by T S Florence
Sickness settled in his stomach like sludge from black mud surrounding the seas, and he fought down the vomit that rose in his throat, as his heart pounded in his chest like a war drum. By the time he made it down the trail, he heard war horns blowing, signalling an emergency, intended to wake the men.
After breaking into the wooded area, he slowed down, but only out of necessity, for if he rode hard, he would not be able to hear the men that he pursued. He heard horses, yet slower this time, to his right. This time, they were coupled with urgent voices.
“They’ve sounded the war horns, we’re discovered,” Skald heard the distinct drawl of Cnut’s voice.
“Kill the bitch now, and get our revenge for Magnus,” Skald heard a second voice.
“I want to fuck her first,” Cnut said.
“Fuck her while she dies,” the other voice said.
Skald saw red. He dismounted his horse, and went through the forest, as quickly and silently as he could, until the voices were so close he could reach out and touch them. He heard Freya’s muffled, desperate shrieking, as they untied her from the horse.
“Dagger,” He heard Cnut say.
He watched the man, though it was hard to see, hand Cnut what Skald knew to be a dagger. Before he could even raise his arm, Skald had taken his own dagger from his boot, and slid it silently across Cnut’s throat. The gurgling sound signalled that Cnut was on his way to death, and soon his friend would be too.
Skald grabbed Freya, pulling her bound body behind him, hearing her fall to the floor, as he stood between her and the second man.
“Who the fuck?” Skald heard the man say, before Skald rammed the hilt of his sword into he mans temple, causing him to fall unconscious onto the ground.
Skald wanted this man alive, for it was necessary to vindicate himself. Under the right pressure, he would admit to what had happened, and hopefully Skald would not be held accountable under English Law for the killing of those men.
Skald threw the man over the horses back, turned it towards the village, and slapped its behind. He knew that the horse would return to its stable, which would be caught by pursuing warriors, before it got that far.
He dropped to his knees, carefully untying her wrists, and the cloth that was tied so tightly around her face.
“It’s ok, valkyrie, I’m here. I’m not leaving you again,” Skald said, his hands shaking, which he had not experienced since witnessing the murder of his parents.
“Skald,” she exhaled, breathing hard, “You’re here,” she said.
“I’m here, my bow kona,” he said, stroking her hair.
“Are you ok?” He asked.
“Yes, they didn’t get a chance to hurt me,” Freya said.
Skald lifted her up, taking her to the second horse that was scratching at the ground impatiently, nervous from the commotion. He helped her mount the horse, and then hopped on behind her, appreciating the feel of her body.
“What are we doing?” Freya asked.
“It’s too dangerous to go back right now. We will meet them at Newcastle,” Skald said.
“Why is it too dangerous?” Freya asked.
“Some Englishmen and some of Ivar’s men were killed,” Skald said.
“By who, the Scottish?” Freya squeezed his arm as he pulled on the reins.
“By me,” Skald said.
“Because of me,” Freya said, quietly.
“No. Because of me. Do not blame yourself for every man I have ever killed,” Skald said, his voice low, as they galloped through the dark forest. Now and then, Skald would push Freya’s head down, or to the side, to miss a branch.
“Where will we sleep?” Freya asked.
“I have a place we can go,” Skald said.
Freya
They rode hard until the night sky was no longer so dark and the stars began to fade from the sky. Once they reached a rocky outcrop that descended down a steep slope, leading to a large lake, Skald dismounted, and lifted Freya down.
She looked at his face, the lines around his eyes were darkened by lack of sleep, And his normally emotionless scowl was replaced by a look of worry as he looked at her face, inspecting her body.
“You’re ok,” he said, more to himself than to her.
“Yes, I told you,” Freya said.
He walked her around the rocky ledge, into a spot that was hidden from all view. It was a well-kept cottage, built into the cliff, which had a view that looked out over the entire lake, and all of its surrounds, causing Freya to stop and admire the amazing view from the front of the small cottage.
“How did you find this place?” Freya said, feeling a sudden calmness take over her, at the quiet peacefulness of the place.
“I made it,” Skald said.
“I found it when I was scouting, and I liked it, so I came back and built it myself. Nobody knows of this place but me. Nobody will find this place, unless I want them to,” Skald said, looking into her eyes.
Freya walked into the cottage. A small fireplace was set near the front, that allowed for a chimney to travel up the side of the cliff face. There was a bed, a dinner table, and an area to make food.
“It’s perfect,” Freya gushed, running her hand over the furniture, and appreciating the bed.
“We can stay here for some time, until we are sure that they would be back in Newcastle, and then we will travel there, and explain to Ivar what happened,” Skald said, taking her hands in his, “but for now, we should sleep,” he said.
Freya felt his rough hands in hers, and pushed her head onto his chest, letting him carry her weight, as she thought of sleep. He picked her up and carried her to the bed, laying out his black wolfskin, before placing her on it. He hopped into the bed next to her, and pulled her head onto him, offering his body as her pillow, which she accepted gratefully, relishing his warm body, and listening to his heart beat, which carried her into a deep, dreamless sleep.
33
Freya
They stayed at the cottage for a week, which was enough time for Freya to realise that she could happily stay there forever, just her and Skald, and the gorgeous view of the lake and mountains that surrounded them. There was more game in the forest and fish in the lake than they could ever catch in a thousand lifetimes.
Freya admired Skald’s body, the scars on his back had healed over, leaving pink lines, a permanent reminder of the sacrifice he chose to make, for her. They stretched and contorted as he worked away on different things around the cottage, his long lean muscles pushing them this way and that.
Sweat glistened down his chest as the midday sun warmed the earth and her body, as she watched him.
“I should leave for Newcastle soon,” Skald said, as he stopped working and turned to face her.
“Excuse me? I’m coming,” Freya immediately feeling the impending fight.
“You-” Skald began.
“I’m coming, or I’ll leave you forever,” Freya strode over to him, despite her tiredness, unwilling to back down.
“I do not want you getting hurt after everything that we have done. We are so close now. You can wait here for a few days,” Skald said.
Freya knew that if she did not prove to Skald she was strong, then he would never let her travel with him on such tasks. She had led an army for many years, and yet he still couldn’t trust her. Anger pulsed through her veins.
Freya picked up a wooden bowl, and threw it at his head, catching him unaware. It bounced off his forehead, causing his eyes to widen in surprise.
“What are you doing?” Skald put his hands up, his voice high from surprise.
“I’m fighting you to show you I am strong. You are not my owner, but my husband,” Freya growled, taking a wooden training sword that was leaning against the door, before she took a step towards Skald.
Skald laughed, making Freya huff in frustration, as she swung the sword at his head. He took a step backwards, keeping his hands by his sides, as Freya keep coming forwards. She swung again, this time at his leg
s, which made him jump backwards, but this time, he stepped forwards, before she had a chance to swing again. He took her by the sword arm, and spun her around, wrapping her up in his arms, his chest on against her back.
Freya pushed her head backwards, hitting it against Skald’s nose, causing him to growl in pain, and let her go.
“Enough,” he said, walking towards the cottage.
But Freya was not finished. She followed him into he cottage, dropping the sword before she walked inside, and pushed him in his back, causing him to stumble forwards.
“Are you crazy, bow kona?” Skald said.
“I don’t have my bow, I lost it when I was kidnapped,” Freya snapped.
“Ivar would have taken it. He knew it was yours,” Skald said.
Freya swung a pot at his head, narrowly missing, before Skald moved forwards, picking her up, and tackling her onto the bed.
“You want to come to Newcastle, then,” Skald said.
“I am coming,” Freya said.
Skald’s eyes bore holes into her soul, as his hard jaw clenched and unclenched, his hands on her arms.
“I could bite you,” Freya said.
Skald moved his face close to hers, his hot breath on her lips.
“Maybe I’d like it,” He said, brushing his nose against hers.
Freya tilted her head back, exposing her neck to him, and Skald began to bite gently at her pale skin, sucking below her ears, and nibbling her lips.
“Bite me,” Skald said.
Freya bit down on his lip, and pulled back, bringing his face with her, as he moaned into her mouth. She pulled his pants down and took out his manhood, pumping it until it was fully hard, before mounting him, and riding him hard.
Skald groaned after only a minute, his body tensing under hers, his member throbbing inside of her.
“I’m coming with you,” She said, as she hopped from him and washed herself, before preparing for the journey.
“I know you’re formidable, but you still surprise me with your cunning, sometimes,” Skald said, looking at her as he regained his composure.
“I have a plan,” Freya said, hoping that Skald would approve.
“Tell me,” He said.
“You need to get the man that assisted Cnut with the kidnapping. The man you sent back to the village. I will go to Newcastle before you and demand an audience and you will bring that man with you,” Freya said.
“That is a good plan,” Skald rubbed his chin, as he grinned at her.
“Newcastle is close,” Skald said.
“I will leave for Newcastle, and meet you there,” Freya said, putting Skald’s bow around her back.
The next morning, before the sun had risen from the Earth, Freya and Skald rode back into the Viking village, where Freya left Skald to find himself a horse. She did not go deep into the village, but instead took the road to Newcastle.
“Please be safe, and be quick,” Freya said to Skald.
“I am Skald the Heartless,” he said to her, with a wink, as he kissed her hand and slapped the horse’s behind.
Skald
Skald walked through the village, taking note of who was still there, and what had been left behind from when the great army passed through.
There were many horses left in the stables, probably horses that were too tired to travel after the journey, and had been left to rest in the village. He went to the hut were Freya was supposed to have been staying. Surprisingly, the place was cleaned out and empty. So he went to the great hall.
Freya’s bow was hanging on a wall, in clear site, for anyone to see who walked through the large doors. Ivar left this here intentionally, Skald was certain. He knew Skald would probably come back through here before he went to Newcastle, for the two men thought alike.
He removed the bow from the wall and strapped it to his back and left the great hall. He walked down the main path of the village to check the small tavern that was nestled between the cloth trader and the blacksmith.
He looked at the man’s face that was sitting alone at a table, drinking ale early in the morning. The face looked familiar, yet Skald wasn’t sure why. He knew it must have been a soldier he had fought alongside in battles.
“Skald, I didn’t want to do it,” the man stammered, as he put the ale down on the table.
“Then why did you do it?” Skald asked. He did not know what the man was referring to, but he was certain it would be easy enough to find out by playing along.
“Cnut Foxhair wanted Freya dead. We wanted nothing to do with it,” The man said, standing.
“Sit back down,” Skald said.
The man sat back down. the realisation hit Skald like a Warhammer to the head. This was the man that Skald had sent back into the village after he had killed Cnut. Somehow he had avoided any punishment or detection from Ivar or Isla.
“How did you avoid Ivar and Isla’s men?” Skald asked, suspiciously.
“The horse went to the stables, I thought you were just sending me back,” the man said pathetically.
“You knew I sent you back to Ivar,” Skald said disdainfully.
“I’m sorry Skald,” The man’s voice began to sound as if he were going to cry.
“You’re coming with me,” Skald said.
“Why?” The man said, not moving.
“To tell Ivar and Isla the truth. I killed Isla’s men, she needs to know why if I’m going to avoid punishment,” Skald said.
“Ivar wouldn’t punish you,” the man said.
“You don’t know Ivar,” Skald said.
“What’s your name?” Skald asked.
“Brunson,” the man said.
“Get up, Brunson. We are going to Newcastle,” Skald said.
“Are you going to kill me?” Brunson asked.
“That will be up to my wife,” Skald said.
Freya
Freya made it to the gates of Newcastle without any trouble besides a bothersome lone rider, who moved left when he got close enough to see Freya’s war glory, sharp sword and fearsome bow.
“Who are you?” One of the guards asked.
“I’m Freya, Goddess of Death. I have an appointment with Ivar and Princess Isla,” She said.
“Where’s your man? he’s in trouble,” the guard snickered.
“Oh, he’s coming, so I would choose your next words carefully,” Freya said, eyeing the man.
“Go to the main castle. You will find Ivar and Isla,” the man said.
“You are not going to escort me?” Freya asked.
“A woman?” They laughed, before continuing, “A woman poses no threat to our great leaders and castle guards,” they said.
The castle guards were not so easy going. They stripped Freya of every weapon she had, and her gold and bracelets.
“You get it back when the princess says so,” the English guard said.
“What if I say so?” A voice grumbled from behind Freya.
She turned to see Ragnar, his axe across his back, giving him a fearsome look, aided by his brown bear fur that hung over his shoulders.
“You’re not the princess,” the man said, though with less confidence than he had addressed Freya.
“You would say no to me?” Ragnar asked.
“I’m only obeying orders,” The man mumbled.
“Come with me, you will get your things back when you ask for them,” Ragnar said to Freya, as they walked into the castle.
Freya and Ivar were already sitting in great chairs, listening to common people air their grievances against one another, and making judgment on their problems. Most people seemed to walk away happy enough with the outcomes decided, but some grumbled quietly to themselves as they left.
Ivar’s eyes fell on Freya and a smirk appeared on his face, while he listened to Isla talk to a husband and wife who complained of a neighbour stealing from their crops.
Freya waited patiently for at least two hours until finally the last of the people had their problems decided upon by Isla, befor
e she walked before them.
