Frida: Claimed (Viking Guardians Book 3)

by Kaitlynn Clarkson

  Her tossing and turning woke Sigrid.

  “What is wrong, Sister?” she asked in the darkness.

  “I cannot sleep. I am sorry I woke you,” Frida replied.

  “You have not been your usual self lately. Is something bothering you?”

  Frida felt the tears slipping down her cheeks and without meaning to, sniffed back a sob.

  “Is it Adelmio?” Sigrid asked. “What happened? The two of you seemed to be getting along well.”

  “He is betrothed. Do you remember Rosmunda from the eindingida last year?”

  “She has fair hair and a loud laugh. Yes, I remember her,” Sigrid replied.

  “They are to wed in the coming spring.”

  “When did he tell you that?”

  “Just before we left. We had been talking all week and he never said anything about her.”

  “That was unfair.”

  “Not really. We never spoke about anything personal, only about the weather and the meetings. It is my fault alone because I hoped for too much.”

  “It is not wrong to hope.”

  “I think I shall not find a husband who wants me,” Frida said. “Not from among our people, anyway. Fritjof would have me but I am afraid of him.”

  “Do not even think of saying yes to Fritjof! You would have a terrible life with him.”

  “Maybe I will remain alone for all of my days. Or I might be forced to marry someone like Fritjof.”

  “Do not worry, Sister. There is a husband out there for you. Maybe God needs you to be patient and wait until the right time.”

  “I am not sure a good man will ever want me,” sniffed Frida.

  “Come now, your heart is aching from a fresh wound. But in time, you will feel better.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  Sigrid rolled over and went back to sleep, leaving Frida thinking about their conversation. Was she destined to be alone for the rest of her life? Would marriage to Fritjof really be worse than loneliness? He had told her himself that she wasn’t worth much. Could he be right, after all?

  CHAPTER 4

  As the days grew shorter and the long, cold winter months loomed ahead, Frida felt as dull and leaden as the sorrowful sky that constantly spat water upon the earth. She could find no joy in the things that usually brought her pleasure and often found herself staring into space, her hands idle at the loom. Sigrid tried to cheer her up, but although she appreciated her sister’s kindness and thoughtfulness, nothing could shift the weight in her heart. Her family noticed that she seemed quiet and distant; in their usual boisterous fashion, her brothers tried to tease her out of her sorrow and her parents told her to enjoy life. Her mother seemed impatient at times and her father simply ignored her struggles. They were both busy and preoccupied as they got ready for the winter’s chores. Alfonso planned to spend a few weeks maintaining and manufacturing farm equipment and then he would produce fine leather shoes to sell at the spring markets.

  One day, Fritjof entered Alfonso’s workshop. He had taken to visiting Alfonso during the day whenever he had a spare moment but rarely stayed for dinner, saying he wished to go home before dark. His interest in Frida appeared to have waned; he never sought her out or spoke of her and Alfonso was grateful.

  “Fritjof, my friend! What brings you here to see me?” Alfonso asked jovially. He suspected that Fritjof was lonely and wanted company; Alfonso had no argument with that. He was happy for Fritjof to stay and talk to him while he worked.

  “I have also been making shoes,” Fritjof said.

  Alfonso looked up in surprise. “I did not know you are a shoemaker.”

  “There are many things you do not know about me,” Fritjof answered. “Would you like to see a pair of shoes that I have made?”

  “Of course. We are brothers in the shoemaking trade.”

  Fritjof reached into his bag and pulled out a pair of ladies’ shoes. Alfonso took them and examined them closely. “They are very good,” he said, admiring the neat stitching and careful workmanship. “Any woman would be proud to own a fine pair of shoes such as these.”

  “You are very kind,” murmured Fritjof. Then he was struck by a sudden thought. “I have an idea, brother Alfonso.”

  “What is your idea?”

  “We are both making shoes for the spring markets, are we not?”

  “Yes.”

  “And it is long and tedious work during the winter months, is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “We can make it more agreeable if you wish.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “We can engage in a friendly competition between ourselves to see who can produce the most shoes for the market. It will help to motivate us when we want to do something else.”

  “Well, I see no harm in that,” Alfonso replied.

  “Whichever one of us produces the most shoes will be the winner,” Fritjof said.

  “And what does the winner receive as his prize?”

  Fritjof thought for a moment. “I think the prize should be something big,” he said. “Something that will make each of us work harder.”

  Alfonso looked at him expectantly.

  “The winner will get to choose his prize from the loser’s possessions,” Fritjof announced. “It will be to the value of three cows.”

  Alfonso sucked in his breath. Three cows were worth a lot of money. “I do not know about that, Fritjof. Three cows are a lot to lose.”

  “I might not choose cows,” Fritjof pointed out. “I might choose sheep, chickens, grain or leather. Or several different things to the same value. You would be helping me out since I am getting established again.”

  “And what do you have to offer me should I be the winner?”

  “I have three fine cows that will have calves in the spring and more in my herd. I cannot offer you a lot of grain or many sheep. But have no fear, I can pay the debt and I will not be left in want.”

  Alfonso thought about the offer. He was willing to help Fritjof out after his losses when Taft had attacked Myrkvior Fjall the previous spring. And if he happened to be the winner, he wouldn’t mind adding three more cows to his herd. They could make extra cheese to sell at the markets. He decided to accept the offer.

  “Very well, I accept,” he told Fritjof. “But the oxen and horses are exempt. We need them for transport and our work.”

  “That sounds fair to me,” Fritjof replied.” Shall we get our arrangement ratified at the Thing? It is meeting next week.”

  “Yes, pledges should be binding,” Alfonso agreed. “There are many who are willing witnesses to such agreements.”

  Later that evening, Alfonso told Minna of the arrangement he’d made with Fritjof. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her headscarf gone and her long, fair hair unwound from its daytime plait that coiled around the top of her head. He thought again how fortunate he was to be married to a woman who was still beautiful even though she was no longer in the prime of her youth. She listened as he explained the arrangement.

  “I am not so sure it is a good idea,” she said doubtfully. “What if Fritjof does not keep his side of the bargain?”

  “We are going to get the arrangement witnessed at the Thing next week.”

  “So, it becomes binding?”

  “Yes.”

  “But what if Fritjof takes something we really need?”

  “The oxen and horses are exempt from our agreement. And Fritjof has indicated that if he is the winner, he will probably choose a variety of goods that will help him become established again in his new home. He said we would be helping him out.”

  “Well, when you put it like that, I can see why you might want to help him. After all, he lost most of his possessions and is starting again.”

  Alfonso smiled at her in the candlelight. “You are a good woman, Minna. Always ready to help others and serve where you are needed. You wait and see; this arrangement will work out just fine. And I am sure we are doing the right thing.”


  Minna smiled back at him and slid under the covers. His words made sense but she couldn’t shake the sense of foreboding that weighed down her heart. Alfonso rarely took risks and this was a big one. She would have to trust God to work things out for the best.

  “I am going to see Halvar today,” Gerfrid announced one morning. “I wish to ask if I may borrow his oxen to add to our team. It will make hauling logs for my new house faster.”

  He grinned as he spoke; he’d just returned from visiting the young lady he’d met at the eindingida. He had declared his intentions; he wished to court her. Although their parting had been bittersweet, both were looking forward to their courtship. And now Gerfrid wanted to build himself a house so that he had one to offer her, should she consent to become his bride. There was much to do and he wanted to get started as soon as possible.

  Minna spotted Frida as she scuttled past with a basket of laundry in her arms. Her head was down and she looked unhappy.

  “Why do you not go with Gerfrid?” she said. “You can visit with Eira while the men sort out their business.”

  Frida looked at her but said nothing.

  “Go on, it will do you good to leave the house. You have been moping around here for far too long.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Frida asked quietly, her words tinged with bitterness.

  Minna paid no attention to the undercurrents behind her question. “No, I am telling you to go. Take some cheese to Eira. And some wheat. They were still building when winter came and were unable to prepare as well as we have.”

  Frida reluctantly prepared for the short journey while Gerfrid went to harness the horse to the sled. The snow was too deep for walking and it was bitterly cold outside.

  “Are you ready?” Gerfrid’s voice was muffled through the door.

  She hurried outside, carrying blankets and the hamper for Eira. She settled herself in the sled, wrapped up in layers of blankets, and spread an extra one across Gerfrid’s lap. He slapped the reins across Pippin’s rump and they headed away from the village toward Leið Lykð. Frida’s face was covered by a thick scarf and talking was impossible. She was grateful that Gerfrid didn’t try to make conversation.

  As they drove through the crisp snow, Frida had to acknowledge that her mother had been right; she did feel better getting away from the house and out into the fresh air. She still dreaded having to make conversation with Eira; surely her friend would guess that something was wrong and would ask questions. She seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing what others were thinking and feeling. Frida didn’t know if she could face such scrutiny.

  It wasn’t long before she found herself seated in the cozy little pit house that Eira and Halvar were using until their longhouse was ready. Eira welcomed her with a hug and the offer of warm milk. She accepted gratefully, her hands clasped around the wooden cup, enjoying the warmth that seeped through.

  “This is good,” she told Eira.

  “It is cold outside today,” Eira agreed.

  “Gerfrid wants to borrow Halvar’s oxen,” Frida said. “He is anxious to get on with building himself a house.”

  “In the snow?” Eira asked incredulously.

  “He is eager to court Wina,” Frida replied. “He wishes to have a home to offer her should she accept.”

  “Everyone is getting married,” Eira mused.

  “Not everyone,” Frida said quietly, despite her intentions to reveal nothing.

  Eira looked at her sharply. “I could feel that you were not your usual self when you arrived,” she said. “Is there something you wish to talk about?’

  Suddenly, it all came tumbling out: the way Fritjof had treated her, her excitement at seeing Adelmio again, and her devastation when she discovered that he was already betrothed. Added to that was her disappointment that other than Sigrid, her family seemed oblivious to her pain.

  “That is a lot of grief,” Eira said kindly, rubbing her shoulder. “No wonder you feel sad.”

  “I cannot feel joy in anything,” Frida said. “And the darkness of winter makes it worse.”

  “Winter always makes sad feelings worse,” Eira agreed. “In the summer, the sunshine offers hope. But in winter, we do not see much of it.”

  “I do not feel like seeing other people. My mother made me come to see you.”

  Eira looked at her thoughtfully. “I think you might need some herbs to help you feel better,” she said. “Would you like me to give you some?”

  “Yes, please. I do not want to go on feeling like I do now. Some days I do not want to get out of bed.”

  Eira rose and went to the shelf on the wall where she kept jars and bottles of dried herbs. She chose several jars and started measuring and mixing. When she was finished, she handed them to Frida. “Make them into tea,” she said. “Put a spoonful of the dry leaves into a cup of boiling water and allow it to cool. Drink it all and make it three times each day. Not everyone has success with this mixture but I hope it will help you.”

  “Thank you, Eira,” Frida said gratefully.

  “You should also get outside each day for some fresh air and exercise,” Eira said. “It always helps.”

  There were thumping noises outside the door and then it opened. Halvar, Gerfrid and Torsten entered, only their eyes visible above the scarves wrapped around their faces.

  “Well, that settles it, then,” Halvar said. “We will help you start your house as soon as the ground warms up, provided you haul the logs before then.”

  “Thank you, Halvar,” Gerfrid said. “I shall start as soon as the weather is on my side.”

  Torsten said nothing. He couldn’t take his eyes off Frida. It had been some time since he’d seen her and he was shocked at the change in her. What had happened to the beautiful girl he’d first seen dancing joyously in the middle of the road? Her brown eyes were dull and after the first glance, she’d kept her head down. Her beautiful, shiny, dark hair was bound into a severe knot on top of her head, making her appear old and tired. Was she ill? Or had something happened that robbed her of her joy and vitality? Fritjof had been staying at home a lot lately; it was unlikely that he was bothering her. Torsten made up his mind that he would spend more time in Merilant; he would try to get to the bottom of why she was so miserable. But first, he needed to talk to Kaarina.

  CHAPTER 5

  Torsten stood at Kaarina’s front door, trying to shake the snow off his clothing.

  “I am coming,” he heard her call in response to his knock.

  She opened the door and he gratefully stepped into the warmth inside.

  “Something smells good in here,” he said.

  Kaarina laughed. “Your nose always leads you to the food,” she teased.

  He smiled. “But you are a good cook. Why would I not want to sample your cooking?”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere. Not when I know what you are really like.”

  “And what is that?’ he asked innocently.

  “A starving stray dog that looks at you with pleading eyes and before you know it, your food is all gone!”

  “How unkind you are!” he exclaimed, trying not to laugh. They had grown up together and she was like a younger sister. He missed their teasing banter since they’d become adults and life had taken them in different directions.

  “Why did your hungry nose lead you to my doorstep today?” she asked, stirring the pot of stew on the stove.

  His stomach rumbled and they both laughed.

  “I was hoping you would feed me,” he said. “But there is also something else I wanted to ask you.”

  “Ask away. And then I will take pity on you and feed you. It will be easier than dragging your dead body out into the snow after you’ve perished from hunger.”

  He grinned. Only Kaarina could deliver such cutting words and still make him laugh. He became serious.

  “I am asking for your help, Kaarina,” he said soberly. “I think Frida needs someone to watch out for her.”

  “And why are you concer
ned about Frida?”

  Such a question would normally make him blush, but today, he was too intent upon securing Kaarina’s cooperation.

  “I have noticed that she has been unhappy lately. I think she is suffering from more than passing sadness.”

  “What do you wish me to do?”

  “Spend time with her. Persuade her to do something with you. Be there for her as a friend.”

  “Why does this matter to you?”

  “Because I care about her.” There, he’d said it.

  Kaarina looked at him thoughtfully. “She would be a good wife,” she said.

  “I am not thinking of her in that way,” Torsten replied. “I know not if she would have me. I am not of her faith or people, after all.”

  “I am married to her brother,” Kaarina replied. “Anything is possible.”

  “But you are of his faith now.”

  “That was because it was something I wanted. I did not become a Christian to get a husband.”

  “It matters not why you became one,” he argued. “His parents cannot object now because you are of their faith. I respect the Christians and agree with many of their ways but I am not ready to become one.”

  “I think it matters more that you show them you would make a good husband,” she countered. “For Christians, marriage is not about wealth or alliances. It matters more that their children are happy and can practice their beliefs in freedom.”

  Torsten had never heard anyone explain the Christians’ view of marriage before. “So … they care more about a husband who will treat their daughter well?” he asked.

  “That is what I have been trying to tell you!” Kaarina exclaimed. “They also need to know that you will provide well for her and any children you might have.”

  Torsten was lost for words. He had never heard of parents who had little concern about wealth or family alliances; he had nothing to offer in either area. But he could work hard to provide for his family and he would certainly be kind to any future wife. He would want her to be happy and to have the freedom to practice her beliefs as she chose. Perhaps there was hope that Frida’s parents would consider him worthy, after all.