Once my gagging stops, she quickly pulls me by the arm and drags me away from the scene. She makes sure to walk side by side with me, protecting me from the view of anyone passing by once we make it onto the street.
As I walk with her, she then whispers, “Langley might tell on you. I’m going to bring you to Runa’s and inform him that you never found Bard and are still looking for him. That way, he can think you never found him...That might work.”
I nod my head, swallowing, my throat feeling dry. I grow quiet, and I feel like I am in a dream. None of this seems quite real.
We eventually make it to the noisy and bustling mead hall, and I already see a man come bursting from within and vomiting into the dirt. A woman also comes stumbling out drunk and rubs at the man’s back. I recognize the two people as Dag and Eira.
They are Frey and Leif’s companions in battle and people I have come to know over time. They are a married couple now, a ring decorating their left fingers. They are impressive because they are both warriors.
Her speech is slurred as she coos out to him, “You’re alright my sweet.” She doesn’t even notice Margaret, who was steadily approaching, or me.
Margaret then quickly drags me along the side of the building and away from everybody else before she brings me around back.
She then lets go of me, and she says sternly, “Stay here. I’m going to go get Runa and then talk to Langley for you.”
All I can do is nod my head, and I rest my back against the building. She goes to find Runa, but I stop her by grabbing her arm abruptly.
She turns and looks at me with confusion, and all I can mutter weakly to her is, “Thank you.” I then let go of her arm and slump down on to the ground.
She looks a little caught off guard before all she can say is, “Consider this payback for giving me freedom.” And with that she continues walking at a fast pace and disappears around the corner, going into the mead hall.
I sigh, and I shut my eyes waiting for Runa who is most definitely busy working hard to serve the warriors who just got home in celebration. She is probably going to get bitchy because of it, and I dread having her help me.
She then comes around the corner, her footsteps quick, and as I reopen my eyes, her normally stern gold eyes look shocked.
She then asks, her voice as equally shocked as her eyes, “What have you done?”
I look away from her gaze, refusing to talk to Runa about it. I was hoping Margaret would be with her, but she isn’t, instead already off trying to find Adisa.
The woman clicks her tongue before she says, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter what you have done. What is important is that we have to get you cleaned and to Frey. He mustn’t know about any of this.”
She then says, the shock slowly fading from her face, “Get up.”
I stand up, and she already moves to the back entrance, opening up the door and ushering me inside before disappearing within.
I then follow her and go inside the small room with a bed and a couple crates full of food, soaps, jewelry, and dresses. I also notice a half-finished man’s shirt on her bed with the needle still in it and yarn. I wonder if she is planning on giving it to Leif.
Viking women often do that as a way to show their love or affection towards a man.
There is also another door inside the room, leading to the noisy hall full of drunken men and women. I can hear how deafening the other side is, and some voices are louder than others.
I shut the door behind me, and she starts going through her belongings before she says, “Undress yourself. I don’t think any of my clothing will fit you, but I believe I still have a dress from when I was much thinner. Even then it might be loose on you...I have always been somewhat of a big lass. But it will have to do.”
As she goes through her clothing, I take off my boots slowly before she says, “We have to also make sure you don’t have any blood on you. You’re going to have to clean yourself, I can’t be gone for too long.”
She then pulls out a white dress and hands it over to which I grab, and she says, “I’m going to get you some water and a cloth.”
Before I even get a chance to say anything, she disappears out the back door once more in a rush.
I sigh, and I begin to undress, everything falling in a heap at my feet and I slip on the white dress that Runa has given me.
Once I put it on, I notice it is a little loose—not too baggy where it was falling off me, but it wasn’t quite my size either.
Her return is quick as she comes through the back door once more with a pail of water and a rag. She then instructs me, placing the bucket on the ground, “Wash yourself. I will get your face seeing as you can’t see it but everything else you can see and do yourself.”
She wrings out the rag before she grabs my face and begins to scrub at certain spots rather quickly and dipping it back into the water and repeating the sequence.
“You owe me,” she growls out slightly after getting my neck, and she places the rag over the pail of water once finishing.
“I know,” I mutter, feeling ashamed of myself over getting helped by not only Margaret but also Runa who hates me.
“Do the rest yourself. I have other work to do,” she states before she quiets down and she instructs me further, “And once you’re finished come greet Frey in the mead hall. He’s drunk, so he probably won’t notice anything off about you until tomorrow when he’s sober.”
She then moves to the door once more, and I have already picked up the rag and dipped it into the fresh water.
She says, right when she’s about to slip out, “And one more thing, come out this door. Not that one.” She points to the door leading to the mead hall from her room.
I nod my head as I begin washing my arms, and she then slips out of the small room and back outside in a rush.
As I start washing up, I can’t help but feel nervous about meeting Frey once more.
It’s been four years since I have last seen him and he probably still has it in his head that I’m going to marry him, especially now that I am an adult woman.
I know right now it is the least of my worries...seeing as Bard is the major problem, but I would probably be nervous no matter what.
After washing up, I fix my hair into a braid, and I slip out the back door and go around the side of the building.
The loud noises coming from inside make my heart flutter at the thought of someone figuring something was wrong with me. Perhaps all of them are too drunk and stupid right now to even notice, but the more I approach, the more I feel my nerves take over.
If I hadn’t just killed someone, I think I would walk in confidently and confronted Frey and others with no problem, but I walk up and into the mead hall looking like a nervous lamb. I can feel it as I have a hard time staring at anyone for too long.
My eyes float across everyone there but not for too long, and I see Runa refilling the cups of ale for the men at one table before my eyes drift to another, spotting Leif drinking his ale quietly and staring at Runa, eyes darkened with none other than lust.
Leif looked no different than when he left, though his hair is a little longer than what it used to be. He also no longer keeps it in a braid but leaves it down with a single small decorative braid weaved in with some animal bone.
I wander further into the mead hall, my eyes focused on Leif, studying him before my eyes look for Frey or Arvid at one of the tables. However, I don’t see either of them right away.
As my eyes scan across the many tables, I feel a hand placed upon my shoulder, making me jump and for me to quickly spin around facing, the person who lay their hand upon me.
I look up to see Arvid who is frowning down at me, and he says, “If you’re looking for my idiot son, he is over there.” He then points to the table in the farthest corner, and I turn to see a man with his face against the table, and his arms shielding people from seeing it.
His cup of ale is tipped over, and everyone is still partying loudly around him
. And no doubt he still has that famous long braid running down his back that belongs to none other than Frey.
“He just passed out before you came in,” Arvid states. “He is too drunk to even stand and walk home. Though it seems his English bitch was of little significance, maybe he’s forgotten all about you.”
I stand there, not knowing what to do as I was told to greet him and Arvid chuckles before walking away and going to sit next to his other son that he has seemed to favor. “You’re best off just to go home if you can call my home yours for much longer.”
I frown. It was best to not say anything, and I glance to Runa who gives me brief eye contact before looking to Frey. She then wanders over with the pitcher still in her grasp, and she yanks him by his braid harshly, startling him awake. “Get up! Your wife you wanted to see so badly has come to greet you.”
Once he straightens his back up, and his eyes are open he slaps her hand away all the while peeling his lip back at her, and his friends at the table laugh at him as a low growl leaves his throat.
“It’s always fun to see Frey getting abused by women,” one chimes in, laughing.
“I’m sure his wife will do the same.”
“I’m sure. She was a wild thing then, can’t imagine now.”
“Shut up!” Frey snarls out not liking getting made fun of by the other men. Some I recognize and others I don’t, their faces new to me.
The table all laughs more at Frey’s anger, and Runa wanders off after waking the sleeping beast. She gives me brief eye contact once more telling me to go greet him.
I then walk up to the table and Frey’s ugly sneer vanishes from his face upon looking at me. He seems almost stunned.
The whole table quiets down as they examine me like some foreign object and I feel strange and out of place.
Hopefully, I didn’t miss any blood...
I then ask, “What?” My voice coming off as snappy.
One of the men grins at me before saying, pulling me down to sit next to him, “You can’t be Frey’s little English wife. You’re too pretty for him.”
I glare as he places his arm snugly around my waist, and I hear Frey growl from the other end of the table, “Hands off, Knute.”
The man turns to look at Frey, and he grins at him, “Oh, guess she is. Oops.”
He then lets go of me just like that and pats my back in a friendly manner, respecting Frey and his short but straightforward warning.
Frey then stands up, and despite the fact he is looking serious, I can smell the alcohol coming off his body from here.
He then grabs my arm, and he says, lifting me up from my spot next to the man, “Come on.”
I stand up from the table, my stay short in the mead hall and he quickly pulls me along with him and out the door. I hear the men loudly laugh behind me because of Frey’s actions, obviously making fun of him.
I even hear one say, “I bet he was all hot and bothered and couldn’t wait to get her alone.”
“Probably hard just from seeing her,” one comments.
Then another voice which was Knute’s says, “He just needed an excuse to get her alone. I gave him one. He should be grateful.”
“Poor thing. Wouldn’t want to be her tonight. He hasn’t bathed since we left England.”
“Well, neither have you, or any of us. The stench in this hall is so bad she probably can’t smell anything else,” one cackles.
“Except Leif...The only clean one here and we all know why, he desires the thick curves of Ru—”
I hear a pained grunt and then silence before loud laughter. I start to frown, wondering if Frey has ulterior motives in mind like the men at his table were talking about. If he does, he isn’t going to get very far.
The voices drown out the farther we walk away, and we leave the mead hall, his grip tight on my arm.
Once getting outside, I look at his back. He stops at the barn next to the mead hall, and he turns to look at me, no one else around.
Light comes from the torch on the side of the building since the skies were just beginning to get dark. His hand slides down my arm before eventually letting go.
He is quiet at first before he says lowly, “You’re not quite a little lass anymore...Are you?”
I don’t know what to say to him. I stare at him awkwardly, and I say snottily after a while, “Obviously...” I then ask him, “Why did you want to see me? Was it just to tell me that?”
He grins at me, and he says, not bothered by my words which come off as cold, “I have a gift for you.”
“A gift?” I question him with suspicion.
He then turns around and opens the barn door, and I follow him, hesitantly walking into the dimly lit barn.
My eyes focus on a candle that was lit, sitting on top of a wooden crate, the white wax melting down into the metal plate the candle rests on. It looks like it has been lit a long time ago...Had he been waiting that long?
He walks over towards where the candle is before he says, raising one finger, “Hold on, give me a moment.”
He disappears into the darkness, and I raise one of my eyebrows. After a while, I call out to him, walking forward, “Frey?”
“Give me a moment, lass,” he comments, and I hear rustling and a soft and feeble mew can be heard.
He then comes out from the darkness into the candlelight, and he cradles a small and white kitten, some black on its chest, with both his hands.
I stare at the kitten in his grasp, wiggling about, and I then glance up to Frey’s face with uncertainty if this was the “gift” he was giving me.
He walks towards me before saying, “She was following me around the days right before we left. I think the Gods wanted you to have her. She is white, almost like your hair.”
Frey is just like his mother and he doesn’t even know it—always gifting me things of white due to my hair, though my hair wasn’t truly white but silver.
He reaches out, touching a strand of my hair and cradling the kitten in his other arm. His finger slips through the lock of hair, and I look away.
I then ask, “Is she my gift?”
“Yes, she is yours,” he replies, letting go of the lock of hair, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath.
I reach over, stroking the top of the kitten’s head, and I say, captivated by the small and soft creature, “She is cute.”
“Hopefully, she will be a good mouser,” Frey says before depositing the kitten in my hands.
As I hold her, she wiggles about once more, turning her head and looking all over the barn, more concerned about her surroundings. My thoughts and worries temporarily fading as I hold the kitten.
I pet her, and Frey then asks, “Do you like her?”
“Yes. Thank you,” I reply to him softly, my eyes focused on the squirming kitten in my arms rather than Frey.
He then asks, somewhat unexpectedly, “Will you marry me?”
I temporarily freeze, and my eyes are cast down instead of meeting his face. I should have prepared myself for this question. I knew it would eventually come, the kitten a sign.
The Northmen here often gave kittens to new wives, and despite not being wedded to him, I just knew deep down he was going to ask me. Cats are associated with the Goddess of love, Freya, after all.
I glance up after giving his question some thought, and I am ready to reply. Hopefully, he is prepared for my answer as he is the one to ask such a daring question.
Chapter 16
Jealousy
As I am about to give him my answer, he stops me and he says, “Ah, no wait. Forget it, lass.”
He sighs, and he stumbles away before falling back into the hay, “I’m drunk. I just want to go to sleep. I don’t want your answer; it’s probably going to be bad, anyway. Leif has cursed me with such.”
He turns on his side, rolling in the hay, and he grumbles waving me off, “Go back home with Noma. I don’t feel like walking you back tonight. I’m exhausted.”
I stroke the top of the ki
tten’s head, kneeling on the floor before sitting on my legs, and I ask him a question which has been on my mind these past years. “Why did you choose me as your wife?”
He is quiet, and I stare at his back, awaiting his response.
He replies after a while, “Because you are strong and different. You have a warrior hidden in you. It would be a shame to let that go to waste. I didn’t see it until you fought with me. No scared child would, though a special one might.”
He pauses before he says, “Saxons don’t allow their women much freedom to do such things. You wouldn’t have grown to your full potential. You would have sat and...just wasted. A pretty decor for men to leer at...”
“A pretty décor,” his words crude, but right. If I were In England, I wouldn’t be the woman I am now today. I would most likely be married off and have a child on the way, secretly hating my life.
“I see....” I set the kitten on the ground, and it immediately runs over to Frey wanting his attention. She probably has grown close to him over the time he spent with her on the boat.
“I’m tired too,” I confess, thinking about the day’s events. I should enjoy this moment of solitude with Frey.
Who knows what kind of reaction he would have if he figured out I killed someone from the village. It would probably be bad. Maybe...I don’t know.
Frey has killed before. I have witnessed him killing. His hands were covered in the young man’s blood, and nothing was said except he was dead.
No one questioned Frey drenched in the blood of one of their own. A silent acceptance of what they knew happened.
However, I suppose I could be a different case. I wasn’t born here, so I have no right to kill one of their own. I am not one of them, I have no wolf or cat hiding in me ready to bare claws and fangs if need be.
I then grow closer before laying in the not so comfortable hay, but I remain a couple of feet away from him. I stare at his back before I say, “Today has been long.”
I then let my eyes shut, feeling extremely tired all of a sudden.
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