Einarr tosses the axe against the tree, turning to me with shock, and dare I say, desire. No man besides my father has ever seen me in my undergarments before. I feel naked and vulnerable. It is both liberating and thrilling. He looks left and right to make sure no one is looking, and I just stand here in white. My body, for the most part, is still covered, but to show a man such private things is considered a privilege.
Suddenly, I become nervous. I lose all the bravery I felt just moments ago and drop to the floor to cover myself back up. The second the robe is tied a knock shakes the door. When I look out into the field, Einarr is still there, but he is working.
“Thyra? Can you hear me?” my father’s voice booms, echoing down the hall.
“I’m fine, father. Just getting ready to sleep.”
“Did that man bring you your stew?”
Hearing the disdain in his voice makes me roll my eyes. “Yes, Father. Everything is fine. He was nothing but a gentleman.” I fake a yawn. “I am going to bed now.”
“I’ll check on you in the morrow.”
“Yes, Father,” I say, and crawl into bed.
“I love you, sweet one.” The hatred in his voice is gone, replaced by pure love.
I can’t help but grin. “I love you too, Father.”
My father is a tough man. He loves me. Maybe a little too much, since he is so protective, but there is a piece of him that reminds me of Einarr.
Loneliness.
I can’t fix it for my father. He needs what I wish to give to Einarr—love.
Chapter Six
Einarr
That woman shall be the death of me. I have survived many battles. I have won many wars alongside Grim. I’ve come back from the brink of death, but Lady Thyra shall finally kill me with her beauty.
The view of her at the window, taking off her robe, showing me her delicates, has stayed with me for days. It’s all I can think about while chopping the logs I cut down for my home. I nearly cut a few fingers off this morning because my mind was so preoccupied with Lady Thyra.
Once the last log is cut, I take a break, wipe the sweat off my brow, and grab my empty water bucket. With a heavy grunt, I walk back to the well. The rain has finally died down, leaving the grass and forest lush and green. Birds are singing, beautiful insects with colorful wings are flapping around me. They land on my arm. Their legs slightly tickle, but they captivate me. Bright blue wings flap slowly.
Up and down. Up and down.
Every time the wings fan out and flatten, it reminds me of a mask of armor, but prettier, more delicate. The tiniest flick would injure them if, not kill them. They seem so fragile. Life must be a constant struggle for survival. One of the beautiful blue creatures stays on my arm the entire way to the well, hitching a ride.
“Aye, you must be tired flapping those wings to get everywhere. You can post on me anytime, friend. I can’t imagine how hard life is for you.” I can’t believe I’m talking to this creature. It is so small. I could crush it with my fingers, but I shall never. Something so beautiful must never be harmed.
The grass is long and wild as my legs push it to the side. Flowers have popped up everywhere since spring started. The rain has made everything come to life.
I finally make it to the well. The sun bears down on my back and shoulders, leaving a warm, inviting burn. I tie my bucket onto the rope and turn the iron handle, watching as the old, brown bucket drops into darkness until I can no longer see it.
The only way I know the bucket is as far as it can go, is when a light splash echoes up, telling me it has officially hit the water. I wait a few moments before bringing it back up. I crank the handle. It groans from the weight. That’s when I notice how old the rope is and the rust on the handle. It could break any day. I’ll need to put that on my list of things to do.
The soft caress of wings fluttering hits my cheek as I bend over to grab the bucket. I avert my eyes as far as they can go until I see vivid blue. Huh, my new friend is perched on my shoulder.
“You’re a friendly little fellow,” I chuckle, reaching up to touch the creature. My finger is as big and wide as its entire body. Maybe I shouldn’t touch him. One false move and I would break its wing, and I’ll never forgive myself.
I can do it. I can be gentle. I’m not just a cold killer.
I hold my breath as I reach for it. The butterfly’s wings are flattened; showing the beautiful pattern. I stroke one side. Fuzzy. Thin. It reminds me of parchment. I smile. And my grin is so large it hurts my cheeks. I did it. I touched something without killing it.
“What do you say? Let’s go back and build the house, aye?” I ask, as if it can understand me.
It flaps its wings in response, yet doesn’t move from my shoulder. I don’t mind. It’s nice to have company that doesn’t seem to fear me. I place the ladle back in the bucket and bring it my lips.
It’s cold. Refreshing. It quenches the severe thirst lodged in my throat. “Want some?” I ask my new friend. Do creatures this small drink water? The ladle seems too big. The tiny thing might drown. I dip my finger in the large, oversized spoon and hold it out. Its legs come out and rub against the dewy drop.
And then bring it toward its body.
“That’s all? Well, if you want more, just let me know.” I’m talking to something that probably can’t even understand me. Maybe I’m getting a little touched in the head. I’ll blame it on the heat of the sun.
I get back to my logs, and the creature leaves my shoulder. I want to open my mouth to stop it, but it lands on a small branch next to where I am working. “I need to name you if you’re going to stick around. You remind me of the sky, so blue. So what about Sky?”
It flaps its wings.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I continue working, digging trenches in the ground, and setting the logs. I don’t know how long I work for, but it is nonstop until I realize the sun has gone down and the only light I have is from the moon. I haven’t even checked on Sky.
He is gone.
A part of me feels a little lonely now that he isn’t around, which is sad. It’s just a small creature, but it isn’t about that. It’s about something choosing me. Sky isn’t afraid of me. Sky doesn’t see my scars or judge me.
I sound ridiculous.
“It’s coming along nicely, Einarr,” Grim’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.
I drop the mud I’ve made to hold the logs together and wash my hands in the bucket. “Thank you. It’s felt good working outside.”
“I want you to take the next week or so off,” he says, picking up the axe and tossing it. It slices through the air until the sharp blade hits the solid tree trunk with a hard thump.
My hackles rise. “Why?”
“Calm down, Einarr. It isn’t anything bad. You aren’t receiving punishment. You deserve time off. You’ve been by my side since day one. You’ve fought every day, and you’ve done well in helping lead the people. I want you to concentrate on your home. Tomorrow, I shall help you. I need out of the castle. Perhaps, we can have a friendly sword fight?”
I smirk, wiping my hands on my trousers. “You miss the battle?”
“Aye. What do you say?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Just the glorification of beating me.”
I toss my head back and laugh.
“Bragging rights?” I spit on my hand and reach out for him to shake it to make good on the deal. “Done.”
Grim’s eyes light up as if someone just told him there is a threat in the kingdom. “You’re going down, brother.” He spits in his hand and meets mine with a hard slap.
“Tomorrow shall tell,” I grin.
“Come inside, Einarr. You must eat.”
My stomach growls at the reminder. I cannot believe I haven’t eaten all day. That is unlike me.
He slaps my back as I walk alongside him. “You’ve had something on your mind.”
I know he says it as a statement instead of a question because Grim doesn�
�t usually ask questions; he just demands them. “I’m fine, brother. It’s just been an adjustment. All the change.” Which isn’t a lie, necessarily.
“Hmm,” he hums in the back of his throat.
He doesn’t believe me.
“While I almost believe that, it is something else. Talk to me, Einarr. Let’s go down to the village and grab a cold pint of ale, aye?”
I want to say no, but I cannot deny not only my brother but the Lord of our kingdom. “Aye, sounds good.”
“Let’s go get Beast and Jasmine. We shall have a splendid time. Just you and me. How long has it been?”
“Too long, brother,” I nod with a large smile when I see how excited he is.
A few minutes of us walking and taking a few jabs at each other, we reach the stable and saddle up the horses. Soon, we are trotting down the dirt path, heading toward the village, heading toward civilization, heading toward judgement.
There’s a chance no one will bother us, considering I am with Grim, but eyes will never lie, and eyes always seem to linger. It’s fine. I’ll give them one deadly look, and they will avert their eyes. Cowards. They stare, but they don’t want to get caught. I always believe that if someone’s looks bothers someone enough, it’s them that has the problem.
I wish I could listen to myself. I would not get so pissed off if I did.
We take our time going to town. The ride is short, too short. We pull outside the small, stone dwelling and tie the reins to the post. We track in dirt from the ground and walk inside. There is no door. It’s just a hole in the wall. We sit at a table, sticky with ale and mead. We lean back against the unstable, wooden chairs. They creak. Two seconds later, two large frothy pints of ale are in front of us. The froth leaks off the side of the cup, pooling onto the table.
I grunt my thanks as my hand wraps around the mug and I bring it to my lips. The bitter taste rolls down my throat, and I keep drinking until half of it is gone. I slam the mug back on the table and lick the foam off my lips. Grim sits his down with less force and smiles. His drink is still full for the most part.
“Better?”
I dart my eyes around the pub. A few people turn around in their seats when I catch them staring at me. I lean down and wrap my other hand around my mug so tight; I’m afraid I may break it.
“Don’t worry about them,” Grim mutters, peering over his shoulder. This time, people overcorrect themselves and fall off their stools when they get caught. One spills their mead when they run into the person behind them. “I’ll kill them if they keep looking,” Grim raises his voice, making sure the entire place can hear.
“Aye, I know.” I take another sip and let the world fall away.
“Want to tell me what is going on between you and Lady Thyra?” Grim whispers.
I bark a laugh, lean my chair back until only two legs are on the floor. “What makes you think something is?”
“Because you turn into a bumbling fool when she is around or mentioned.”
“Do not,” I mumble into my mug.
“Aye, ye do,” he chuckles.
“Nothing is going on between me and Lady Thyra. She deserves better than—”
“Better than what!” He slams his mug down until the mug shatters. Ale spreads everywhere. Drip. Drop. It pools onto the floor, mimicking rain.
“Grim,” my voice gravels, darting my eyes around the room. A few people look our way, not to stare at me, but the scene Grim is about to make.
“Better. Than. What?” He punctuates each word with a hiss from his clenched teeth.
“Me. Better than a monster of a man like me. She’s delicate. Beautiful. She’s everything I’m not.”
“It’s why you need to reach for it, brother. Hold onto her with your hands.” He holds up his fists. “Sassa is everything I’m not. Women are supposed to be. We are their protectors. You are the best protector I know.”
“You don’t get it,” I sigh, chugging the rest of my ale. I lift my mug in the air to signal the man I need another.
“Explain it to me. Make me understand.”
“Lord Grimkael. Sir Einarr,” the barman says, sitting two new drinks in front of us. “Don’t worry about the mug. It was old anyway.”
“I wasn’t going to worry about the mug,” Grim growls.
“We are fine. Thanks.” I nod to the poor man. I lean forward. “Be nice. You’re always an arse when you are upset.”
“I’m upset at you!” He slams his fist on the table again.
“You’re a child,” I say. “Stop acting like you want to kill, and listen to me, you damn fool!”
I’m the only man who can speak to Grim like that and live to tell the tale. But if he’s going to pull his rank on me, I’ll fight back however I can.
He slides his drink closer to him and narrows his eyes at me. “Fine.”
I take a long drag of ale and lean back. “You don’t understand because it doesn’t happen to you, brother.” I run my finger along the thick scar on my face. I can hardly feel it anymore, but people make sure to remind me.
It isn’t a thin scar. It’s thick, puckered. It didn’t heal right. It’s ugly. It’s mean. It’s frightening.
It’s me.
“It’s just a scar, Einarr. It doesn’t need to define you.”
“I don’t want it to, but it’s hard when everyone stays clear of me. It’s hard when the father of the woman I want hates me because of it. It’s hard to look in the mirror and understand I lived. I just want to see myself again, for once. I want to see past the scars and wounds, the aches, and the pain, but I can’t. All I see is a nightmare. Over and over again.”
“Damn it, Einarr. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Complain about being alive and living well? Sound like less of a man? I’m only telling you now because I know you’ll stab me with that sword tomorrow if I didn’t.”
“War isn’t a kind place. What happens to you isn’t easy. I have never thought less of you, ever. You are my brother and my best friend, and you have saved my life more times than I can count. Don’t ever think less of me for the foolish thoughts in your head. You know me better than that.”
“Aye, I do. But I’m afraid I don’t know myself anymore.”
“We shall have to fix that. No brother of mine will ever be lost when they wander.” He picks up his mug, and I hit mine against his.
Easier said than done, brother. Easier said than done.
“We’ve got a problem,” a drunk man slurs, interrupting the peace.
“Aye, it seems to be you, mate,” Grim chimes back, finishing his beer.
“You’re a Lord. Why are you sitting with the poor?”
The stranger and his friends laugh.
My fingers grip the mug. My chest expands with deep breaths.
But Grim doesn’t take a moment to think. He sends his fist flying. And it’s all I need to throw my mug against the man’s face, watching blood drip from his face. The beast in me awakens. Anger and vengeance control me now.
I take the chair I was sitting in and crash it against the drunk fool’s body. Fuck, this feels good. I’m becoming satisfied. My thirst for a fight is getting quenched. A man jumps on my back, smacking me with his goblet, but I don’t move. The weak mug doesn’t deter me. I reach behind me, pluck the miscreant off my back, and throw him against the wall.
Aye, maybe this is who I am after all.
Chapter Seven
Thyra
I hang the linens on the clothesline in the lavender field next to the castle. It smells so good and bright. It is such a great way to start the early morning. The sun has barely peaked over the horizon. A few stars still linger in the sky. It may be odd to hang linens so early, but if I want that lavender scent on them, they must be here all day.
I whip my blanket in the air, ready to hang it, when I hear a pounding of hooves charging on the ground. Goddess, it reminds me of thunder. I peek around the blanket and see Grim and Einarr coming up on the castle on horseback.
> “Oh my.”
I throw the linen down, grab the sides of my dress and run toward them when I notice how bloody they are. “What happened? Are you hurt?” I ask, gasping for breath once I get across the field.
“Lady Thyra, perfect timing.” Grim hops off his steed and pats its thick neck. “I believe Einarr needs some help.”
“I’m fine.” The big brute waves me off.
“What of you, Lord Grimkael?” I ask.
“Any wounds my wife will heal.” Grim tosses his head back and laughs, pulling his horse forward in the direction of the stables.
My face heats when I understand his meaning. I clear my throat and place my hand against my neck, suddenly feeling a bit feverish. I bring my eyes up to see Einarr breathing heavily, and his chest covered in blood, but I cannot tell if it is his own. There’s a large wound on his chest. His face is covered in blood too, but he smells of—I take a sniff—ale.
“Are you drunk?” I ask with a bit of shock.
“I wish,” he grunts as he slides off his beast. “Grim’s temper got the best of him down at the pub. Before I knew it, I took a goblet to the chest and threw someone against a wall.”
I cover my mouth with my hands and let out a gasp. “Are you hurt? Let me check you over. You might need stitched up.”
“Aye, I’m fine. I’ve gotten worse.” He points to the scar on his face.
“I do not care if you have gotten worse, you will let me tend to your wounds, and I won’t hear another word about it!” I shout, with my chin high. I snatch his arm with my hand and stomp inside the castle.
“I’m fine, Lady Thyra. Really. I’ve been stabbed, cut, and had arrows pulled out of me. Little cuts like this are child’s play.”
“I don’t care what kind of play you make it out to be. They can get infected. You could die. Now sit down and shut up.” I push him down by the shoulders in the old, wooden chair in our small medical room.
“Yes, my Lady,” he says, and even with my back turned, I can hear the smile playing on his lips.
I know he is just being formal and gentlemanly, but there was something about the way he called me his lady. His. It makes my stomach do something funny. I happen to like how he calls me his. I wish there was more to it than formality, but a girl can dream.
The Viking's Wedding Page 5
