We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “Of course,” Asgar nods, his hands resting on his sword belt.

  His dark brown tunic and breeches cling tightly to his body and Freya can’t help but wonder what it will be like to peel them away. As if reading her mind, his eyes find hers and a small smile plays on his lips.

  Arik’s hands squeezing her shoulders lightly bring her back from falling into a pool of daydreams and she smiles over her shoulder at him, turning her face up to her father’s. His brow is furrowed, bringing out the wrinkles that are normally hidden and Freya reaches her hand out, slipping it into his.

  “I will miss you, Father,” she whispers, her voice giving way to the crackle of emotion that has been building up to this moment. His warm eyes widen, right before he wraps her in a hug, much tighter than Arik’s, but Freya gives in to it, wrapping her arms around her father’s shoulders. Standing there for what seems like forever, Freya tugs on his braid as she always has, getting her father to chuckle.

  “I will try and come see you after the winter,” he says, releasing her slowly and looking her in the eye. Freya spots the tears trying to escape. She smiles and nods, hoping that this will come true. “You know my old bones still live for the water. They need to roam once more and it will be a perfect reason.”

  “Yes it will,” she kisses him on the cheek, stepping away from him. “I will pray every day it will come true.” Her father’s smile eats away at her and she has to look at the stones to keep her composure. “I love you, Father,” she whispers.

  “And I love you, Freya.” He grins even wider and kisses the top of her head, his strong hands on either side of her face holding her still for a long moment then releasing her.

  Stepping away further, Freya feels Halvard’s hand on her back and turns to see his kind smile and eyes above her. “Come now. You will be on our boat of course.” As they turn, Freya’s eyes meet Asgar’s once again and Eska’s loud objection pierces the air.

  “No,” he says, stepping past Ivan and Arik to be in Halvard’s face as he turns. Freya looks up to him in slight disbelief as he speaks. “She will come with me on one of the others.”

  She can see a fire light in the older man’s eyes as he peers slightly down at her best friend and she can feel the tension growing. Footsteps in the stones behind her make her step between the two men, knowing no one will swing if she’s in the way.

  “Eska,” she scolds, looking him in the eye. “I will ride with my soon to be husband and his family.”

  “No, you will not,” he says sternly, grabbing her by the upper arm and pulling her from Halvard’s grasp. “You will ride with me, so that I can ensure your virtue is intact for the wedding.”

  His words make a hot, heavy blush fill her skin and Freya runs her eyes from Asgar to the stones, thoroughly embarrassed. She can hear her father and Halvard talking heatedly, but the heartbeat thrumming in her ears drowns it all out. Eska’s hand squeezes her arm and she gives him a hard look, trying to convey her thoughts of giving him a tongue lashing once they are at sea.

  “It is okay,” Asgar’s deep, smooth voice rings out, bringing Freya from her angry musing and she looks up to meet his gaze. His hands are up in an agreeing nature as he steps up to be only a whisper away from her, his body heat seemingly wrapping around her and pulling her in; her body straining against Eska’s hold to press herself against her future husband. As his hand comes up and cups her cheek, forcing her to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye, he smiles.

  “It is okay. It will only make the end result more sweet.” The sound of his voice, combined with the feel of his touch and the look in his eyes, makes Freya melt; her knees feeling weak and a hot desire building within. As Asgar pulls her forehead to his lips, Eska’s grip tightens and pulls her away as soon as his lips leave her skin; Eska tugging her to the other boat too soon for her liking.

  Up the wooden plank, Freya never takes her eyes from the beach, waving to her father and brother as the plank rises and the oars are fitted into their slots. As a few of the men shove the long boat from the stones, she drops her pack and races up onto the bow, holding onto the sail tie.

  She watches and waves, keeping the tears at bay, as her father and brother wave back, standing stoically on the stony beach. She takes in their appearances, knowing it might be the last time. As the water splashes up and the men jump in, she takes a deep breath in, wanting to memorize her home in every way she can. One of the men barks out an order and they all grab their oars; Eska included.

  Pulling up beside the boat with Asgar, Freya can almost reach out and grab him, but she just smiles at him, still not knowing why this man has this kind of effect on her. “Are you ready?” he asks, hanging onto the sail line and leaning precariously over the edge of his boat toward hers and she laughs, looking back one more time to her disappearing island and feeling a tug at her heart.

  She knows she can’t change it and she can’t go back. Taking a deep breath in as she looks to the waves sloshing up the side of the wood, she smiles and looks back to Asgar. “I think I am,” she says, loving the wide grin that plays across his face, highlighting his eyes. As he winks, jumping back down into his boat and they separate, she giggles to herself.

  This is it, she thinks to herself, looking out over the open ocean and closing her eyes, putting her face into the wind. I’m ready. She knows it will be hard, but she thinks she is ready, and with her best friend, Eska, by her side… What could go wrong?

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  A sharp poke in the ribs and the smell of salted fish jolts Freya awake, her muscles and joints protesting as she flings the thin fur from her body, wheeling and facing Eska. His blonde hair is disheveled and greasy, having been at sea for the last six days, and Freya fears what she must look like as she straightens from her curled up state.

  “Mornin’, Lass,” he says, his voice harsh from horrible sleep as he hands her a piece of salted haddock. She tries to give him a smile as she stretches her neck, trying to get the kinks out.

  Popping a piece of the fish in her mouth, she stretches her hands up above her head and hears a whistle ring out through the slightly foggy air. Turning and peering over the railing, she smiles, seeing Asgar standing tall on the stern of his ship, hanging onto the sail tie as he has every day in greeting her. He smiles, his ice blue eyes lighting up, and waves before jumping down to return to tending to his own men.

  Freya giggles to herself, her smile still wide as her heart flutters at the thoughts running through her head. The time is getting closer and closer; she will be his wife and she can finally see if all these fantasies playing through her dreams will come true. A mocking, snorting laugh comes from her side and she turns to face a scowling Eska as he cuts off another piece of fish and shoves it into his mouth.

  “What is your problem, Eska?” She asks harshly, shoving his shoulder as he peers out over the water. “You have been nothing but mean to me since we left. I thought you were my friend?”

  “I am your only friend, Lass,” he growls out, almost spitting on her through his anger. Why couldn’t she just see the love he has for her? But he is slowly buying his time, planning on planting seeds of doubt and mistrust in her mind to make her turn away from Asgar into his arms.

  “Well, you’re not acting like it,” she huffs, looking at the men manning the oars and taking the bladder of ale from Eska’s hip; it being the only thing to wash down the salty fish. She can see that Eska is cautious of Asgar, but she is upset at his behavior, treating her like a child.

  Seeing him shrug, she stands slowly and straightens her tunic and trousers, running her hands over her hair; attempting to smooth it. Moving past the men and standing to the stern, she looks to the sky and takes a deep breath, her soul feeling at peace here on the waves.

  “What do you think, Freya?” The deep, scratchy voice of this boat’s captain, Lars, pulls her gaze to her right where he is standing with one leg up on the railing as his hand grips one of the sail ties, his gaze on the fog covered waves.


  “I think we should let out the sail and pass those nannies,” she smiles as Lars laughs, deep and long. He nods, while reaching for the sail tie closest to him.

  Looking over his shoulder, he nods to the other side of the boat, saying, “Well, what are you waiting for girl? Go get the other line.”

  Smiling, Freya weaves around the men at the oars as Lars barks an order for them to pull them in and for another man to grab the middle line. Peering out through the fog, Freya smiles, seeing Asgar’s boat just before them. She’s happy that Lars is indulging her and grabs onto the rope and knot at his yell, ready to yank it loose and then quickly tie it off as the sail unfurls itself.

  “Now!” Lars yells and, as she yanks back, a slight gust of wind picks up taking the sail out right away and Freya loses her footing; the tie off point slipping away from her as the force of the heavy sail pulls her away.

  She doesn’t yell for help, her stubborn side still intact, and, as the boat gains speed, her feet keep sliding on the deck. The sweat is breaking out on her brow as she tries to pull herself back to tie the rope off as the crews attention is elsewhere.

  As she sees her boat quickly aligning with Asgar’s, another gust of wind blows through and she loses her footing all together, letting out a squeal of frustration as the wild rope pulls her close to the railing. She tries to take one hand off of the rope to grip the railing as yells come from the crew, telling her to hold on, and she sees Asgar smiling face quickly turn to fear as the wind finally sends her over.

  Her boots graze the waves and her feet feel the cold of the water as the rope swings her up and over. Her knuckles are white as she holds on, knowing if she lets go she will most likely drown in the choppy water before anyone can get to her. She hears the yells of the men as they shout between the two boats. The whipping sail forces the rope to wrap around the carved bear at the bow and Freya’s shoulder bounces against the wood, sending sharp pain all the way to her neck.

  Looking up, she sees Eska, Lars, and others rush to the side and start to pull the rope up just as another gust swings her out of their grasp. Freya lets her fear wash over her as her arms feel weak and she screams, the sound dying in the rapid wind. Her feet hit the water again and she’s dunked up to her waist, the cold almost causing her to release her grip as the wind flings her from the waves seemingly straight up.

  She feels weightless for a long moment, the rope going slack in her grasp as the chill from the ocean reaches her bones. She can hear the crack of the rope as it tightens, pulling her down; she can’t hold on any longer. Closing her eyes, she silently prays to Odin for help.

  Expecting the cold and splashing from the ocean, Freya screams out as she hits something hard and unforgiving, rendering her unconscious. The men of her boat gather around her as Lars grabs the rope and secures it as yelling comes from Asgar’s boat, now in full sail trying to catch up to them.

  ***

  “Is she alive?” They ask Eska as he carefully looks her over, seeing that she is still breathing. He slowly nods to them all, the over flowing joy at her rising and falling ribcage replacing the heart shattering fear he had felt only moments before. He rubs his hand over her cheek lovingly, pulling her up into his arms.

  “Is she okay?” Asgar’s voice flows over the space between the boats and Eska cringes, turning to face the bane of his existence with Freya still limp in his arms. He can see the worry written over the man’s face and it disgusts him. It disgusts him almost as much as the lust and blush that he sees run over Freya every time she looks at the barbarian.

  Coldness appears in Asgar’s eyes and his stature becomes hard and stone like. “All of you will pay for your negligence,” he yells making a sweeping motion over the boat toward all of the men and settling his gaze back on Eska. “All. Of. You.” Then, he turns back toward his own boat.

  Scowling, Eska turns and swings down onto a seat at the bow, tucking Freya into his chest. Hearing her groan as he shifts her legs over his lap, Eska kisses her forehead. “No punishment will be as great as that that I give myself for letting you be hurt,” he whispers, running his thumb over her cheek as the crew resumes their positions; some of them giving him sidelong glances and mumbling amongst themselves.

  “I will protect you,” he says, pulling her tighter to his chest. “I will protect you from him and from yourself, for you don’t know what you want or need. But I do……I do, my Freya.”

  ***

  The loud sound of stones scraping on wood and shouts of men pull Freya from her painful sleep; her groans filling the air as she tries to turn over on the bench. She can see the men throwing the lines down over the boat and she hears Asgar’s voice nearing; shouting and swearing in his native tongue.

  “You’re awake.” Eska comes over, kneeling in front of her and putting his hand on her cheek. “How do you feel, Lass?”

  “Sore,” she tries to say, but her voice is choppy and dry. She wants to know how long she’s been out and if they have arrived, but first she needs water and her eyes scan the deck, looking for the bladder she had brought with her; hoping there’d be some left in it.

  Heavy footfalls and grumbled orders find her and she watches Asgar approaching; a heat igniting deep within, even through the pain she feels. His dirty-blonde braid is swinging behind him as she tries to sit up to meet him. Wincing and falling back to her side, his hands find her waist.

  “Lay still,” he whispers and she sees his eyes roaming her body, his large hand hovering over her, as if he was afraid to touch her. “Where does it hurt?” he asks.

  “Where? Try everywhere you idiot,” Eska shouts, pushing Asgar’s shoulder, trying to regain his position at Freya’s head. She frowns at him, opening her mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a painful scratch.

  Asgar spins on the smaller Eska, their faces only inches apart. “Leave this boat,” he all but growls, his eyes boring into Eska. “Leave this boat, before I have your head above my door.”

  “I am her protector,” Eska comes back, standing defiantly before the angry man, not willing to yield and be bullied.

  “And look at the job you’ve done. She could have died. I should..”

  “Stop,” Freya interjects, coughing after her effort to talk and wincing as she sits upright, her hand on her throat as tears fill her eyes from the pain. “Please. Eska, just leave us for a moment.” Her pleading tone and the pain in her eyes pulls at Eska’s resilience as she looks up at him, and he looks from her to Asgar, nodding quickly, before setting his jaw and walking away.

  ***

  Watching Eska walk away, Asgar tries to reign in his anger and turns back to Freya, seeing her uncomfortable squirm. He kneels, pulling the bladder of water from his waist and flicking the top of with his thumb, nodding for her to take it as he holds it to her lips.

  When her hands cover his, his muscles tense for a second then relax, the warmth from her touch filling every inch of his being. Watching her lips meet the spout he thinks for a minute to pull her face to his and thoroughly show her what he has been thinking since he first saw her, but that can wait. Helping her hold on as she drinks as much as she needs, he can’t help but shamelessly roam her body with his eyes noting that even though they’ve been at sea for eight days, she is still breathtaking.

  Lowering the bladder and keeping her eyes locked on his, Freya drags the back of her hand over her mouth, smiling to herself. “Thank you,” she whispers, looking around her once more. Trying to stand, she winces and grunts, feeling his hands catch her around the waist. Looking into his eyes as his nose brushes hers, her breath catches in her throat. “I guess I can’t walk.”

  “It’s okay,” he says, his breath warm on her cheek. “I’ll happily carry you.” Before she can protest, she is up in his arms held tightly to his chest. She rests one arm under his, across his back as the other drapes his chest. She can feel his muscles bunching and her heart is racing from being this close to him. She rests her head against his chest as he makes his way across the dec
k and down the plank.

  Taking in the scenery before her as best as she can, it takes her breath away. The stony beach leads up to a heavily wooded, yet bustling village. People say hello to Asgar as they pass, looking to her with curiosity, but she keeps quiet. The stone, wood and sodden homes line the well beaten path he carries her down. His happy chuckle rumbles through his chest every now and then.

  She can see Halvard’s great hall, much like her father’s, being the center of the village and she can hear the cheers and laughs of the men inside but they just pass it, Asgar’s feet hitting a lesser used cart path. The grass isn’t too tall and the sounds of horses and pigs fill her ears. He hugs her tighter and her heart races, wondering where he is taking her.

  “Up ahead is our home,” he says softly as if he is reading her thoughts and she turns to face a quaint cottage; the shuttered windows open letting the slight breeze and sunshine in. “You will stay here. I will get the healer to look at you and then my mother and sister-in-laws will help you ready for the ceremony.”

  The ceremony? How could she have forgotten? She had been so busy flirting that she has forgotten that she needs to actually marry Asgar. “Okay,” is all she can think to get out as they near the secluded home, tucked into the tall pines.

  ***

  Kicking the door open, Asgar lets it swing back into his hip as he carries her through, glad that his mother had started a small hearth fire for him. Freya is shivering in his arms, even in this warm day, and he doesn’t want her to get sick.

  Setting her down on the fur covered bed, he lets his hand linger on her hip as the other cups her cheek. He kneels, looking her in the eyes and seeing the hesitation there. He smiles, knowing she must be worried and nervous about the pending night.