Hela Takes a Holiday

by Rebekah Lewis

  He didn't want to marry her. That much was abundantly clear, though from what Erik had confided in her during her first days in Iskygge, Björn didn't want to be married at all. He enjoyed solitude, whereas she had done everything in her power to escape it. Were they too much the opposite of each other to make a marriage work?

  Shaking her head, she dipped her fingers in the water and traced a light pattern over the surface. What was she thinking? The marriage could never work, for they didn't love each other and her time with him would be over in a matter of days. He would be alone again and glad for it, and she would be…lonely.

  Was that why she thought about him so much? Was she trying to force an emotion to escape her fate? Mayhap a little. She wasn't at all sure. She knew the desire that rolled through her, leaving her warm and tingly and a bit breathless was as natural as her longing for companionship. She wanted to belong to someone, and she did want to see what the desire between them amounted to. Only time would tell if anything could come from it.

  "I cannot believe he is going to marry that heathen witch."

  Hela stilled her hand in the water and turned toward the window she had opened to allow in the light. Since the cold air didn't burden her, she didn't mind it. She recognized the speaker of that voice. Ragnhild had made it abundantly clear she wanted Björn for herself. Had attempted to corner Hela more than once the second and third days of her being there. If not for the fact that Erik had been tasked to showing her around and introducing her to the people of Iskygge, Ragnhild might have succeeded.

  Standing, Hela wiped her wet fingers on her skirts and edged closer to the window. Ragnhild was speaking to another woman, though Hela could not recall her name. Today Ragnhild had clothed herself as though she were a man, though probably because she enjoyed fighting with the warriors rather than being left to household chores like most of the other wives. Hela respected that; nevertheless, she wasn't convinced that the woman was unaware which room was hers. Which meant Ragnhild wanted to be overheard. While irksome in the frequency of it, Hela was more amused by the tactic than anything else. What did she hope to accomplish?

  "I have not determined how she killed the priest, but clearly it was to force the jarl into consenting to a pagan ceremony." Ragnhild said in a brash voice that could carry through a crowd. "She shall have the king's wrath upon us once he hears about it."

  Hela scowled. Did everyone think this about her?

  "Björn should be marrying me. Only I could match him in swords. Only I can match him in bed sport. I bet she lies there and cries during the entire thing." Her companion laughed in response.

  Accusations of witchcraft didn't upset her, but she was not weak and feeble. One didn't have to be violent to be strong. Had she not survived centuries of solitude without losing her wits?

  Hela leaned out the window and replied, "Or mayhap I intend to cast a hex so he lies there while I do whatever I want to him." The image her words created made her clinch the window ledge much harder than intended. Her knuckles make small popping sounds. Through her irritation at these women taunting her, she couldn't help but be curious what bed sport would be like with Bjorn. The knowledge that she'd find out soon enough sent heat through her veins. This time it wasn't from anger.

  The woman she couldn't name gave out a squeak and ran off. It was almost amusing. Ragnhild crossed her arms and glared. "You admit it then? You are a witch."

  "Nay. But I do not appreciate you telling people I am. I have done nothing to harm you." She'd known there would be some trials and tribulation to being mortal, and Ragnhild had only been a minor thorn in her side overall, but if strange things kept happening, she could become much, much worse.

  The woman's blue eyes glinted dangerously as they slid into angry slits. "Oh, but you have." She moved her hands to her hips and arrogantly stuck her chin out. "He was set to be mine until you showed up. You are nothing more than a damsel in need of a rescue, but I know you are up to something, and I will find out what. Trust me in that, Hela. If that is even your name." Ragnhild stomped away, muttering something under her breath that had to be a string of curses.

  "Are you really going to go through with this farce, my daughter?" Loki spoke from behind her.

  Hela whirled around. How long had he been standing there in the corner, listening?

  "Or do you want to go home right now and spare yourself this sham of a marriage?"

  If she went back home, he'd claim he was right all along and she was meant to reside alone in Niflheim. She shrugged and ran her fingertips over the surface of the table beside the window. "I wanted to experience mortal life. Is marriage not a part of that?"

  "Do you understand what happens after the ceremony and the feast?" His expression was blank, his tone—bored. "When you find yourself in his bed, under those furs. Men of his kind do not usually care for the woman's pleasure. Only their own. Mortals are the most selfish of all lifeforms."

  She cringed. Not because she dreaded being in Björn's bed, because she looked forward to experiencing it no matter the outcome, but because her father was discussing it as though it were meaningless and bland despite stories of his exploits that were known far and wide. Was he protecting her, or trying to discourage her? It was always hard to get a proper read on him, even when he was sincere.

  He crossed his arms. "Well, at least you shall have a proper ceremony now. You are most welcome."

  "Pardon?" Hela couldn't believe her ears. She suspected he'd tampered with the Yule log and the snow, but this was too much. "Did you kill that man?"

  Raising his hands up to placate her, he said, "Nay. At least, not on purpose. I merely showed myself to him and explained that he could not marry you to the jarl's son. Because you, my daughter, are not a Christian." He hurried on before she could speak. "It did not go well. He called me a demon straight from hell and then clutched his chest and fell over. I had no notion of how to help him so…I left."

  She couldn't form any words. That poor man. Hela hadn't known him, but it was her fault he had died. Loki would have never startled him if she hadn't been there. Would Björn be disgusted if he found out? Would it give credence to his original suspicions that she was there to cause harm in some way?

  "I can see you are now writhing in doubts about this marriage. When you come to your senses, call me and I shall take you home where you belong." He flashed away, leaving her not with doubts about Björn, but worry that accusations such as Ragnhild's had more merit now than she would like. The priest would still be alive, and the Yule log would continue burning. The snow never would have surrounded the town and the farm nisse wouldn't be in revolt.

  Was it worth it to stay? To experience…life as a mortal.

  She closed her eyes and a tear she hadn't noticed forming escaped down her cheek. She needed to experience it, for the opportunity would never come a second time. Even if Björn never loved her, she wanted to spend the remainder of her time pretending, just for a little while, that he could.

  Chapter 5

  It all happened in a blur. The ceremony had taken place beside a frozen lake near the wall of snow. If she hadn't been mistaken, Birger had wiped away some tears as he performed the ceremony himself. Hela had borrowed a simple, white linen gown with a cream-colored, woolen over-dress fastened in front with silver broaches and multiple strings of blue beads connected between them. A wreath of mistletoe and holly had been created as her bridal crown. Björn had given her his sword to save for their future sons. In exchange, Birger supplied her with a finely crafted sword containing a sapphire in the hilt to give to Björn. She barely noticed the goat's blood that was sprinkled upon them by Erik and Halvar using twigs and leaves. Though there were several red spots on her dress to prove it had happened.

  She wished she could say she had felt excitement in the moment, but there had been so much happening that she wanted to take it all in. Commit it to memory. Now that the ceremony had ended and it was nearing time for them to retire as husband and wife, her nerves ha
d set into overdrive, and she was a nervous, anxious mess. She fidgeted with her hands and dress in her lap under the table. They sat at the front of the great hall, watching as the villagers celebrated and drank to their fertility. Ragnhild was not present. Björn had had several horns of ale, but she hadn't drunk much herself. The ale made her head fuzzy and she wanted to remember her night, good or bad.

  When Björn had been pulled to his feet by Erik and a group of other men, he stumbled and the villagers roared with laughter and cheers. Apparently, he had to be good and drunk before he left. They'd wanted her to be too, but she'd respectfully declined.

  "Up you go!" Birger pulled her abruptly to her feet and she squeaked from the sudden movement. He was positively beaming with happiness. The jarl leaned in, swaying a bit from the amount of ale and mead he'd imbibed. "Make sure he makes you as happy as you make him." He winked. She wasn't sure she fully understood what that meant, but she nodded anyway.

  He pushed her forward as Erik shoved Björn next to her. They stared at each other, and Hela thought he might try to kiss her when his gaze focused on her lips and his nostrils flared. Her stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. Would he do so in front of everyone? Shouts from the crowd brought him back into the moment. He took a step toward her and ended up veering to his left and into the wall. Guffaws rang in the background. How did he expect to perform any husbandly duties in this condition? Why were the pair of them to be deep in their cups to move forward? Was the act so terrible they needed to dull their senses to get through it?

  Hela slipped a hand around his waist and wrapped his arm over her shoulder as she helped him out of the great hall. He said nothing as they stumbled slowly toward the keep. She'd been moved into his chambers, but she hadn't any idea where to go once they reached the entrance hall.

  "Right," Björn said, nearly falling over. With slow, awkward maneuvers, she found his room by taking his one word directions, and opened the door.

  She didn't know what she had expected his room to be like. Their swords were already placed on a small table in the corner. A bed took up the majority of the room, covered in bear furs. His bow and quiver of arrows leaned against the wall in the far corner. Candles were lit on the table near the door where their swords had been placed. A basket of food was set there as well as a pitcher of water. A second, smaller table on the opposite wall contained a wash bowl and basin, and the brush from her chambers had been placed beside it. A trunk at the foot of the bed would contain their clothing, well…his. The few dresses she had were borrowed still, but she supposed if she stayed in Midgard she'd eventually have her own. A fire had also been lit in the hearth. It was so cozy and felt lived in within the chamber. Warm. Not cold and devoid of many possessions like her room at home.

  After depositing Björn on the bed where he flopped backward with a groan, she fidgeted a moment before going back to the door and shutting it. Erik had told her tradition entailed everyone listening in the corridor while they consummated the marriage, but Björn had been adamant about that not occurring. Thank the gods. If he had to be drunk to take part in it, it had to be terrible. She hoped it would be wonderful, but her nerves continued to get the best of her.

  Yet…how bad could it be?

  A loud snore tore her from her thoughts and she turned, her back thudding softly against the wooden panel. Björn had fallen asleep, half on the bed, feet still planted firmly on the floor. That cannot possibly be comfortable. With a bemused smile, her nerves eased, and she came to the realization that it wasn't that she dreaded consummating their marriage. Nay, she wanted Björn fully aware when he touched her. Not in a fog provided by copious amounts of drink.

  She blew out the candles on the table closest to the door, then trekked toward her new husband. He looked so innocent there, sleeping with his mouth wide open, arms splayed at his side. Chuckling softly to herself, Hela leaned down and lifted one of his legs, attempting to put him fully on the bed. He was heavy and didn’t budge. Björn's snore cut short and she thought she'd woken him, but he'd only shifted his head slightly to the side, smacked his lips together and then his mouth fell open again. This time, she pressed her lips together to stifle her giggles.

  He would have to stay in this position until he moved himself. There was nothing for it. Stripping down to her linen shift, Hela set the rest of her clothing and her boots on the chair in the corner, placing the wreath from her hair on top. Finally, she climbed into the other side of the bed. The fire from the hearth had left the room toasty, and in the light, she sat upright, looking down at Björn the Untouchable. She brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes and smiled to herself. Tomorrow she would know him better.

  Tomorrow…

  Björn groaned. Why did he feel like his back was broken in half? Opening his eyes, he realized he was in his bed, partially. He tried to sit up, failed, his back flaring with pain at the movement. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and tried again. A bear fur fell to the floor as he became upright and he turned to look for his wife.

  His…wife. He'd actually gone and married Hela. Not like he had a choice, but now that the choice was out of his hands, it was up to him to decide how to acclimate to the change. Hela was buried under the remaining furs, just her head and the balled-up fists that she had tucked beneath her chin showing. His lips twitched into a smile. She must have tried to get him into the bed, failed, and thrown a blanket over him before giving up.

  It wasn't quite morning yet, but the hearth fire was growing cold. Björn gritted his teeth against the discomfort he'd allowed himself by sleeping in such a fashion and strode over to add another log to the flames. These logs were burning well enough. Why couldn't the big fire in the middle of the village—That's it!

  He smiled as he came up with a simple solution. They'd chop up the Yule log and everyone could burn a piece in their hearth and see if it worked that way. Why hadn't he thought of it before?

  Your mind has been otherwise occupied…

  He glanced back at Hela. Her blue eyes were open and she watched him tend to the flames. "I tried to get you in bed," she said, sitting up. Björn's breath hitched at her phrasing. Was she naked under the furs? Nay, her linen shift covered her fully. Part of him wondered why he was disappointed when he had fought not to marry anyone at all, including her.

  But you did. And now she's yours to have in every way. He closed his eyes as a wave of desire roared to life in his blood. He'd sobered enough to participate in what he'd been too drunk to provide before. Slight embarrassment heated the back of his neck at the thought that he'd fallen asleep on his wedding night. His head hurt a bit, but he could survive it.

  Standing, he looked around the dark room until his gaze alighted on the table with the pitcher of water. That was what he needed. Two small goblets had been left along with a basket of food. He peeked under the linen cover and found bread, cheese, and fruit. Björn frowned and glanced about the room again. He'd requested mead be sent with the basket since water, while necessary for survival, didn't taste as pleasant.

  "You look confused," Hela commented from behind him.

  "Whoever brought our food forgot the mead. I can go find some if you want."

  "Is that what you desire?"

  Björn plucked a piece of cheese out and popped it in his mouth to keep from replying too honestly about what he actually did desire, and then poured a goblet full of water with hands that shook. Why was he so nervous? It wasn't like he'd never been with a woman before. "We can make do without it. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" he asked. The liquid eased the dryness of his throat, though if it was caused by nerves or sleep, he did not know.

  "Nay. Thank you though."

  He nearly choked on a piece of fruit as he faced her once more. The furs slipped lower when she leaned forward and revealed her pebbled nipples under her shift. His trousers felt tighter than they'd ever been. Björn sat heavily in a chair to hide the evidence of his reaction to her. She was his, but he didn't want to frighten her.

 
"I know you cannot remember much of your past," he started. "So I am not sure if you have ever…" How did he ask such a personal question delicately? Was there even a way?

  "Been with a man?" Her cheeks were flushed, her breathing heavier. Did she feel the same way he did? That first night in the woods, and again after he returned from seeing the king, she'd seemed to be attracted to him. But he'd been actively pushing her as far away as possible to…what? Protect himself?

  He frowned as the memory of his father sobbing over his mother's deathbed entered his thoughts, unbidden. The way Björn's five-year-old heart broke at the sight. The way he hadn't really understood she'd never wake up again until he'd fallen and scraped up his hands and knees and she wasn't there to kiss them better. Happiness and true love didn't last forever. One day she or he would die, and if they had children, they'd leave them to grieve for the rest of their lives.

  "Björn." Her gentle voice and the reassuring touch of her warm hand on his arm startled him. Hela stood next to him, her expression filled with concern. He hadn't even seen her get out of bed or approach him. "Is something amiss? You look as though you have seen a spirit."

  "My mother," he told her, voice hoarse. He took another sip of water and cleared his throat as he met her gaze. "She died when I was young. A fever."

  Her wide eyes held him riveted and he was stunned by the empathy and understanding there. Once more, he sensed he was looking into a soul far older than she appeared, but that was ridiculous. "I am sorry for your loss. Death is inevitable, but it always seems too soon."

  "You sound like you are well acquainted with it." And she did. His brow furrowed, and he set down the goblet before reaching out for her hands. "Is that why you were really out there? Did you lose someone? Your father?"