We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “Any sign of Callen?” He grinds out, his muscles tensing at the idea of that evil bastard running free.

  “The caves were searched. No sign. They are going to question his brother to see if he’ll give it up.” Keir spits out the open window, moving back to hold Eisa tight to his chest as they sink down onto their pallet.

  Letting the room fall silent aside from his mother’s singing, contemplating his actions, Asgar sighs. He knows his father will die; it’s only a matter of when now.

  Asgar runs his hand over his face, feeling the dried blood of his kills still caked in his stubble and he groans to himself. His enemy’s judgment will wait. His family matters more and right now, they need him.

  ***

  Freya has been stripped, washed and dried by the maidens and the entire time she was silent. They had asked her questions, mending the cuts on her thighs, but she hadn’t said a word. The haze still covered her, leaving her feeling like she is trapped inside her own body. The fear, sadness and anger rolling all at war within her.

  The maidens left her and she sank to the floor in front of the meek fire, wrapping herself in a fur to ward off the chill that hovered over her. It is her fault that Halvard is dying. These people will lose their leader; her husband will lose his father, all because of her.

  Closing her eyes, she can swear she feels the coolness of Callen’s blade against her thighs, the cuts throbbing beneath their bandages. Her lips are numb, the split skin and memory of the way Callen and Eska forced their mouths upon hers making her skin crawl. She gathers the fur tighter around her chest as she hears the door creak open and she slowly turns onto her side.

  “Freya,” Egil’s quiet whisper reaches her as his two brothers follow him in, all in their night clothes. “Mother told us to keep you company.”

  As they approach, Freya sees the sadness outlined in their eyes. Little Gleb’s big brown eyes are rimmed in tears and it breaks at her haze, her heart hurting so bad she clutches at her chest. Moisture finds her lashes as she looks them over, their heads held low in sorrow. She opens her mouth to reply, but can’t find the words.

  “Mother told me to tell you something.” Egil looks nervous, wringing his hands in front of him. She waves him forward and he kneels at her side, leaning in and cupping his little hand around her ear. “She said, it’s not your fault and that Valhalla will welcome Halvard with open arms and full mugs of ale.”

  How could they not blame her? she thinks as the little boys words sink in, her eyes brimming with tears threatening to spill over as the other two gather close. She cups Egil’s cheek and kisses him on the forehead, pulling the fur open to welcome him in as Fenris slips in the other side, tucking into her side as she lifts her arm.

  “What about me?” Gleb whines, his big brown eyes filling with tears as his hands swipe at his dirty face.

  She breaks, letting the tears flow and a sob run through her chest as she pulls him into her chest, hugging him tight as she lies down and the other two boys snuggle in. She cries into the toddler’s hair, brushing her hand over the smooth locks as his little weight sinks into her chest, warming her. She cries for Halvard, knowing the pain he is going through is great. She cries for Asgar and his brothers and mother, knowing their hearts are breaking even if some of them won’t show it.

  As sleep starts to take all four of them, Freya sends a silent prayer to the Gods, asking for all of their help in this time of need. She crosses herself, asking the new God of the monks for mercy and guidance. She hopes someone will listen.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN:

  “Open up and look at it….Lick it….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…” Callen’s words and the evil look he had in his eyes shock Freya awake, a cold sweat running over her skin as she tries to gain her bearings. The soft feel of the feather filled mattress beneath her confuses her and she shoots straight up in bed, hugging the fur to her as she looks around startling her husband awake.

  The fear is still making her hands tremble as she spots Asgar trying to rise from the chair he is slumped in, his tired face and bloodshot eyes telling her he hadn’t slept much. She tries to calm her rapid breathing but the memory of Callen’s touch still lingers on her skin, making it feel as if he is sitting next to her and she shivers.

  “It’s just me,” Asgar’s scratchy voice tries to calm his visibly upset wife and the fear in her features makes his heart break. As he reaches his hand out slowly, his chest clenches when she recoils, the look in her eyes showing distrust. “It’s just me, my wife. I won’t hurt you.” He whispers it low and slow, letting his desperate need for her comfort and touch show in his tone.

  The difference in his tone and the sadness she notices in his eyes breaks through the haze of fear surrounding her and tears rapidly fill her eyes, spilling over as she can’t control the sob breaking from her chest. She reaches for the hand she shied away from, now gripping the fur and she tugs him to her, wrapping her arms around his neck as he sinks down onto the bed beside her. Having him next to her isn’t enough and as she cries uncontrollably, she rolls on top of him, covering his chest with her face and un-kept hair, tucking her arms around his shoulders as he grips her tight.

  Her tears and body wracking sobs bring Asgar to the brink of emotion, the weight of his father’s pending death weighing on his mind. He wants Freya to feel safe, knowing no one will hurt her again and as he grips her face to his chest, holding her tight as he can, he whispers to her. “Tell me what they did so that I may dry your tears and punish Bracka properly.”

  Freya pushes up off his chest, sitting on his lap and shaking her head furiously. She doesn’t want to tell him what Callen and Eska made her do. Trying to wipe away the tears as they flow freely down her cheeks she’s pulled into his chest as he sits up, cradling her face at the base of his neck. She drapes her arm over his chest, tangling her fingers into his messy braid as another sob cracks from her chest.

  Asgar just waits, holding her and rocking slightly to try and soothe her as her tears hit his bare chest. He kisses the crown of her head as the sobs start to wane, her tear filled face tilting up and her eyes meeting his.

  “Es-es-Eska,” she starts, stumbling over the words as her emotions still run over her. She takes a deep breath, letting the caring and loving look in his eyes warm over her. “Eska and Callen, they made me kiss them.” Her fingers go to her lips lightly, feeling the cracked skin. “Callen, he made me look at him and,” her eyes go back to Asgar’s face and she sees the crease in his brows, the frustration and anger building in the blue depths of his eyes. “He held the blade to my sex,” she skirts her hands down to hover over her shift, her fingers trembling as the cuts on her thighs throb. “He made me lick him. Bracka held me down.”

  She feels sick to her stomach at the mention as the memory floods her. The feel of the cold stone against her face, his hand holding her down hard as his evil eyes hungrily raked over her. His engorged manhood bumping into her mouth and his promise of mutilation if she didn’t do as he asked echoing through her ears. She gags, squirming from Asgar’s lap and hanging her head out the open window just in time to spew the meager contents of her stomach out into the bushes.

  The anger building within Asgar at the way his wife was mistreated gives way to the hurt and overpowering need to protect her as he reaches to the side table and grabs the cup of water he had set out for her when he had arrived. Pulling her back into his lap he holds the cup to her lips, tipping it for her as she chokes the water down. Her shaky hands cover his, staying even when he lowers the cup and he can feel her fear.

  Wiping the dribbled water from her chin with a light swipe of his thumb, he turns her face up to his running his thumb softly over her lips. “There is no need to cry anymore about it, my love. I do not blame you for any of it.”

  “If I had fought harder. If I had kicked harder or screamed none of this would have happened.” She cries, trying to turn her face away b
ut his grip keeps her still, his eyes bearing into hers. “If I hadn’t been here your father would still be alive.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that. Eska stabbed him..”

  “Because of me.” She sobs, trying to yank her face from his grasp but he only pulls her to him more, putting his forehead against hers and wrapping his arms around her.

  “Eska was a man of his own, you guided him in nothing. My father is not yet dead, his spirit still fights and he does not blame you, nor does anyone else.” He tilts her chin up once more, wiping the tears from her cheeks with firm but soft strokes of his hand. He knows that she thinks he is disgusted by her, having been touched by another man, but it isn’t the truth. “I do not blame you, for any of it. No one can ever change the way I feel about you, but if you need time to work through what they did, I will wait. I will wait for however long it takes and I will never, ever, care for another.”

  Freya looks him in the eyes, seeing the sincerity and depth of his words in the hopeful expression on his face. She reaches her hand up and traces his light eyebrows, running her fingertips over his forehead and cheeks to his chin where she drags her nails through his stubble, getting him to close his eyes and lean into her touch. The kind of strength this man must possess to love me still, she thinks as she brings her face to his slowly, hesitantly placing her lips to his, afraid that a flash of Callen’s face will flood her mind.

  ***

  As her lips brush his, warmth flows into Asgar that he needs. He needs her with him, to help him through this rough path that is ahead. He wants nothing more than to just know she is at his side and he pulls her into his chest, deepening the kiss slightly as her hands rest on his shoulders.

  He glides his lips softly over hers and Freya can feel the hesitation in his touch, waiting for her to draw back. She knows he means what he promises and that he will never hurt her and she lets go of the fear. She sighs heavily and wraps her arms around his neck, pulling her chest up against his as his arms encircle her, his warmth helping to chase away the demons. She moves to straddle his lap, wanting his bared skin to cover every possible inch of hers that it can and she wraps her fingers into his hair, sweeping her tongue tenderly over his bottom lip.

  Asgar groans as she opens for him, sweeping his tongue in slowly trying not to push her too far as her hold tightens on him. She seems to want to meld their skin together and he is fine with that, holding her tighter with his hands splayed out over her back. His head goes back as she rises to her knees, her lips never leaving his as she presses her body tight along his. As his hand moves up her back and into her hair, she softens to his touch, sinking into him and sighing; three rapid knocks and the creak of their door fills the silence in their home.

  Asgar groans into her lips, kissing her sweetly as his brother, Raghnoll’s, voice apologizes. Asgar motions for him to continue, not moving from the bed and not removing Freya from his lap as she lays her head on his shoulder.

  “Father wants to see you and Freya both. He says it is important.” Asgar sees that his brother is nervous, the pain and emotion of losing their father evident in his disheveled appearance. “They think his time is coming.”

  ***

  “We will be right down,” Asgar replies as Freya climbs from his lap, pulling the first item of clothing she can from her trunk and throwing it over her head. She pulls her hair back as she spies Asgar adjusting his breeches, the very prominent evidence of how she was making him feel being visible through the thin material and her heart races. Just a kiss from her husband and her dark haze was almost gone. She feels somewhat like herself and as they reach the door she turns, grasping his face in her hands and kissing him hard while she’s up on her tip toes.

  It’s the reassurance Asgar needed and he holds her face to his, the reality of the moments ahead hitting him hard. This may be it; his father may be finally heading for Valhalla and he is asking for him. He knows with Freya by his side, he’ll weather the storm bound to happen and he grasps her face tighter, kissing her till she whimpers.

  Taking her hand and wrapping his fingers with hers, Asgar pulls her behind him down the slight hill and into the oddly quiet village. The people know their jarl is dying and they are only preparing themselves for the mourning. His father is a good man, has been a great leader and he will be missed by all when the Gods call for him. Their steady pace carries them into the great hall, back into the longhouse of his father’s dwelling.

  Halvard is pale and clammy, his hands shaking as they hold the blanket to his chest and as Freya surveys the scene before her, she grips Asgar’s hand tighter. She can’t help but feel this is all because of her.

  “Come here,” Halvard’s scratchy, weak voice and hands motion them over as a languid smile fills his face.

  Asgar sinks to one knee before his father’s bed as Freya places her hand on his shoulder, standing just behind him trying to fight the tears threatening to spill out. Halvard tries to shift and a pained look fills his face, a hard cough wracking his chest as Leena comes to dab a cloth at his lips, cleaning the blood and giving him a drink of water.

  “I feel as if the time is near, my son, for me to dine in Valhalla.” Halvard’s harsh whisper ends in a cough and Asgar reaches out for his father’s hand, feeling his brothers looming not far behind him. His father’s grip is weak and cold, causing Asgar’s heart to clench knowing his father speaks the truth.

  “I want all of you to know that I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. I have had a good life; great boys who will carry on my name, a loving wife who gave them to me, and great daughters who will keep my sons in line.” He lets out a strangled laugh and the room quietly chuckles with him, tears in all of their eyes. “But what I want you all to remember is that I blame no one for my death.”

  His glazed over eyes come to rest on Freya and she can’t hide her tears any longer; her heart aching for the kind hearted man who has been so welcoming to her. She drops to her knees beside Asgar and Halvard’s hand cups her cheek, wiping the tears with his thumb. “No tears, my newest daughter. I will dine with the greatest of warriors and will fight with glory on the fields with the Valkyries.”

  She tries to hold in a sob as she leans into his touch, her heart breaking more at the slight smile on his pale face. “This is my fault and I am sorry.”

  “No, no, no,” he argues, coughing but keeping his gentle hold on her cheek. “Death comes to us all. I am happy to die knowing I did it to save one of my family. There is no greater honor than to lay your life down for those you love and I will share mugs of ale and tell the story of how I died to save someone we all know is special.”

  “I am not special,” she counters, shaking her head as the tears seep out.

  With the last bit of physical strength he can muster, Halvard grabs her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Aye, Lass, you are more than special. There is something about you that makes everyone around you better. Ask anyone. Since your arrival in our village our crops are growing better. The fishing is better and everyone is happier. You’re luck; walking, talking, breathing, luck. Never let anyone tell you less. Use your warrior heart and your smart head to help my son be the best jarl he can. Promise?”

  She holds his hand to her cheek, letting a sob run through her and she nods. “I will my jarl, I will do my best.” He gives her a weak smile and she kisses the inside of his palm, returning his arm to lie on his chest as he sighs.

  Asgar grasps her hand, pulling her into his side as he stands. “Be a good father to the children she will give you my son. The journey will not be without its trials.” His father’s advice edges in warning and Asgar squeezes her tiny fingers, silently giving her his promise.

  “I will, Father. They will know of their grandfather, the Great Halvard the Hammer.” A concurring grunt runs through the room as his brothers agree and their father grins, trying to laugh but coughing instead.

  “Go now, my sons, and let your mother and I have these last few moments.” He motions for his
wife to come to his side and she’s there in an instant, their hands wrapped around one another as their foreheads come together. The scene wraps around Freya’s heart as Asgar pulls her along, following his brothers outside into the cool morning air.

  They are all silent, the group lingering just outside the door not really knowing what to say to one another. A villager approaches and Asgar leaves Freya to join his brothers in conversing with the man. She feels a hand slip into hers and she turns to see Asa as Katla takes her other hand. Eisa slips in and hugs Freya tightly to her as the other two wrap their arms around. The gesture is confusing to her until Eisa whispers in her ear.

  “We are sorry for what happened to you. Know we are here for you, for whatever you need.” Her words echo through Freya’s mind as the three of them wrap her tighter in a hug, giving her the comfort they know she needs. When Leena’s anguished cry rings out through the air and their husbands go running, the women stand together, holding one another as their tears slip out in grief for their kind father in law.

  “May Valhalla welcome him with a large feast and great battle,” Freya whispers and they all nod, gathering tighter as they hear the word travelling through the village. “He will be greatly missed by all.”

  ***

  The wind picks up as Freya steps up beside Asgar, taking his hand in hers as they stand at the shore. The sunset was a brilliant orange and red mixture, Freya believing it was the Gods trying to send their condolences as they readied the funeral boat. Now as they stand on the shore it’s only darkness looming, waiting as Leena makes her way down Freya sighs heavily knowing this is hard on her husband because he not only lost his father, he’s losing his mother as well.

  Leena has chosen to travel to Valhalla with her husband, choosing everlasting love over having to live without her husband. It breaks Freya’s heart, but, at the same time, she knows she would probably do the same. Just the thought of losing Asgar makes her chest tighten and she grips his hand, his touch warding off the idea.