Frida: Claimed
Viking Guardians 3
Kaitlynn Clarkson
Contents
COPYRIGHT PAGE
THANK YOU
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
GLOSSARY
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Sigrid: Spurned (Sneak Peek)
CHAPTER 1
MORE TITLES BY KAITLYNN CLARKSON
Kaarina: Rejected
Meet Me At Crescent Head
ABOUT KAITLYNN CLARKSON
COPYRIGHT PAGE
Copyright © 2020 Kaitlynn Clarkson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic and mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Disclaimer
Although the places described in this story are real, it is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to any event, either historical or recent, or any person, living or deceased, is completely coincidental.
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THANK YOU
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When Halvar takes his younger sister Freja to the festival of the Disting, he expects her to be on her best behavior. After all, she’s supposed to be finding a husband.
But Freja cannot help herself. Wild and free-spirited, she is a skilled archer and a keen competitor who ignores the rules for women in her society. She finds a way to join the men-only archery competition and her talent catches the eye of a jarl, who decides he must meet her.
Freja’s mind is as sharp as her aim and she eagerly engages in the discussions surrounding the politics of the land. The jarl has never met a woman like Freja and he cannot stop thinking about her.
But with trouble looming in the form of a new king, the jarl must do his best to keep his people safe and he is forced to attend to political matters. When the crisis passes, the jarl’s thoughts turn to Freja. Is the difference in their social status too great? Can they be together? Or must the jarl bow to the will of the people and take a wife who will offer a political advantage?
This novella is set in the days of Norway’s King Haakon the Good; a time when the Vikings left their homelands to raid and plunder; when Christianity was making tentative approaches and kings fought for the right to rule.
CHAPTER 1
“Frida!”
Frida looked up from the leather she was braiding. It was a warm, sunny day and she had decided to work outside, sitting on a low stool as she soaked up the sunshine. She looked up to see her sister-in-law, Kaarina, hurrying towards her. Since they’d married, Kaarina and Eira no longer spent as much time with the family and Frida missed them. She smiled and waved to Kaarina.
“It is a beautiful day, is it not?” Kaarina beamed, coming to sit beside her on the grass.
Frida had never seen someone as happy to be married as Kaarina. Her joy overflowed onto those around her and lifted their spirits, too.
“It is indeed,” Frida answered. “What brings you away from your work as a wirtun?”
Kaarina sighed happily. “Being married is wonderful,” she said. “I love being a wirtun.” She straightened up. “But I am here for a reason. Landwulf sent me to ask if he can borrow your father’s big saga. It is bigger than his and will make the job faster. He has started work on the barn so the oxen have somewhere to live in winter.”
“I am sure Father will be happy to loan the saga,” Frida replied. “We shall go ask him in a moment. He is working nearby today.”
“Was not our wedding a wonderful day?” Kaarina sighed dreamily.
“It was the best occasion in the village for years,” Frida agreed. “Except for one thing.”
“What was that?” Kaarina asked sharply. She couldn’t imagine how anything could’ve gone wrong.
“Fritjof would not leave me alone,” Frida said. “That man scares me.”
“He was unkind to his wife when we lived in Myrkvior Fjall,” Kaarina said. “I dislike him.”
“Torsten said he would tell Fritjof to leave me alone,” Frida said.
“Torsten?” Kaarina said with a sly grin. “He is handsome, is he not?”
Frida blushed. “I have not paid him much attention,” she said.
“Come now, surely you have noticed his blue eyes and his big muscles. Any girl who has not must be half-blind!”
“Well, if he is that attractive, why did you not marry him instead of Landwulf?”
“Pffft! He is too much like a brother. We grew up together. Besides, he was betrothed to Revna at a young age.”
“Revna? Where is she now? Why are they not married?”
“She was killed when my father attacked Myrkvior Fjall,” Kaarina said sadly. “She was beautiful and kind and I know that Torsten misses her. They were due to be married soon.”
The conversation moved on, but Frida found herself wondering about the handsome Torsten. Did he still grieve for his lost love? Did he lie awake at night thinking about the future they would never have? A new awareness of Torsten’s vulnerability began to grow in her heart as she imagined how it would feel to lose someone you loved right before you were to marry. She was sure that grief of that magnitude would be a heavy burden to carry.
Torsten hitched up the log behind the oxen as he and Einar worked to build a longhouse in the new village of Leið Lykð. It would be a modest structure at first where they would both live until they could build a second one.
“Let us get this one in place today,” he said, as they started their slow plod towards the new house. “We need to get this ready to live in before the winter months.”
“When can Halvar help us again?” asked Einar.
“He said he might be able to spare a little time later in the week,” Torsten replied.
As they approached the village, Torsten noticed Fritjof outside working on his new pit-house.
“Greetings, Fritjof,” he called.
Fritjof glared at him and turned his back. Torsten had the uneasy feeling that he’d made an enemy.
He thought back to the occasion of Halvar and Eira’s wedding. Frida had come outside, anxious to avoid Fritjof. She’d almost bumped into him and seemed agitated. He’d promised to tell Fritjof to leave her alone.
“Leave Frida alone, Fritjof,” he’d said after he returned to the festivities.
Fritjof had looked at him with disdain. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” he’d asked.
“Frida has no interest in you, Fritjof,” Torsten had replied. “You are too old for her. Leave her al
one.”
Fritjof had come up close and stuck his face right in front of Torsten’s. “What I do is none of your business,” he’d said in a menacing tone. “If I wish to take Frida to be my wife, I will. You cannot stop me.” He paused. “And if you try, you will be sorry,” he’d added.
Torsten got the message. His interference was unwelcome and Fritjof would be willing to harm him. But he was worried about Frida. What would happen to her if Fritjof somehow managed to trick her into marrying him?
Frida hummed a little tune as she gathered eggs from the chickens and put them in her basket. Her dark hair was tied back with a strip of cloth and her cheeks were glowing with good health. She was thinking about what to prepare for the evening meal. Perhaps they would have some egg; the chickens had been generous today. She rounded the corner from the chicken coop and found someone standing in the pathway. She gulped back a scream.
“Frida,” Fritjof said, coming close to her.
She could feel his hot breath on her face and took a step back. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“Do not run away, Frida,” he said, leering at her. “I think it is time we had a little talk.”
She yanked her wrist from his grasp and stifled a scream.
“There is nothing to talk about,” she choked out and bolted away from him to the safety of the house.
That evening, Alfonso appeared while she was preparing the evening meal.
“We have a guest for dinner,” he told her. “Make sure there is enough food.”
“Who, Father?” she asked innocently.
“Fritjof.”
Her blood froze. “No, Father! Not him!”
“Why? He is a nice man!”
“No, he is not! He frightens me!”
“Nonsense! It is I he came to see, not you. Be gracious to him.”
That evening, Frida sat with her family at the table as was their custom. Fritjof, the honored guest, sat opposite her. She had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Every time she raised her eyes, he was looking at her, his eyes intense and watchful. She felt as if she were being hunted in the safety of her own home. Worse, no one else seemed to notice. Her skin crawled and she felt nausea rising from the pit of her stomach.
A few days later, Frida was walking along the road to the center of the village. It was another sunny day and her heart was light until she saw Fritjof walking towards her. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be helping Halvar establish the new village?
“Frida,” he greeted her.
She mumbled a reply and tried to duck around him but he stood in front of her and blocked her path.
“Let me pass,” she told him.
“Not until we talk,” he replied.
“There is nothing to talk about, Fritjof. Let me pass.”
He stood looking at her for a long moment. “Very well. You do not want to talk to me. Then we shall have to do this the hard way.”
“Do what?”
He gave her a lecherous grin. “You will find out soon enough,” he replied enigmatically. “Your little friend Torsten will not be happy.”
Frida had no idea what he was talking about or why he’d mentioned Torsten but her heart clutched with fear at his words. She was certain he had evil plans for her.
That evening, she confided in Sigrid after they were in bed.
“Have you noticed Fritjof?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” Sigrid replied. “Why?”
“He scares me,” Frida confessed.
“What has he done?” Sigrid asked in alarm.
“He grabbed my wrist when he found me by the chicken coop. He told me we had to talk. And he would not leave me alone when Kaarina and Landwulf and Halvar and Eira got married.”
“I’m sorry, I did not notice,” Sigrid said. “But I will watch now that you have told me. I hope he just stays away from us.”
“I do not think he will,” Frida said. “He told me today that if I will not talk to him, we will have to do this the hard way.”
“Do what?”
“I know not. He would not tell me. But I am afraid of what he might do.”
The following day, Frida was again preparing the evening meal when Minna came in.
“Fritjof will be joining us,” she said. “Prepare extra.”
“Again?”
Minna looked at her sternly. “We never refuse hospitality to guests,” she said. “Fritjof is a nice man. Be friendly to him.”
“But Mother …”
“No arguments, Frida,” Minna said. “He will be joining us and if he wishes to do so tomorrow, then he may. He is proving to be a good friend to Father.”
Frida’s heart sank. She’d been hoping that Minna would at least listen to her misgivings but that hope had been dashed. She would have to rely on Sigrid to be her ally in her attempts to avoid Fritjof.
That evening, Frida once more endured Fritjof undressing her with his eyes. He was again seated across the table from her, in the vacant place occupied by Landwulf before he’d married Kaarina. She made the mistake of stretching out her feet under the table. Immediately, he put his foot on top of hers, pinning it down. She jerked her foot away with an involuntary little squawk. All eyes turned to her.
“Have you a problem, Frida?” Minna asked, censure in her tone.
Fritjof’s eyes bored into her, threatening her if she dared to utter a word of complaint.
“No, Mother,” she murmured, but not before she caught Sigrid’s eye.
“Then let us hear no more strange noises while we are eating,” Minna replied.
After the meal was over, Frida rose to clear the bowls from the table. She took them into the kuhhina to begin cleaning them. She was intent on her task and didn’t hear footsteps approaching above the clatter of the dishes and pans. Suddenly a hand reached around from behind her and groped her breast, squeezing hard. She screamed and lashed out, catching Fritjof on the chin.
Alfonso came running in.
“What is wrong, Daughter?”
Fritjof turned to him. “She was startled by a mouse,” he said smoothly.
Alfonso frowned. “You have seen many mice before,” he said, disapproval in his tone. “Why the fuss now?”
Fritjof bored holes in her with his eyes, daring her to speak up.
“I am sorry, Father,” she mumbled.
That evening, Sigrid was curious as they lay in their beds.
“Did you really see a mouse?” she asked.
“No. That was Fritjof’s story.”
“So, what really happened?”
“He grabbed my breast and squeezed hard. It hurt and it startled me.”
Sigrid gasped. “Have you told Mother?”
“No. She would not listen to a word I had to say about Fritjof. She insists that he is a nice man and I should be friendly to him.”
“I would try to talk to her again,” Sigrid advised.
“It is no use,” Frida said sadly. “Neither Mother nor Father will believe me. I know not what to do, Sigrid. Why do my parents believe a stranger instead of their own kin?”
Sigrid had no answer.
“I am afraid of him,” Frida continued. “I am sure he is going to do something bad to me. And our parents will stand by and allow it to happen because they do not believe me.”
“I believe you,” Sigrid said. “If that counts for anything.”
“You are a good sister,” Frida said. “It means a lot to me.”
CHAPTER 2
Frida scuttled out the door and down the road, anxiously scanning the edges for any signs of Fritjof. He was nowhere to be seen and she heaved a sigh of relief. He seemed to have an uncanny knack of knowing what she was doing and where she was. Frida was starting to feel as if she were going crazy. In the distance, she could see Torsten’s team of oxen approaching and she suddenly felt safer, knowing that he was not far away. Besides, Fritjof was out of sight, presumably working on his farm or helping Halvar to construct the longhou
se he was working on. They had a long way to go before the villagers that had come from the ruins of Myrkvior Fjall had homes to live in.
She relaxed, looking forward to the opportunity to speak to Torsten. She hadn’t been able to forget the conversation she’d had with Kaarina and she wondered how he was feeling now that some time had elapsed since the death of Revna.
Her musings were cut short when Fritjof stepped out from beside Emiline’s house.
“Frida,” he said. “I was hoping you would walk down the street.”
“Leave me alone, Fritjof,” she said. “I have no interest in you.”
“Oh, is that so?” he asked, menace in his tone. “I could show you a thing or two about what it is like to belong to a man. I intend to make you mine.”
“Do not touch me, Fritjof,” she warned him.
“Or what? You will scream?” he mocked. “You will get known as the woman that gets hysterical over mice and other such nonsense. Your father wasn’t hard to convince. Others will be the same.”
“Get away from me, Fritjof,” she said desperately as he loomed over the top of her.
“No one will believe you,” he sneered. “You are not worth believing. You are just a stupid woman who panics over nothing.”
“You heard her,” said a voice behind Fritjof. “Leave her alone.”
Frida looked past him to see Torsten standing there, his oxen stopped down the road. Fritjof whirled around to face him.
“I warned you to stay out of my business,” he growled. “It appears that I must now take action. You have forced my hand and I have no choice.”
Torsten stood his ground. “The lady has no interest in you, Fritjof. Leave her alone.”
Fritjof lunged at him but Torsten neatly sidestepped him. He lunged again with the same result.
“I don’t want to fight you, Fritjof,” Torsten said. “Leave the lady alone and nothing will happen to either of us.”
Fritjof stopped and glared at him. “You have not heard the last of this, you stupid ung-menni.”
He turned and stalked away.
Frida: Claimed (Viking Guardians Book 3) Page 1
