We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “Lick it,” he whispers, bumping her lips with his erection again. She squeezes her lips tight, screaming inwardly to keep her mouth from opening to the sickening sight. His hand tightens in her hair, forcing her lips against his flesh as she feels his other pulling her skirts up. She thrashes her body as hard as she can, feeling the daggers blade nicking and biting at the skin on her thighs, stilling only when the blade touches her sex. “Lick it or I will make sure you will never bare a child. I will make sure you can never feel the pleasure of a man’s cock ever again.”

  Tears flow from her eyes as she feels the cool of the blade press against her core, the evil, sickening smile growing on Callen’s face as she hears Eska’s voice in the background, trying to talk him down. “Come on now,” Callen whispers, leaning down, “open your pretty mouth. You do want to have babies someday, don’t you? Of course you do. If you’re good, I’ll give you one in a minute, but first you need to lick it.”

  Freya’s screams inwardly again, the sound vibrating through her chest. She squeezes her eyes tight, slipping her tongue out and dragging it up over his throbbing flesh and returning it to tightly closed lips as Callen laughs, yanking her head so that she looks right up at him.

  “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” He grins, crushing his mouth to hers and prying her open with his tongue as she tries to thrash away. He releases her only to have his lips replaced by Eska’s and she screams against his invading tongue, the feeling of Callen’s blade moving along her thighs sending chills over her skin.

  She jerks her arms and legs, trying to move even an inch but all that finds her is pain, shooting through her hips and back as the tight bindings at her ankles strain her muscles. She feels the cool of Callen’s blade run across the tops of her breasts and she bites back a scream against Eska’s tongue, knowing he will cut her if she does. Eska releases her with a satisfied smile, kissing her lips sweetly as his hand mixes with the blade moving over her breasts.

  “You won’t be needing this,” Callen whispers, shoving the blade between her breasts as she shrieks and cuts away her dress, revealing her full breasts and pert nipples just as his brother comes crashing through the curtain of water.

  “They are coming!” Bracka yells out of breath, his clothes muddy and bloody from the battle. Seeing the scene before him, he is instantly jealous of his brother, the whimpering and half naked woman beneath him looking like a ripe prize for all of their hard work.

  “I do not care as long as Asgar is dead,” Callen carelessly replies, ripping the rest of Freya’s dress away with one swift tug, his hungry eyes rolling over her as his cock twitches with eagerness. Leaning over her, pressing the blade to her throat as the head of his manhood rests against her entrance, he whispers against her temple, “I will see to it you scream my name loud enough so your dead husband can hear you in Valhalla.”

  Bracing himself, he poises for his thrust, waiting for a moment of relaxation in Freya so that she thinks she is safe to make his invasion even sweeter, but his brother’s voice stops him. “He is living.”

  Freya gasps, hearing that her Asgar is still alive and coming for her and she thrashes against the feel of this bastard against her, getting a hard slap across the face in return. She screams out with all her might, hoping Asgar is close enough to hear, not even another hard slap stopping her voice as she calls out his name.

  Callen grumbles at his brother, looking down on the beauty of a sacrifice before him. “We have to hurry then.” He nods to Bracka to move to her head, “Cover her mouth.” Bracka obeys and as Freya strains her arms and legs trying to struggle, he clamps his large hand over her lips as Callen moves between her legs again.

  “Sweet, sweet Freya. If you had only married someone else this wouldn’t be happening.” His eyes trace his fingers movement as he runs them over her breasts, pinching harshly at her nipples, then moving to her stomach, coming to rest on her mound. “You probably don’t remember that we’ve met before. A long time ago, we were only children; you no more than ten and I was maybe fourteen. My father’s ships docked on your father’s island for rest and trade. I saw your beauty and I asked your father for your hand. He laughed at me. Laughed.” Callen pinched the sensitive bundle of nerves at her apex causing both pain and pleasure to roll through her as she screams against Bracka’s hand. “He told my father that if it was Bracka who had asked, he would have said yes. He said that letting his daughter marry a born of fire like herself was only bringing bad luck to his household.”

  His harsh laughter trailed off into the darkness as Freya closes her eyes, the feeling of his hard shaft at her entrance making her want to vomit and she gags against Bracka’s hand. “But now, you will be at my mercy, without your Da to save you.”

  He grabs her hips and as she squeezes her eyes tight, trying to brace herself for the onslaught she is about to experience. She is praying to her namesake goddess that this will not result in a child as she hears a grunt of pain from the cave followed by a string of curses as her hips are released. Opening her eyes she sees an arrow bolt sticking through Callen’s shoulder, his face contorted in pain and anger.

  “Asgar!” She screams as she hears the battle cries of men crashing through the water toward them. She struggles to get free; screaming as Callen, Bracka, and Eska disappear into the dark.

  ***

  Hearing her scream and seeing her naked body strapped to the stone table makes Asgar’s heart twist. Some of his men and his brothers chase after the fleeing bastards as he pulls his tunic over his head, draping it over his wife as she cries out his name. His father helps him cut her loose and, as he tugs the tunic over her head, she wraps her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest.

  “I thought you were dead,” she says, looking past him to his father, seeing the sad smile on the older man’s lips as Asgar’s hand caresses her cheek. Shouting and clanging of metal rings out through the cave and as she hears Bracka’s shouts and curses, she smiles knowing they will pay.

  Her worrying about him as she was strapped to a sacrificial table makes Asgar’s heart swell and his blood boil to torture the bastards who did this to her. He sees small streams of blood running down her thighs and his heart stops. Was he too late? Pulling her chin up to look in her eyes, he wipes at the tears as he whispers, “Have they hurt my wife?”

  She shakes her head as her red rimmed eyes look into his. “No. You stopped them. They took nothing from me except my dress.” Her words hitch and she sinks her face into his bare chest again.

  ***

  As Asgar soothes her with loving words in his native language, she turns her eyes back to Halvard as his sons appear with Bracka between them. Her moment of triumph as one of her captives is thrown to the rock quickly changes to fear as the shadows behind the Jarl move to reveal Eska and the flash of a dagger before it appears through Halvard’s chest, blood spurting from his mouth.

  “Nooooo!” She screams, leaping from her husband’s grasp as Keir and Herlof catch their father’s falling body, the clang of Halvard’s mighty hammer striking the rocks ringing through her head. Bracka is yelling curses in their native language, making the words sound even more harsh as Eska takes off toward the water. Seeing only red as she hears Halvard gasping for air, she yanks a dagger from Keir’s belt, chasing after Eska. Leaping and kicking her leg out with all the effort she can muster, she connects with Eska’s calf, knocking him to the slick rocks.

  She is full of confusion, rage, and shock for this man who had been her best friend for her entire life. The one who was supposed to protect her, be happy for her. He had tried to rape her, he was going to let Callen and Bracka rape her. Letting the feral scream she had been holding in rumble from her throat, Freya jumps on Eska’s back, pulling his head back with her fist in his wet hair.

  He mumbles incoherently, trying to throw her from his back but the slick rocks impede his effort. “Freya…please…I love..you,” he struggles with the words as she yanks his head back, her fingers fusing into his hair.

&
nbsp; “Eska, I did love you. I loved you like a brother, but it wasn’t enough. You always wanted more. Now I curse you and your black soul.” She bites out the last words to her friend, placing the dagger below his left ear and pulling it across his throat, screaming as his warm blood sprays her face and chest. A few gurgles is all that comes out as she ends underneath his right ear, dropping his head to hit the wet stone as his blood mingles with the flowing water.

  The feeling of the droplets of her friend’s blood running down over her eyes and lips, the way it sticks between her fingers, makes her tremble. This was the first time she has killed and it was someone who had meant the world to her only hours before. She stands on shaky legs, not able to take her eyes from his lifeless face until her husband’s voice rings out through the darkness.

  ***

  “We need to get him back to the village,” he nods for his men to help him pick his father up, supporting his weight to try and alleviate the pain of them moving him. The loud agony filled groan that fills the cave breaks at his resolve as his father’s blood drips down onto his shoulder.

  His brothers are shoving the bastard Bracka before them as the meager light reflecting in the waterfall hits them, revealing his bloody wife, the dagger still gripped in her hand. He looks from her to the ground, seeing the lifeless body of Eska and he knows the feeling roaring through her. The adrenaline warring with the guilt of taking a life for the first time making her limbs visibly shake.

  Letting his brothers traverse the waterfalls edge with their prisoner first, Asgar reaches his free arm out, his hand cupping his wife’s cheek and rubbing his thumb over it. She is shaking and as he watches her green eyes flow over the men helping him hold his father, he sees the sorrow. Guarding it from his heart to show only strength, Asgar nods slightly to the back of the group. “Follow us and be careful.”

  ***

  All Freya can do is nod, these strange feelings rolling through her at a killer pace, her hands shaking and her legs weak as she follows the last man through the rapidly moving sheet of water. The cool shock of it makes her gasp, but she stands beneath it, letting it wash away her friends’ blood along with her own, still trickling from the cuts on her thighs. Pulling herself from the water, she spots her husband and his men just making the little slope leading to the ledge and she hurries to catch up, her bare feet slipping only slightly on the moss.

  She hears the shocked and angry voices of a large group of people as she reaches to grab some grass to haul herself up. A thick, strong, familiar hand wraps around her wrist and pulls her up effortlessly, her husband tucking her into his chest as he strides across the grass and swings up onto a horse. She is in a daze but she sees the hurried group before them, Halvard sitting before his eldest on a horse. She wants to cry for him, sob to the Gods that he might make it through this, but there is nothing left within her.

  She feels empty and lost as the horse beneath her pounds its hooves into the soft earth catching up with the others in a blink. The conversations go on around her, but they only add to the haze. She doesn’t really pay attention as they crest the hill near her home and she doesn’t feel her husband’s hands upon her as he shifts her down to the ground, his strong voice calling out for some maidens to come to his aid.

  He sees the blank look on her face where there should be fear or tears and it worries him. His emotional flower is silent as he cups her cheek, her eyes showing nothing as he looks into them. “They will help you bathe, my love,” he says, kissing her sweetly but as her lips remain still his heart stutters, his brow creasing.

  As the maidens approach with buckets of water and fresh linens, he searches her eyes once more. Pulling her tight to his chest, he buries his face in her neck, breathing her in but as her arms stay slack his heart breaks. Taking her face in his hands he kisses her deeply, releasing her to whisper, “Whatever they have done to you, I will fix it. Please don’t give up.”

  ***

  Kissing her forehead, he releases Freya to the maidens and turns toward the hall, the people buzzing and running around. His mother’s cries break through the dark night air and as he enters their living space the tears on her face break his resolve a little more. His brothers are helping the healer strip away his father’s clothing, the blood stained mess hitting the floor as he approaches.

  “She wants to pull the dagger out,” Herlof says with an edged tone, looking pointedly at the healer as her hands hover over their father. His brother’s dark brown eyes meet his and Asgar sees the terror hidden deep within. “He will die if we pull it out.”

  His father is laid on his side, his breathing heavy and rapid as Asgar kneels before him, his brothers following suit. They each draw their swords, resting the tips into the wooden floorboards and bow their heads, silently praying to Thor and Odin, asking for guidance and help.

  “Herlof,” the harsh whisper flows from their father’s mouth, causing them all to snap their eyes up. His face is strained, his eyes glazed over as a slight smile caresses his lips. “My oldest. Do well to look over your brothers and their families at all cost. You are a great father. Help your brother to be the best jarl he can.”

  Herlof nods and Asgar can see the emotion running through his face. “I will, Father, thank you.”

  “Keir,” Halvard continues, his eyes moving down the line as he gasps in pain moving his hand from Herlof’s cheek to Keir’s. “Keep that temper in check my boy. Watch over our people and help your brother to be best jarl he can.”

  Keir pats his father’s hand upon his cheek, nodding. “I will, Father.”

  “Ah, Raghnoll.” Halvard smiles at the jokester of the brothers, patting him playfully on the cheek as they all smile through the unshed tears of the moment. “Keep the sense of humor you have, pass it on to your children. You always had the gift of making people smile in hard times. Make sure you use it this time too. Help your brother to be the best jarl he can.”

  Raghnoll smiles, bowing his head being the first to show the sadness they are all feeling while holding his father’s hand to his cheek. “I will, Father.” His strained voice hits Asgar in the chest, causing him to have to take a deep breath in to keep his resolve as his father’s eyes turn to him.

  “Asgar, my youngest.” Halvard smiles, tears running out as he cups his son’s cheek. “I always knew you would be the one to follow in my footsteps. From the day you could walk you were my shadow, following no matter where I went. Your spirit is strong and righteous. The Gods look down upon you and smile, knowing they have granted me and your mother a grand gift.”

  His mother’s slight cry from behind him makes his resolve crumble and the tears line his lashes. He holds his father’s hand to his cheek trying to memorize the feeling of his loving touch.

  “Treat our people how I taught you; treat our enemies like I would. Protect your brothers and their families at all cost. Don’t let your wife blame herself in any way for this; I wouldn’t want to die any other way.” He coughs, blood spattering the blanket beneath him and Asgar tries to rise to help him, but his father stops him. “Hold her tight; never let anyone take her from you. There is something special about her and we all know it. Love her like a man should. Give her children and name one after me, would you?”

  His father’s slight laugh makes him smile, his brothers patting him on the back in consolation. “I will, Father,” he responds, patting his hand as his father smiles wide, his brown eyes lighting up.

  “Where is my Leena?” His father grumbles, reaching his hand up and motioning for their mother as they rise. Her plump figure races to the bedside, kneeling and pressing her tear filled face to his, whispering in their native language that she loves him, for him not to go, and he quiets her with tender sweeps of his hand over her hair and soft kisses to her lips.

  Asgar lets his father’s words sink in as his brothers’ join him in the far corner of the longhouse, giving their parents some privacy. His sister-in-laws join him, their cheeks streaked with tears and his thoughts go to his
wife and the blank look on her face when he had left her.

  “Has anyone been to see Freya?” He asks the women. Asa nods, swiping the tears away from her cheeks as she hugs her husband.

  “She is silent, her eyes never really looking at me. I’ve told the boys to bathe and go keep her company for the rest of the night.” Asgar can see the worry run over Asa’s face as she speaks of his wife and it makes his heart pound even harder.

  His mother’s anguished cries fill the air and they all race to her side, his eyes roaming over his father’s dying body. The healer nods to him, signaling that it is time to pull the dagger from his back and he takes a deep breath as his brothers gather around. They leave their mother kneeling on the floor before him, whispering to their father as the healer grips the handle of the dagger and they prepare to apply pressure with linens.

  The roar that echoes through the longhouse as the healer pulls the blade from his father’s body fills Asgar with chills. He covers the back wound with the linens as Keir covers the chest, noting that their father’s blood isn’t rushing forth as they thought it would. His spirit hasn’t given up on him yet.

  His mother wipes his father’s face with a damp cloth, soothing him with a love song as the others make pallets close by to settle down for the night. Asgar pulls up a chair, placing a bearskin against the seat and back and he sinks down into it, adjusting and shifting to try and become comfortable.

  Resting his forehead in his hand, propping his elbow up on the arm rest, Asgar lets out a frustrated sigh. His father is dying; leaving him to rule their people and he doesn’t think he is ready. Everything is crashing down around him and it’s because of those two bastard brothers.

  “Where is Bracka?” He groans to his bothers, hearing them shift around with their wives readying their pallets.

  “Outside, tied to the slaughtering pole, awaiting your judgment.” Herlof gives Asgar an angry look, the tension in the room building at the mention of the traitor’s name. Asgar nods.