up toward Asgar and Freya’s cottage. “Eska took her out toward the waterfall.”
Fear builds around Asgar’s heart as he follows the path of Egil’s direction, seeing the last of Bracka disappear over the hill. His fist grips his sword harder and a deep feral yell roars out from his chest, his enraged face turning to his brothers and father, already mounted and ready to follow him.
“That Son of Slaves has my wife and the two bastard brothers are helping him.” The words feel like poison rolling from his lips and he spits onto the ground as others gather around him, their anger and battle adrenaline thick and seemingly buzzing around them.
“We will get her back and torture the bastards!” Keir shouts, getting a roar as a reply from the angered group. They are seething, ready for a better fight than what was handed to them.
“We will leave them to rot on the shore so that the crows pick at their eyes while they are still drawing breath!” Herlof adds banging his sword on his shield and everyone joins in, throwing their weapons in the air before bringing them down on the wooden surfaces.
Asgar nods to them all, letting their anger mix with his as his father joins his side, being the first to turn and lead his horse up the hill as they all follow at a breakneck pace. The ones on foot keep up well enough, their anger and adrenaline urging them on.
As they near the first waterfall, the one where only hours before Asgar had opened his heart to his beautiful wife, he keeps pushing his horse and the crowd follows him, knowing the trio is hiding elsewhere. There is a series of waterfalls that are joined by a few different creeks, flowing down and forming a soothing pool where most of his people bathe. There are caves behind the waterfalls that if you know which way to go, you can traverse the miles between Asgar and Bracka’s tribes’ land in the matter of hours out of sight.
If he is to stop them from getting away with his wife, his beautiful flower, Asgar would have to hurry. He has an inkling feeling, a horrible, dark, dreadful feeling, that Callen and Bracka’s plan is not to capture her. The possible outcomes play through his head, bathing his wife in blood and mutilating her body and he has to close his eyes and shake his head with a groan to get them to leave him alone.
“Son, you have to know that we may not find her in time.” His father’s caring, sorrow filled voice finds him as they ride side by side, his father’s brown eyes peering at him with sadness of the situation.
All Asgar does is nod. It’s all he can do without issuing a loud scream to the heavens, cursing Thor and Odin for letting this happen. His teeth grind heavily as he pushes his horse faster, its hooves flinging mud into the air behind them. He doesn’t know what he will do if anything happens to Freya. He is supposed to be protecting her from harm; it’s what her father entrusted him with.
Seeing the other streams off to his left, Asgar lets out a frustrated sound, knowing they are close but not close enough. His chest is squeezing tight, the pain from the thought of his Freya lying dead in the water eating away at his resolve.
In a whisper, he issues a promise to the Gods. “If you let them harm her, I swear I will spend the rest of my days hunting them down, hunting their wives down, hunting their children down, and skinning every last one of them alive.”
***
The pain in Freya’s head is radiating down her neck as she comes too, a tugging feeling yanking on her arms and she slowly opens her eyes. The first thing she notices is that she is drenched, the sound of rapidly running water so close she thinks she can reach out and touch it only to find her wrists are bound together above her head. The chill from her soaked clothing mixes with the fear as she pulls fruitlessly on the rope binding her.
She is flat on her back, the rope binding her hands looped and knotted around a crevice in the rock behind her. She feels that the rock beneath her is unusually smooth and as she inspects what she can, not being able to sit up, she spots runes carved into it and it makes her blood run cold. She prays to the Gods to make what she knows is true, not so, but she is tied to a sacrificial alter.
“Don’t fret too much, my love,” Eska’s familiar voice comes from the darkness and she turns her face to try and see him approaching, his blonde hair and bloody clothing as wet as she is. At first she is only confused, not remembering, but then she sees the hungry look fill his eyes as he rakes her body with his stare and she struggles at her bindings.
“Eska, what are you doing? Let me go.” She tries to give him a smile, noting that her lips must be split open as a sharp pain shoots through her face and blood trickles into her mouth. She hopes to break through whatever haze he is under and get him to release her. Maybe then Asgar and his brothers will make Eska’s death quick and painless.
“I’m not letting you go. Don’t you remember me telling you that when we were little, Lass? When you slipped and almost fell from the cliff, I caught your wrist. You were crying like a babe, telling me to not let you go. Right then, you should have realized my devotion to you when I promised I would never, ever, let you go, but you did not. To this second, I think you let the weight of my love pass over you.”
Freya doesn’t know what to say to him. He smiles, reaching his hand out slowly and tracing a lazy, slow path from below her chin to the material over her stomach, running them back up and spreading his hand over her chest as she tries to squirm from his grasp. “What has happened to you?” She asks in a whisper, looking him right in the eye seeing the anger flare in the blue depths.
“You happened,” he growls, leaning over her and gripping her breast through the wet material making her cry out as the painful touch makes tears edge her lashes. “I have loved you since I can remember and you have ignored me.” His stubble filled skin brushes roughly against her soft cheek, making her turn her head from him and he grasps her earlobe between his teeth, biting down and making her cry out again. “Your father denied me your hand, telling me that I wasn’t worthy. Who is he to say what I hold inside for you isn’t worthy?”
As the pain caused by his rough treatment thrums through her body, Freya changes gears trying to placate her captor. “My father was wrong. Please release me and we can run away. Eska, I’ve always loved you.” She turns her face into his, brushing her nose along his and teasing his lips, the feeling of them on hers making her stomach turn. His eyes lock onto her and she tries to find the best friend she had relied on for so many years, but she finds nothing as he crashes his lips to hers, the kiss being rough and demanding causing her body to want to lock up and not let him in.
His weight sinks down on top of her as he continues to kiss her, forcing her knees apart as his hands roam and tug at the bust of her dress. She keeps her lips tightly closed against his aggressive tongue and when he pulls back she takes the opportunity to tell him ‘no’. Eska laughs, squeezing her cheeks in his hand and pulling her mouth to him, biting down on her bottom lip until she opens with a cry.
“You’re obviously doing it wrong if she is crying.” The mocking tone fills the cavern as Eska releases her, seeing Callen approaching from the curtain of water. As he shakes his red hair, spraying the area in water, Eska returns his attention to the slightly crying Freya, kissing her sweetly.
Holding her face still as she tries t
o jerk from him, Eska rests his forehead on hers, closing his eyes and losing himself in the feel of her underneath him, grinding his hips against her core revealing his arousal that makes her sick. “I only wish that you had recognized my feelings before, so that I wouldn’t have to share you with anyone.”
She can’t help but scream as his words sink in, the look in his eyes changing to sad as he sits up. Freya can hear the sound of clothing hitting the rocks, the clang of metal on stone as weapons are discarded and her tears flow freely as she can only wait. A hand grabs her ankle and with every bit of fiery warrior she has left within her, she kicks, connecting with Eska’s bare groin and hearing him curse as he releases her, falling to his knees with Callen’s laughter echoing in the dark.
“That’s why I told you to tie her legs!” he chides Eska, taking the leftover rope and grasping Freya’s ankle, laughing at her kicking and screaming. He releases her only to bring the back of his hand across her face in a jaw chattering slap, silencing her for now as he resumes his work. As she whimpers he knots the rope around her ankles one at a time, tying them as far apart as they will stretch as she screams out in pain. Pulling the dagger from his discarded breeches, Callen stands near her face, his throbbing shaft at her eye level and as she tries to turn away he holds her head still.
“Open your eyes and look at it,” he shouts, pressing the side of her face into the cool rock as she cries, the pain shooting throughout her face and neck. He places his blade just below her eye and whispers, “Open and look at it or I will cut out your eyes.”
Freya forces her eyes open, trying to look anywhere but right in front of her. Callen’s laugh fills her ears as he bumps her face with his engorged cock, a sick feeling rolling through her as his blade moves down her skin. His cock bumps her lips as a strange hum comes from his throat and Freya shakes her head, trying to move away but he holds her head tight to the rock. Daring a look up into Callen’s eyes, she sees the darkness and intent in his stare.
We Roam The Seas Page 13