We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “There is no telling what I will want from you, my husband.” She smiles seductively, before giving him a quick kiss and hoping out of the bed, far from his reach: should he try to retaliate.

  With her back to him, she hears his groan as the mattress shifts, the wooden frame creaking and she smiles, her heart racing from her bold move. She has no idea where it came from, but she loved doing it. She loves the feel of being on top of him and, as she pulls a pair of breeches on, feeling the sting of the bruises on her backside, she sighs remembering the aftermath of her punishment.

  She giggles again to herself, noting that she is becoming a slave. A slave to Asgar’s love.

  ***

  Eska has sat in the shadows, the sounds emanating from the small cottage making his anger rise. The sound of her scream as her bastard of a husband punished her; then the sound of her screaming out his name, it made him sick.

  He has waited, though, and now is his time to plant a seed as Freya and Asgar emerge, her giggle making his heart race as he comes from around the thick pine at the back of their home. The sight of her takes his breath away; her red hair loose and curly being held back by only a leather headband. Her skin is in a rosy blush and he is jealous, it used to be only him who could make her blush like that.

  Finding his voice, he yells her name, his heart stopping as she spins and her eyes meet his. He stands proud, knowing Asgar is starring him down, but he doesn’t move his eyes from his love, silently begging her to come to him.

  He sees her turn and say something to the blonde barbarian, the way she places her hand on his arm making Eska’s skin crawl and he averts his eyes to the ground, his hands clenching at his sides as he wants to unsheathe his sword and run it through Asgar right now. But no, his time will come, and Eska will make sure it is slow and painful.

  “Eska, you cannot yell for me like that. It is disrespectful to Asgar.” Her beautiful voice makes him raise his eyes and she’s right in front of him, within arm’s reach. He has to withhold all he is feeling right now to not snatch her up into his arms and run off into the woods with her. His horse is only a few yards away and he could be on it and a mile away, before Asgar could even get his from the barn.

  “I do not care what he thinks,” he grinds out, looking her right in the eye.

  “Eska,” she chides, sighing heavily as she sees the stubbornness prominent in his stance. Her friend since childhood has always been her protector, taking beatings from her brothers and other boys when they were younger in her defense, but now he needs to know his boundaries.

  “You can’t keep doing this or they are going to force you home.” She tries to smile at him, but gives up when she sees his jaw jut out. “They could and will do worse if you keep on like this, Eska. They are used to getting their way and they need their women to be treated, and to act, a certain way.”

  “But that is not you,” he whispers, leaning down slightly and skirting his eyes over her head to see Asgar tense. He gives him a smile and returns his attention to Freya, her green eyes searching his soul without hesitation. “You deserve to be free and do whatever you would like.”

  Why can’t she see he is offering her this? With him, she’d be free to roam the meadows and to talk with whom she’d like. He’d know that she would be his at night and that was all that would matter. He would tend his farm during the day and, if she chose to wander, than she could. She could walk outside naked for all he would care, because he would be the only one to see. He wouldn’t ever hit her with the flat of his sword.

  “How do you know it’s not me?” She asks incredulously, giving him a raised eyebrow as she backs up a step. She can’t believe her best friend, the soft hearted man who used to help her pick apples, is acting like a total feral dog right now, fighting over a scrap bone. Looking him in the eye, Freya searches for the boy she used to spend hours with laying on the shore, talking about life, but all she finds is an angry man and she sighs.

  “What has gotten into you?” She whispers, shaking her head as a hurt look passes over him and his shoulders sag just a tiny bit.

  “I was hoping you would know,” he says quietly, almost to himself as she starts to turn away from him and he skirts his look back over to her husband; standing smug and angry in the wings, trying to wear Eska down with an icy stare, but he just brushes it off and looks back to Freya.

  She looks confused, hurt even, and Eska wants to do nothing more than reach out and sweep her into his arms, holding her tight to his chest. “I only want to know you’re safe,” he says, staying his hand before he reaches out and sweeps her hair behind her ear like he’s done a million times before.

  “I am safe,” she smiles, looking back to Asgar and a blush fills her skin just at the sight of him. She can’t help the heat that rushes over her skin, thinking of her punishment this morning and its aftermath, but she shakes it away and turns back to Eska, seeing the anger running over his eyes as he looks at her feet. Something is up with him, but she can’t figure it out.

  “Please just try and enjoy yourself while you’re here,” she reaches out and brushes her fingers lightly on his arm in a friendly gesture, not realizing she’s setting his skin on fire, and he holds in the groan caused by the contact. “I’ll get you if I need you, I promise.”

  The genuine look in her eyes makes his heart hurt as she smiles up at him and he nods, straightening his stance as she turns away, running back to her husband and away from him. She doesn’t see what he holds for her in his heart, but, soon enough, she will be forced to. Eska has a plan brewing with Bracka and Callen, bound to set this hell hole of a village on fire with battle and screams.

  Turning back to the woods to find his horse, Eska smiles darkly, gripping the handle of his sword. “You’ll feel the bite of my sword soon enough, Asgar, son of Halvard,” he whispers, hoping up onto the bare back of his mare and spurring her onto the trail. “I, Eska-Son of Slaves, will be your downfall. I will ruin your village, take your wife, and then steal the last breath from your body as you see her slipping away.”

  The breeze created by his horse’s pace cools his anger and a wide smile fills his face at the thought of Freya’s body beneath his at last. He will show her what love is really like. He will rid her of that brute barbarian.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  A few weeks have passed, filled with passion and sleepless nights for Freya, at the hands of her husband. As she lays in the meadow, listening to her nieces and nephews playing around her as they swim in the small stream fed by a beautiful waterfall, she closes her eyes and replays the night before in her head.

  The day had been hard for Asgar and her both; him being occupied with council issues with his brothers and father and Freya had been helping Leena and her sister-in-laws cook all day long in preparation for the before harvest celebration being held tonight. He had been so tired that when she had arrived at the cottage, he was already lightly snoring on the bed, his breeches and tunic still on.

  She had smiled and hummed to herself lightly as she washed her face and hands, dropping her food stained apron and dress to the floor and stepping out of it, walking toward the bed. His chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm as she lightly tugged on his breeches, pulling them down only a few inches before his eyes flickered open.

  Even now, the look in his eyes when he saw her hands at his waistband heats Freya and she smiles at the way she had licked her lips, dropping to her knees on the floor before the bed. Asgar hadn’t let her finish him in her mouth yet, but last night she was determined to taste him. She tugged his breeches down to his ankles in a rough pull, freeing his large manhood as he sat up groggily.

  “What are you doing, Beautiful?” He had asked, running his fingertips lightly over her skin and smiling at her as she squirmed closer to the bed, positioning herself perfectly in front of him.

  “I am going to taste you,” she said slyly as she darted her tongue out, dragging it up the engorged skin of his shaft as he twitched in shock, his sharp intake
of breath making Freya smile.

  He had wrapped his hand in her loose hair that was falling around her face, pulling it free from her skin so that he could see her neck and he held the back of her head tight, grinning at her with an evil glint in his eye. “And what makes my wife think that I will let her?”

  “You have tasted me many times, my husband. Why would you deny me the pleasure of doing the same for you?” She had pouted, leaning up and brushing her bare breast along the insides of his thighs, teasing him as her sister-in-laws had encouraged. As she guided his throbbing erection across her chest and between her breasts, Asgar’s eyes had rolled back, his head dropping as a groan rumbled through him.

  With his hand still tangled in her hair, he had pulled her up off her knees, only to harshly whisper, “You may taste me, my wife. But after that I will have my way with you. I will not be kind and you will scream my name till that pretty little voice of yours disappears.” With that, he released her back to her knees and she had taken him hungrily.

  Even now, laying in the sun drenched meadow, Freya can’t help but shiver as she swears she can feel Asgar’s hands running through her hair, pulling her and pushing her, showing her just what he liked as she hungrily sucked him. She laughs lightly, noting that his promise wasn’t empty as she had lost her voice last night from his incorrigible love making afterwards.

  “Sister,” the yell comes from up the hill, shocking her from her daydream and Freya sits up, shielding her eyes from the sun and seeing Asa standing at the top of the slight hill waving to her. Waving back, Freya stands and gathers her blanket, seeing Asa cup her hands around her mouth. “Bring the children. The men want to see us ladies train.”

  She waves, signaling her acknowledgement, and Asa disappears over the hill; the children already emerging from the water. “Hurry now,” Freya tells them, wrapping each in a sun warmed towel that Leena had weaved herself.

  “What did mother say?” Fenris, Asa and Herlof’s middle son, asks as he scrapes the towel through his hair, looking back at Freya with large brown eyes.

  “It seems your grandfather wants to see your mother and aunt’s fighting skills.” She smiles at the thought, not having picked up a sword or shield since she left her home on Shetland. She has trained once a week with her father; her specialty being the bow and arrow, but she can wield a sword just fine in her book.

  “My mother is a shield maiden, so if grandfather lets you pick a partner, pick her.” Egil says confidently as he helps his little brother, Gleb, put on his boots.

  Freya just nods, smiling to herself as she helps the only girl with her dress. She knows Asa, Eisa, and Katla can fight; she has watched them train before from Asgar’s barn. She has discovered that the upstairs of their barn is a perfect place to see the entire village from an elevated level and she has sat up there quietly many nights that her husband has been occupied in council with his father and brothers.

  “What weapon will you pick?” Calder asks, taking his sister, Petra’s, hand as they follow Freya up the path back to the village.

  She ponders her choices, looking to the four year old boy as he stumbles and his sister tugs him along. Gleb’s little hand slides into hers and she smiles down at him, gripping his little toddler fingers tight as they crest the hill.

  “Aunt Freya should choose the axe,” Fenris pipes in and his older brother Egil nods, grunting in agreement as he picks his cousin Berg up and sets him on his hip. “Uncle Asgar’s favorite is the sword, but he also likes the axe. He will be happy if you pick it.”

  All of the children nod and mumble in agreement as Gleb’s hand squeezes hers, his wide eyes and huge smile telling her that he agrees and she laughs at him, swinging him up into her arms as they hit the first home in the village; the bustle and noise of the celebration preparation breaking the calm silence they had been bathed in by the waterfall.

  As they round a corner of the great hall, the children spot their mothers and all go running except for Gleb. He stays calmly in Freya’s arms as she makes her way to his mother, Asa, who is dealing with her other two sons and their onslaught of questions.

  Looking around, she spots Asgar in the training ring, his sword flashing in the sunshine as he trains with Keir as their other brothers watch, sitting alongside their father and other elite warriors. Freya and the other women will be using blunt training weapons, but the men, they don’t care about injuries and they use their real, sharpened weapons.

  Her husband’s hair is braided down his back, the leather bands she had tied in there slapping against his breast plate and mail as he rains merciless blows down upon his brother, only taking one or two in return. His strength and the sounds of his grunts makes her skin warm and naughty thoughts play across her mind, causing her to suck in and worry her bottom lip as she feels Gleb slip from her arms down to his feet and scurry off.

  “Don’t stare too long, Sister.” Katla’s voice comes from her left side and Freya snaps her attention away from her husband, noticing there is a blush running over her skin and her chest is rising and falling rapidly. Her lust is evident to her sister-in-law and Katla gives her a sly smile. “You might create a puddle on the ground. Wouldn’t want any of us slipping in it, now would you?”

  “I am very sorry, Sister,” Freya says quietly, the smile on her face as she looks at the ground making Katla laugh out loud and she throws an arm around her shoulders, hitting her in the chest with a breastplate for her to put on.

  “Put this on,” she says, pulling free the practice sword she had shoved in the hay and looking back to Freya over her shoulder. “And don’t be ashamed. We all feel the same way about our men. We’ve just gotten better at hiding it over the years.” She winks, throwing her banded hair over her shoulder and sheathing her sword as she walks away. Freya watches her, noting the way Katla’s husband, Raghnoll, watches her walk past and how the sway in her hips becomes even more prominent, knowing he is watching.

  She turns her attention to putting the leather covered breastplate over her chest, tying it tight on the sides as her father had always told her to. As she listens to the clanging of the metal and the grunts from the men fighting in the pit, Freya pulls her hair back, tying it securely into a bun with the blue and yellow strands she keeps tied to her wrist from their wedding night.

  Halvard’s deep laughter fills the air, pulling her attention as she leans on the fencing surrounding the pit; Asa to her right, giving her a smile. “Alright, alright boys,” he laughs as Asgar and Keir wrestle around in the dirt, both free of weapons and punching at each other. “Keir, release your brother. You lost fair and square.”

  Both their frustrated grunts fill the air as Keir kicks at Asgar, picking his sword from the dirt and leaving his little brother in the dirt. Keir skirts his gaze across the pit, settling on Freya and smiling. “Your wife better not cheat like you, little brother,” he laughs, pointing at her. “My wife doesn’t care for cheaters in fighting.”

  ***

  Asgar sits up, his hair mussed with dirt from wrestling with Keir and settles his gaze on his wife, smiling as the familiar fire ignites in his chest. The sight of her standing there, the leather and metal plate tied perfectly, hugging her beautiful chest. Her fiery hair tied up off of her perfect neck; she looks like his own little warrior goddess and he wants more than anything right now to sweep her up and have his way with her right here, right now, among the weapons. It’s a dark and dirty idea and it makes him laugh to himself; shaking his head to clear his thoughts before his breeches start to strain anymore from his growing erection.

  “Come on now ladies,” his father says, waving his wife and sister-in-laws forward as he sits beside him, resting his still vibrating muscles. The four women stand before Halvard, his sons and some of the other warriors, looking like warrior women as the jarl claps his hands. “Well, what shall it be ladies? One on one, partners, or brawl?”

  Asgar and his brothers laugh lightly at their father’s light attitude as the women look between each ot
her. Asa steps forward, being the eldest, and nods toward Halvard. “We will take a brawl.”

  Halvard looks to each woman, seeing their nods as he settles on Freya, knowing it will be her first time sparring with the others. “This is acceptable with you, Freya?”

  ***

  “Of course,” she says almost too giddily as a wide smile lights up her face. She couldn’t ask for a more perfect way to show off her skills and have a little fun. She prefers a brawl, having trained with all of her brothers and Eska since she was small. It gives her a bigger rush and the adrenaline makes it easier for her to focus on her opponents.

  The amused look on her husband’s face as he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow in surprise makes her blush and she calms, clearing her throat. “I mean, of course it is, Jarl Halvard.” She speaks with all the properness she can muster without having the adrenaline that is already coursing through her body seep out.

  “Okay then,” Halvard laughs, waving for the servant boys to bring the training weapons forth.

  The young boys carry a sack of weapons over to each woman, setting it at her feet so that she may pick the ones she wants. Freya looks over the worn and beaten metal, picking a short sword out and testing its weight. As she spins her wrist, checking to see her reaction time with it she smiles, tucking it into her waist as a backup.

  She kneels, taking a closer look and running her hands over the battle axe before her. It is double bladed, the handle being maybe four feet long and, as she picks it up, she feels that with each small movement the weapon easily shifts, following her hands. Feeling headstrong, she spins the axe, having it rotate fully in front of her and catching it deftly, then spinning it around her head while drawing her sword and ending with bringing the two together in front of her in a defensive stance.