Feisty Heroines Romance Collection of Shorts

by D. F. Jones

  “I think we should set up camp for the night,” Gudrun said as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

  Glancing over at the woman, Sigurd could see the stiffness in her shoulders and felt terrible for her. He tried to imagine what it would feel like to love someone that was simply incapable of returning the favor.

  Putting down his pack, he started sorting through the satchel for his fire-making tools, wishing that he had never left Brunhild behind. He couldn’t even remember why it had seemed so important to meet with the King of Burgundy.

  “Let me find fresh herbs to make some hot tea,” Gudrun said as she set off into the woods.

  Sigrun nodded as she left, glad to be alone for a while.

  As the fire started, Sigurd pulled out some dried meat and a hard biscuit. The food was plain, yet filling, perfect for traveling when space was tight in his pack. He supposed he should offer some to Gudrun. She appeared to have packed more lightly than he did, and he wondered if she really meant to travel so far today, or if she had simply made a rash decision when she saw him.

  Before Sigurd could really settle into the blissful silence, Gudrun returned. She had an armful of greenery and smiled in apparent triumph as she held up her produce.

  “There is plenty on offer in these woods,” she said. “You wait until you try my tea, it will be delicious.”

  Sigurd smiled at her but said nothing. He didn’t imagine it would be anything more special than just tea, but then again, anything tasted good while on the road. Physical exertion always added a certain level of seasoning to anything.

  “Would you like some of my food?” Sigurd asked.

  “That would be lovely,” Gudrun replied. “But, let me finish what I am doing first.”

  The woman leaned over the cauldron atop the small fire, stirring vigorously. The aroma of the brew drifted over, and Sigurd had to agree with her. His stomach made noises in response to the sweet scent, even though he had eaten already and should be sated.

  “It smells wonderful.”

  “Here, it tastes even better,” she said as she scooped a cup into the liquid and passed it to him.

  Sigurd sniffed closely at the drink. “What is in it? I cannot work out what herbs you have used.”

  “It doesn’t matter what it contains,” Gudrun said with a sly smile.

  Uneasiness continued to writhe its way through his guts as he looked at Gudrun. He had the sudden urge to tip the drink out, to tell her that he no longer wanted them to travel together.

  That would be rude, though.

  After all, Gudrun was only making him something to drink. He may not have requested her company, and he might find her presence annoying, however, that was no reason to refuse her tea or her companionship—especially with the manner in which he had departed. Bringing the cup to his lips, he took a small sip.

  “This is exquisite!” Sigurd exclaimed as soon as the liquid ran over his tongue. Swallowing quickly, he took another drink, this time gulping it down.

  “I knew you would love it,” Gudrun said, sidling up to him and linking her arm through his, removing the ring from his finger as she did so and dropping it discreetly into his pocket. “What do you think of me now, Sigurd?”

  He turned to the woman, as though seeing her for the very first time. “I think I love you.”

  “Of course, you do,” Gudrun replied, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Now, tell me more about your betrothed.”

  Sigurd frowned, not sure of what she was talking about. Although, somewhere at the back of his mind, a flash of blonde hair darted through his memory.

  “I am not betrothed.”

  Chapter 7

  Brunhild

  The day lightened, the sun bleeding over the horizon until it became a pink blush, and Brunhild watched as two people approached. Even at a distance, she was sure that one of them was Sigurd. A woman also approached with him, and that concerned her.

  Before Sigurd left, they had decided that she would stay where she was. While there was no evidence that she would be protected by the remaining magic associated with her counter curse, they both agreed that to venture out would immediately alert Odin.

  However, as she looked down upon the approaching party, she suspected that they had been wrong in their assumption. Oh, how she should have remained by Sigurd’s side. Now, she suspected that Odin already had his clutches in the situation, and their love was doomed.

  Together, they could have stood a chance.

  The day was well underway when Brunhild finally saw that Sigurd was no longer wearing his ring. She rubbed at her hand and felt the power contained within the enchanted gold.

  Somehow the woman that followed alongside Sigurd had tricked him into taking off his ring. And in doing so, their connection was now lost.

  Brunhild swallowed hard against the pain in her heart. She couldn’t fathom what sort of magic this woman had and could only assume that the All-Father was behind it.

  Fighting against the urge to flee, to rush out from her fiery protection, Brunhild clutched at a wooden pillar, feeling the weight of it, comforted that a mighty yew now held her up.

  She saw the nameless woman lean in and kiss Sigurd on the cheek, before he ventured forth through the ring of flames that still encircled the hall. Brunhild was surprised when the woman also crossed through the barrier.

  It was also the catalyst she needed to rush forth from the hall.

  “Sigurd!” Brunhild called, not even recognizing her own voice. She sounded strangled, terrified.

  Her betrothed looked up and Brunhild saw the vacant stare, the lack of knowledge of her, and it wounded her worse than any weapon could.

  “Hello,” the woman beside him said, and Sigurd turned to smile at her.

  Brunhild gasped, horrified that he did not appear to know her, or that he no longer cared. Instead, she could see the adoration in his eyes for the new woman, and her gut twisted up in agony at the thought that Sigurd was suddenly so thoroughly lost to her.

  “Sigurd, it is me,” she whispered, and he looked towards her, through her. “We are betrothed.”

  “How can I be? I am already promised to Gudrun.”

  The knot of fear in her stomach hardened and turned to cold rage.

  “How did you do it, Odin?” she asked as she looked skyward.

  Gudrun laughed at her. “What are you talking about? Sigurd is my betrothed and has always been. You are a crazy woman. Sigurd, kill this woman. Kill her before she poisons our love.”

  Brunhild held her breath as she watched Sigurd pull his dagger from its sheath. He then turned towards her without any shred of recognition.

  “Sigurd, it’s me, it’s Brunhild,” she pleaded.

  His face was vacant, devoid of any emotion, and Brunhild knew that he was trapped, lost to her because of some sort of magic. Flipping a glance to Gudrun, she tried to surmise if this woman was powerful enough to perform such a feat.

  She couldn’t tarry too long, though, as Sigurd approached quickly. Turning, she ran back towards her bed—their bed—the one in which they shared such passion.

  “Sigurd, remember, remember me,” Brunhild said as she fled, not risking a backward glance. All she could do was beg of him and hope that it would trigger a memory that would destroy whatever magic was being used.

  Reaching the bed, she threw herself over it, rolling as she did so and flipping when she reached the edge. As she turned, her hand reached down, clasping at her sword.

  Brunhild was ready for action. Yet her heart was breaking at the thought of having to defend herself against the man that she loved.

  Sigurd approached, and Brunhild tried to focus.

  This was just a man, a man who was trying to kill her. She had been trained for this, had seen every tactic that could ever be used against her in the endless training in Valhalla.

  However, never had she prepared to fight a man that she loved.

  Brunhild whimpered as Sigurd approached. He had his sword at the ready, and h
is blank stare haunted her.

  “Sigurd,” she repeated. “It is me. It is Brunhild, your betrothed.”

  “Don’t listen to her,” Gudrun replied. “She lies. It is only me who you love, whom you have always loved.”

  Sigurd swung his weapon at Brunhild, and the clash of metal on metal filled the hall as she blocked the attack. There was immense strength behind Sigurd, and Brunhild leaned into her sword, the whine of metal putting her teeth on edge as she gritted hard against the effort.

  Jumping back, Brunhild quickly retreated towards the vast window behind them.

  Sigurd darted forward, and Gudrun followed closely behind, talking and reminding him of his love for her and her alone. Gudrun seemed to be working hard to make sure that Sigurd did not question anything. Brunhild wondered at how the woman controlled him, certain that magic was afoot on her behalf as well.

  “Allow him to fight, Gudrun,” Brunhild called. “He does not need to hear your poison.”

  Gudrun ignored her words and continued to speak to Sigurd.

  “Look at me,” Brunhild countered and a flash of confusion crossed his face before Gudrun’s words settled on him once more.

  “Kill her,” Gudrun whispered, and Brunhild readied herself for the next onslaught.

  Sigurd rushed at her with his weapon held loosely in his hands, but Brunhild did not take that as a sign that he was not concentrating on her. Instead, she prepared for his attack, her sword also moving freely, ready to anticipate his reaction.

  He swung, arcing his sword up high and bringing it down over her head with a harsh grunt as he put everything into the action. Brunhild whipped her sword up at an angle that prevented the strike. Their swords crashed together and, once more, they were leaning fiercely into their weapons, each in an attempt to overpower the other.

  Their faces close, Brunhild stared straight into Sigurd’s eyes, trying to see the man inside. His gaze was hooded, clouded by magic. It reminded her of when she had gazed into Odin’s one-eyed gaze and was almost trapped by it.

  “Sigurd,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “I know that you are in there.”

  He blinked, his eyes clear for a sweet moment, and Brunhild could see the real man, the one that she loved.

  However, the prick of a knife at her throat caused her pause.

  “Put down your weapon,” Gudrun said, and Brunhild halted a moment, deciding on what to do next. The knife was pressed hard against her skin, and she felt the sting of its touch as a trickle of blood oozed to the surface.

  Relaxing her stance, Brunhild’s weapon sagged against her, and she averted her gaze from Sigurd. In the confusion, Sigurd also obeyed Gudrun’s command and dropped his own weapon.

  “Why are you doing this?” Brunhild may be prepared to die, but she needed to know the reason behind Gudrun’s enchantment of Sigurd. “Did Odin put you up to it?”

  Gudrun snorted. “The gods have sanctioned our union. Sigurd belongs to me.”

  Brunhild knew without a doubt from Gudrun’s hooded answer that Odin was involved. Somehow, he had found Gudrun. While Brunhild slept, the god had learned of Sigurd and manipulated the situation to his own advantage. She now had to work out a way to get through to her beloved, to save him from her own mistakes.

  Brunhild swallowed, and the knife cut further into her throat. She still held her sword, but knew that it would be a quick death if she were to raise it. Flitting her gaze back to Sigurd, she watched as he stood quietly, awaiting further instructions.

  “Do you really think that a spell will truly make Sigurd care for you?” Brunhild continued. “People should not be tricked into love. Rather, they should fall headlong into it of their own accord. To love Sigurd like this is not really loving him at all.”

  “Don’t talk to me of such things,” Gudrun hissed.

  The knife pressed in further, and blood trickled down Brunhild’s neck. She could feel the dampness of it as it soaked into her tunic.

  “Sigurd was always meant to be mine. You stole him from me,” Gudrun continued.

  “Perhaps we should ask Sigurd about that, I mean the real Sigurd. Remove the enchantment, and if he proclaims his love for you then I shall walk away.”

  Brunhild felt ill speaking the words, but it was the truth. Even through the enchantment, Brunhild could tell that Gudrun had feelings for Sigurd. She did not want to be like Gudrun, to love a man who could never return the favor. Brunhild would remain a hull of a woman rather than have someone suffer for her own happiness. If it meant walking away from Sigurd, of turning back to Odin, and allowing him to marry her off to someone, then so be it.

  Still, she would not give up without a fight.

  Sigurd may love Gudrun, but he was captured within an enchantment presently, and she knew personally how much that was a curse. If the last thing she did for Sigurd was to free him in order to make his own choices, then she would die a happy woman.

  “There is no need to do that,” Gudrun replied. “Regardless of the spell or not, Sigurd loves me.”

  Brunhild could feel the weight of the band of gold on her finger, another enchantment but one offered freely between Sigurd and herself.

  “Sigurd, do you remember your ring?”

  He looked at her, a flash of confusion when she reminded him.

  “Look at me, Sigurd, remember who you really love,” Gudrun begged.

  “No, Sigurd, remember what really happened,” Brunhild countered even though Gudrun poked the knife closer to the thick vein in her throat.

  A brief frown darted across his face, and Sigurd’s blade trembled in his hands. He blinked, as though trying to free himself of the dreaded curse.

  “Remember me,” Brunhild said. “But, more importantly, remember yourself.”

  Gudrun squeezed Brunhild’s arm, and she could feel the sting of the woman’s nails digging into her flesh. Dropping her sword, Brunhild called out to Sigurd once more.

  “Remember, or kill me now.”

  She kicked her sword away, and the nails on her arm tightened further. However, it was distraction enough, and Brunhild quickly brought her fingers up to her throat and grabbed at the knife.

  Gudrun dug in, but Brunhild enclosed on the blade, her fingers cut as she did so.

  “Remember me, Sigurd,” she cried out hoarsely as she struggled.

  Brunhild could feel the burn of the ring on her finger. She concentrated on it, allowing its energy to flow up her arm. The ring warmed, reminding her that this world was nothing without the love of others. Gudrun was nothing, she had nothing, and stood on a curse of lies.

  The ring’s power intensified.

  “Sigurd, look at me,” Brunhild pleaded.

  He fought the action as Gudrun also called to him. Eventually, though, he glanced in her direction.

  “Remember our oath,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  Gudrun was trying hard to slit Brunhild’s throat, and her fingers were bloody as she tried to prevent it from happening. However, the task was a distraction for the woman, and Brunhild utilized that to her advantage. “Remember the ring you gave me, remember its power.”

  The ring on her own finger burned as it glowed fiercely, and she watched as Sigurd’s gaze dropped, his attention caught by the glint of it.

  “That’s good, Sigurd,” she encouraged. Her hands pounded, the bloody cuts an agony that made her hiss in pain. She kicked out at the woman behind her and made contact with Gudrun’s shin. Brunhild forced another blow, this time with more strength behind it. She felt a puff of breath released at her ear as Gudrun fought hard to maintain her position. Wriggling around, Brunhild managed to wedge her elbow up and underneath Gudrun’s arm, weakening the hold on her.

  “You need to remember,” Brunhild shouted as Gudrun regained her hold once more.

  Looking up, her gaze pleading, Brunhild could see that Sigurd had one hand in his pocket, searching. As Brunhild gasped against the pain of her wounds, her chest heaving, Sigurd finally pulled the ring free
from his pocket.

  It sizzled in his hand, and power emanated from it as magic swirled slowly along his arm, across his chest, and up to his neck. His gaze lifted from the ring and tracked its way towards Brunhild. She held her breath, and behind her, Gudrun did the same.

  “What have I done?” Sigurd finally said, rushing forward.

  As soon as she felt Gudrun’s hold slacken, Brunhild let go of the knife at her throat and grabbed at the woman’s arm instead, twisting it away at the same time. Turning, Brunhild spun the woman out from her body as Sigurd grabbed the knife from her hand, the blade now nicking at Gudrun’s throat.

  “Say the word, Brunhild,” Sigurd said, his gaze flitting briefly to her.

  Brunhild wanted Sigurd to end the woman’s life. However, did she really want a woman such as this to die as the result of a battle? Did she want to be training this woman in Valhalla every day if, by some miracle, Odin allowed her to remain a Valkyrie?

  Brunhild knew the answer to that. Shaking her head, she pursed her lips firmly before speaking.

  “She does not deserve such a death. Instead, send her out from here, allow her to go back to her normal life, to always remember that even a curse could not make the man that she loved do the same in return.”

  Sigurd paused a moment longer, his gaze firmly on hers as though he were about to dispute the matter. However, he finally let Gudrun go, pushing her away from himself as he did so.

  “I do not want to sup with you in Valhalla, anyway,” he said.

  Gudrun stood still in the center of the room, eyeing them off.

  “You need to go,” Brunhild hissed as she leaned over and reached for her sword. The pommel was already slick with her blood as she clasped the weapon weakly in her hands. She tried not to cry out with the pain. “Because, if I see you again, I will kill you without hesitation.”

  She hefted her sword and pointed it at Gudrun, who took one look down the wickedly sharp blade and turned and ran. As she reached the flames protecting the hall, she paused but Sigurd was already there, his blade pointing outwards.

  Gudrun had no choice but to dash through the flames, and she screamed as they scorched her. Brunhild’s weapon clattered to the ground as she watched Gudrun. Once through to the other side, the woman continued to run, her hair still on fire.