Hela Takes a Holiday

by Rebekah Lewis

  With a sigh, Björn recounted the events from the evening, glossing over his desire for the woman lest his father have any ideas about it being a sign that he was ready to marry. When he finished, he asked, "What should I do?"

  "Take me to this woman, obviously." Birger's voice had taken on a speculative tone. It wasn't clear if it was due to suspicion or something else. "I wish to question her myself." He rubbed his stomach, which was getting rounder as he aged. "I am known to be quite imposing. And a great judge of character."

  They stood, preparing to leave when Björn stopped dead and gawked. Hela stood in the doorway in a white dress that made her dark hair stark against it. She stared at him with those big, blue eyes and he stared back, uncomprehending how she came to be there or what he should do about it. It was as though the room itself had fallen away and left the two of them alone. Sound faded out and all he could do was see her. His heart beat rapidly, and he gulped. What was wrong with him?

  Erik came in behind her, breaking the spell as he stared first at Björn with a perplexed expression on his face, then at Hela. Sound rushed back into Björn's awareness with a burst of sound from all around him and he almost missed Erik's comment, "Sigrunn said you lost…" He gestured at Hela. "This. What part of the forest were you in because the most I come back with is frostbite."

  Björn blinked at him dumbly. Words…he should use those and reply…

  His father cleared his throat then whispered, "Aye, I can see why she has you so unnerved. So you found no other excuse to set her aside other than she talks like a Dane?" The mocking chuckle that followed grated.

  He looked over his shoulder at Birger whose amusement did not improve Björn's mood. "Caution is nothing to jest about." He might have snapped the words more than he'd meant to, and it only made his father's grin widen.

  "I saw it with my own eyes. You—staring at that woman the way a man stares when he knows he has to have something for keeps. She will have you wrapped around her little finger by morning." There was far too much elation in the man's face. It didn't bode well.

  He was afraid of this. It was part of why he'd left her with Sigrunn. What was the healer playing at delivering her here when he'd told her to keep Hela there until he came for her? If the woman had done as he asked, he wouldn't be pushed into this situation with his father. "Mayhap you are growing confused in your old age." He straightened up to his full height, aware he'd been slouching in annoyance. "So you do not know her either then? She really is not from Iskygge?"

  "Nay, though you would know that. Sorry to disappoint your quest for excuses not to find yourself lusting for a woman."

  Excuses? He loved his father, he did, but the man had too much nerve sometimes. "Have you anything else to worry about other than my taking a wife?"

  Birger smiled so brightly, the wrinkles on the sides of his eyes creased more than usual. "Nay. My focus for Jul is ensuring our line and having grandchildren before I die. Can you blame an old man for wanting simple pleasures in life?"

  Björn focused on wooden floorboards and a hint of shame overcame him. His father had never remarried, which meant if their family were to grow at all, it was up to the only son to do it.

  "What are you two whispering about?" Erik steered Hela toward them. She stiffened and her mouth formed a hard line when the other man had touched her shoulder to guide her forward the last few steps, and a strong urge to peel that hand away overcame him. Björn couldn't do anything to make his father take him serious now that he had thoughts of grandchildren crawling around in his mind.

  He didn't want to marry. What he wanted was to be sure the village was safe during the Yule celebration. But when Hela looked at him, he couldn't see a bloodthirsty shield maiden sent to deceive him or anyone. Nay, she conflicted him so much because what he saw in her eyes made little sense. It unnerved him. There was an innocence in her eyes that made him want to protect her. Yet, something ancient stared back at him when she met his gaze. Something with knowledge he couldn't comprehend. Something that did not make sense when combined with her outward appearance. And he wanted to learn everything about it. About her.

  Björn didn't believe she could bring destruction upon them because he was scared of falling in love. Nay, he believed she hid away some great secret, and whatever it was would bring trouble in its wake as it sought to make itself known.

  The dark-haired warrior wouldn't remove his hand from Hela's shoulder despite how many times she tried to shrug it off. If he knew who he was handling in such a way, he would never have dared… Yet, she couldn't tell them the truth of her identity, and he seemed to be doing it to irritate Björn—and it was working. The longer that hand stayed put, the narrower her handsome warrior's eyes became, and so she allowed the unwanted hand upon her.

  Not that she wanted Björn to be angry at his friend, but something about it…excited her. Was this jealousy? She'd heard so much about it, but had never seen it in play. Furthermore, she wanted to know what the man beside Björn had been telling him before they moved within hearing distance. She suspected she had been the subject, but she'd been distracted by the people gawking openly at her and the aromas of their food and how much more warmth resonated from a hearth in Midgard than back home. It had been overwhelming for a few minutes, but eventually the onlookers grew bored with her and returned to their own conversations, only glancing in their direction occasionally lest they miss something interesting.

  "I apologize if I interrupted," she said. Hela fidgeted, not quite sure what to do with her hands, so she clutched them in front of her. Crossing her arms or putting her hands on her hips felt wrong. At her sides seemed…bland. Being a mortal was rather difficult. "I asked to come looking for you since I did not wish to impose on Sigrunn's time more than necessary. Please do not be angry at her for disobeying your request."

  Both Björn and the man next to him raised their eyebrows. She felt the gaze of the warrior beside her as well. At first, she wasn't sure why, then she remembered they thought she was a Dane because of her speech—that difference she was unable to detect since she understood them perfectly. Damn Loki's eyes. She fidgeted more, shuffling her feet, and biting at her lower lip. Her focus, however, never wavered from Björn.

  "It was a request, not an order. Sigrunn did nothing wrong." Björn glanced to the older man. "Father, this is Hela, the woman I was telling you about." There was some resemblance discernable in their features. Especially around the eyes. "Hela, this is my father, Jarl Birger the Wise."

  She bowed her head but said nothing. His father was a jarl. Mayhap that was why Björn had been so suspicious. While his position in his village didn't change her attraction to him, it did pique her interest. Björn the Untouchable, indeed.

  The jarl approached, and the dark-haired warrior stepped away from her. Björn's father circled around her and made some assessing sounds like he had been tasked to examine a fat goose for slaughter. Her cheeks burned. She was a goddess! How dare he treat her as less.

  But she was powerless and could prove nothing of the sort if she wanted to. And she wanted to pass as a mortal, to be one of them. Did women always encounter this sort of treatment from men? She did not care for it. While the language problem between Björn and her had been aggravating, it hadn't made her feel less than mortal.

  "What brings a Dane to Norway for the winter solstice? All of us here in Iskygge are most eager to know." Yet those who were not part of their conversation continued drinking and celebrating, laughing and chatting merrily.

  She met the jarl's gaze, at least he was done examining her so closely. "I do not know why I am here. I lost my father in the woods, and here I am."

  "And why would someone traveling with their father be as bare as the day they were brought into this world? A father named Loki?" Birger the Wise laughed heartily. "This sounds like a story of the old gods, to be sure, but in reality, makes little sense." He turned to Björn. "I doubt she is a threat, but clearly she is addled. Good hips though. Will bear lots of
children. You two should wed."

  "What?" Björn stared at him and sputtered, his cheeks turning a dull shade of red. She was thinking the same question, and clearly from the look on Erik's face, he was as well. "You are basing your conclusion on that alone?" He gave Hela an apologetic look and added, "Not meaning to offend, but we are having difficulties keeping the Danes off our throne, you see…"

  Birger laughed. "You wanted to know what I thought, and I think she is a bit addled—not in a bad way. Mayhap she has escaped a bad situation and you will be doing her a favor. I always had a good sense of people, and I do not have a feeling she means us harm, but if you want to be sure…" He rubbed his chin through his beard. "You can always ride to Trondheim to speak to King Olaf and see if he's heard anything about Danes in the area."

  "I probably should." Bjorn actually sounded like that had been a good suggestion. Unbelievable. Next time she saw her father she was going to kick him somewhere extremely sensitive.

  "Then go." With a wicked grin he added, "But I know what you are really avoiding. If you do not return within five days, I shall marry her off to Erik."

  The dark-haired warrior had just taken a large gulp of his drink and choked. Coughing, the man who must be Erik stared at her, then Björn. "Why do I have to marry her?"

  She gasped. Was she so abhorrent that none of them would marry her?

  Wait…did she actually want one of them to marry her? Being mortal was her idea, yet now she was questioning everything she ever wished for. She definitely wouldn't force a man into marriage if he found her unappealing. A dull throbbing began at her temples and she resisted the temptation to rub her head.

  Björn glared at all of them. "Fine," he said. And without a backward glance or word, he strolled out the door. She started to follow him but halted after two steps. He obviously wanted to get away from her and didn't need Hela trailing around after him. Despite how he never seemed able to take his gaze off her. Despite how being near him made her feel excited and warm in curious places. The other men didn't make her feel the way he did, and she wanted to explore what it meant.

  "Erik," the jarl said in a bored tone. "See that the girl gets a room at the keep and start preparing for the ceremony for when Björn returns."

  "You think he will?" Erik didn't sound too sure. And what ceremony?

  "If he doesn't come right back tonight, and there is a chance he will be too stubborn to do it, King Olaf will laugh in his face and send him home. Did you see the way he was glaring at you when your hand was on her shoulder?"

  Finally reaching her breaking point of the submissive silence she'd been implementing, Hela glared at Birger. "She is standing right here and does not appreciate being spoken about and treated like she is a possession, thank you very much." This seemed to amuse him, for he guffawed. "I am quite glad I can amuse you."

  "Mayhap you are not addled after all, but alas, my son needs a bride and unless you can come up with a better tale for your being here, the bride you shall be."

  The nerve of him, but she had to respect that he was the man in charge in this village and she didn't have her powers. She scowled at Erik, daring him to side with the jarl.

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hela, I apologize if I insulted you, but I am not looking for a wife. I would not say nay to marrying you otherwise, but Björn is like a brother to me. If he is considering you at all, I will respect that." He gestured to the door. "Come, let us find you a room to sleep in, and tomorrow we shall speak again. See how things go while we wait for his return—mayhap he didn't actually leave. He is quite stubborn."

  She hoped Björn had stayed. Her night had started well, but had quickly turned into a disaster. Mayhap he would come back in a few moments. Decide not to leave. Hela didn't know what to make of the situation at all.

  "One more thing," the jarl shouted behind them when they were almost to the door. She stopped but didn't turn around. "If you are here to murder us all in our sleep, please wait until after Yule. We do love a celebration. Enjoy yourself beforehand, eh?" When her shoulders stiffened, he laughed again.

  Björn was the complete opposite of his father. If she ended up married to him during her time here, she could be thankful for that even if the rest of her time on Midgard continued to go from bad to worse.

  Chapter 3

  Four days later…

  Björn scowled into the dusk as he rode toward Iskygge, trying to beat the setting sun. The air grew crisper, colder, the closer he came. He'd been a coward, leaving in the dead of night to see the king in order to spite his father's demand he marry a woman he had just met under mysterious circumstances. He should have stayed. He should have turned around as soon as he realized he'd been acting out, but instead Björn had kept his course and saw it through. And, unsurprisingly, he had not turned up any information from the King of Norway, nor had the king given any notion of worry. It had been a waste of time.

  Time he could have spent with Hela. The more and more he tried to deny his attraction to her, the more he realized it was true. He had been running away from her.

  His father, and his closest friends, had always told him he could be infuriatingly stubborn, but for the first time Björn really saw it as the flaw it was. What must Hela think of him? He shook that thought away. If she was innocent, she would understand. However, if she was intent on doing them harm, mayhap she would be aware that he could have brought King Olaf back with him. Of course, in the days he'd been away, she'd have had plenty of time to do the damage she might have been sent to do. The longer he'd been away the more he doubted that was the case though. She'd seemed so confused when he'd accused her of being a Dane, had seen the hurt in her eyes that he was leaving.

  But why? It wasn't like she knew him at all. Could the attraction he felt for her be mutual?

  He urged the horse into a faster pace. The wind howled through the trees, and Björn snuggled deeper into his cloak to stave off the urge to shiver. Why was it colder the closer he came to Iskygge? A tremor that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with his natural instinct to remain observant and vigilant had him sitting up straighter in the saddle. He almost didn't see it in the fading light, but as the soft, melting kisses of snowflakes brushed his hair and face, the first glimpse of snowy trees and ground fell into sight straight ahead.

  That was a natural enough occurrence around Yule. It was winter, and snow often came with the territory. Snow, in and of itself, did not pose any trouble. However, as the ten-foot wall of it came into view, Björn would be remiss not to find it alarming. Or unnatural.

  This was the work of the old gods. Loki?

  He shook his head and dispelled the thought. Surely not. If they hadn't punished those on Midgard for trading one religion for another, despite it not being by choice in all accounts, why would they do so now. What's more, if Björn gave into any belief the Loki that Hela had been looking for in the forest had been the god himself, would that make her the queen of Niflheim in the flesh?

  He laughed, but the sound lacked warmth. Nay, the goddess was a giantess, and while his Hela was quite tall, she was not monstrous in anyway. All delicate curves and ethereal beauty. Not a single blemish or imperfection had marred her flesh. From the moment he'd seen her, he wanted to reach out and—

  Dispelling that lascivious thought as well, Björn squared his jaw and searched for a way around the wall of snow. He looked to the left and then the right. The wall continued in both directions, almost as if crafted on purpose, never dropping lower or higher. Unnerving. He could continue riding in one direction or the other until he found a weak spot, but the frustration eating at his patience forced him out of the saddle. He secured Alvis, his horse, to a tree nearby before pulling his sword from the saddle, but left it in the thick, leather sheath. If the snow didn't want to make a path for him, he'd make one himself. He couldn't determine how far in it would be piled up like this, or how icy. The substance was light and fluffy now, but that could change.


  An hour passed, and still Björn used the sword to cleave through the snow, making a path wide enough for Alvis to pass through with him. It continued to remain just as high up on both sides. Soft, but thick. Unyielding in its abundance. He was packing the snow in on the sides as he went, twice narrowly avoiding being buried. The icy crunch of the substance grated his nerves, and the leather of his riding gloves had long since frozen through. He would have to give up and build a fire soon…

  A fire. Why hadn't he thought of that sooner? Grumbling to himself, he went back to where the snow hadn't covered much of the ground and made a small campfire, taking a moment to eat the last of his food packed away from his visit to Trondheim. After warming himself and removing his damp gloves, Björn searched the area for a few choice limbs for torches, cursing that he hadn't any pitch to make them the most effective. He might have to use more than one, but since the branches weren't completely dead or dry, they could hold up, mayhap, for melting ice. He had to find the way through.

  The first torch sputtered to life, and he turned toward the partially-dug tunnel he'd made. The flame went out with a hiss. Björn narrowed his eyes at it. He lit it again. This time he made it to the opening he'd created before it went out a second time. A whisper of a chortle carried on the dull breeze—which was not strong enough to blow out a flame so effortlessly. The hair prickled on the back of his neck. Sun had set while he had eaten, and the light from the moon and the fire only revealed patches of ground, glistening snow, and an assortment of shadows. His horse shifted but didn't act as though it had been spooked.

  The second torch went out every time he lifted it from the fire. In a fury, Björn tossed it into the flames and it ignited as though highly flammable.

  "This is unbelievable," he whispered, yanking his scabbarded sword back from the ground with more force than necessary. Alvis gave a warning stamp on the ground, and Björn grimaced at his behavior, giving the horse a pat. "The hard way it is, then." Marching back where he'd left off earlier, he began digging at and packing snow with his shoulders. Pushing his way through. Was that an opening just ahead?