We Roam The Seas

by Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  “What do you plan to accomplish with that, wench?” He chuckles loudly, throwing his head back for a split second and Freya seizes the moment, lunging at him. She collides with his chest, knocking the breath from both while sending them to the ground as the crowd erupts again. She capitalizes on his shock, knocking the piece of jagged wood from his hand and pinning his arms to the dirt with her knees.

  “Get off of me!” He yells, trying to jerk her from his body. The thrashing jostles her, but Freya keeps her place. Slamming her hand down onto his face and reaching her fingers into his mouth, she pulls his tongue out and drags the knife across the soft flesh in a solid, quick movement, his painful scream filling the air as she tosses his severed flesh aside.

  The blood pouring from his mouth runs down his chin and over his chest as he tries to curse her, the words being a jumbled mess of slurring and painful sounds as Freya jumps to her feet. “I rid you of your tongue, Bracka, Son of Lograh, in punishment for using it for plot against your bretheren.”

  She wipes the bloodied blade on her shift, handing the knife back to Asgar as he steps up behind her, a bright look of pride and satisfaction on his strong face. Freya’s heart swells at the thought of making him proud and she smiles, returning her attention to her prey trying to scurry away through the angry crowd as they push and punch at him, not being able to deliver the final blow without dishonoring their Lady.

  “I’ll give you one last chance to ask the Gods for forgiveness before I send you for their judgment!” She shouts, the voices and yells quieting around her. The coward never turns around, just keeps stumbling away as if the crowd will hide him.

  Pulling two arrows from the quiver on her back and the bow from her shoulder, Freya notches one, pulling back and aiming as the crowd parts without order. They have ultimate trust in her and it makes Freya’s spirits lift, knowing they already approve of her. Sighting down the arrow, she focuses in on Bracka’s staggering form, following his teetering steps as she lets out a deep breath.

  She hesitates for only a moment, that voice in her head saying, What are you doing? What kind of person have you become? “I was naïve before. I am a Lady and a wife, now, and I need to do what is necessary to protect my family and people.” She whispers lightly to herself, closing her left eye and focusing in on her target, releasing the first and second arrows in rapid succession.

  The crowd is silent as Bracka gasps before falling to his knees, the arrows imbedded in his back. Freya lowers the bow, her breathing heavy from the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and she just watches as does the rest of the crowd. A loud, skin tingling groan comes from the traitor before he collapses to the dirt face first.

  Her hands are shaking as Asgar wraps his around them and he tugs her into his chest, cupping her cheek and forcing her to look at him and away from the dead Bracka. “Well done, my wife.” He whispers, pulling her up to brush her lips softly as she lets out a relieved sigh, glad to know he is happy with her.

  They are lost in each other’s’ eyes until they feel the weight of numerous eyes upon them, turning their faces they are surprised as the villagers stand in wait. Neither know what to think as the first couple approach them, an elderly man and woman who raise pigs and goats.

  “May the Gods look upon you with favor,” the woman says, taking Freya’s hand and squeezing it gently.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, still in shock at this show of support as the next couple approaches, wishing her the same. Asgar’s hand never leaves hers as his pride grows, the show of acceptance from his people for Freya easing his mind for the moment.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Freya sits on the side of the feather bed, running the deer bone comb through her hair and squeezing a towel at the ends. After accepting a kind word from every villager and a hot bath in the longhouse tub, she had left Asgar with his brothers to hold a council with their other advisors. The look on his face as she walked away worried her, the vision of his creased brow and expressionless lips playing before her as she stares at the flames dancing in the hearth.

  She knows the events of the last two days will resonate, no doubt causing an all-out war between their people and Bracka and Callen’s father’s tribe. There will be bloodshed and death, Freya praying to all the Gods to keep the fight as far away from her village as possible. She knows they are willing and able to fight, but she has become too attached to see war tear her little world apart.

  Sighing heavily, she drags the comb through her hair one last time and lets it drop to the furs of the bed and gets to her feet, her feet padding silently on the cool wood planks as she yawns. Dropping to her knees, she places a small log on the dying fire, stoking it with a poker and being mesmerized by the dancing sparks and ash as they flow up the chimney.

  How will she carry on when Asgar leaves? Her heart knows that he will. He is too honor driven, fueled by a sense of revenge and the need to conquer and to protect for him not to go to war with Lograh’s people. The weight of not being able to see him, touch him or talk to him pulls on Freya’s heart and her eyes start to well with tears as she stares at the flames; the door to her cottage creaking open.

  Asgar’s pulse quickens the moment he sets eyes on Freya; her beautiful light skin glowing in the fire light and her long hair resting over her shoulder and covering her beautiful chest. The thin material of her nightshirt does little to hide her curves, the delicious curve of her hips and buttocks making him hard even just standing here, watching her stoke the fire to heat their home.

  “Is something wrong?” Freya stands quickly, rushing to stand just a whisper from him as fear builds in her heart. There is a troubled air about him and the stone like expression in his blue eyes makes her heart want to stop. As he says nothing, just looks at her, Freya’s anxiety builds. Is he leaving now? Or was it something to do with the council?

  Unable to keep her distance, Freya places her shaky hands on his chest, his warmth and rapid heartbeat burning through her instantly as his hands slam down onto hers, keeping their place. As she watches his hands rub over hers, the rough feeling of his calloused skin bringing her nerves to life the sensation seems to travel right to her core, the heat settling between her legs.

  Looking up into his eyes, Freya sees the intensity flaring within, but she wants to know what it is that’s fueling it. Is it fear? Or love? Maybe even just lust? Without warning Asgar’s hands slide down her arms and up her neck, pulling her face to his and claiming her lips. His lips move over hers in hurried strokes, his tongue invading and taking, not waiting for her to open.

  He will be leading the warriors off by sea to try and find Callen, heading for the traitors father’s tribal lands first, and Asgar wants to show her everything he feels for her while he has the chance. He doesn’t want one second of doubting his love to pass through her mind while he is gone.

  Freya sinks into his arms as they wrap around her, holding her tight enough to take her breath away as she tries her best to keep up with his frantic lips. Her lips are feeling numb from the onslaught, but she doesn’t want it to stop and she moans into Asgar’s mouth when one of hands slips down and cups her buttocks through her shift.

  His touch turns from soft and alluring to hard and demanding, his fingers digging the thin material into her skin as he pulls her hips to him, his very evident arousal bumping into her stomach. The fire burning low in her belly grows to an inferno, her hands skimming his chest down to his belt, tugging at the leather and letting it fall as she reaches her hands into his breeches, grasping the throbbing and very ready shaft and giving it a soft, teasing stroke.

  “There will be no teasing tonight, my wife.” Asgar growls into her ear and biting lightly on the lobe, sending shivers all over Freya. Taking her chin, his eyes bathe her in intensity silently promising her a night of unbridled passion. “You are mine. I need you to know that I will always come back to you.”

  Squirming from his touch as Asgar looks down on her, waiting for her answer, Freya slowly pads backwards to
ward the bed. She knows deep down in her heart that Asgar means every word he speaks, even if her head wants to question it. Pulling at the laces closing the chest of her shift, she can’t fight the blush that fills her skin; half fueled by her shy nature around him still and half by the lust and desire pumping through her.

  Slowly peeling the material from her shoulders and chest, Freya lets it drop silently to the wooden floor, her arms instinctively covering her chest as she looks back into his eyes. She hears the grunt of approval as his eyes burn a hole through her, his hungry look making her feel like a helpless prey set before a wolf. Her heart feels as if it might jump up into her throat as she watches him pull the tunic over his head, tossing it to the floor as he works the buckskin boots from his feet and sheds his breeches.

  “I believe that you’ll come back.” She breathes out as he approaches, his stance making her think he is a predator hunting his prize. Goosebumps fill her skin as he towers over her, his dark blonde braid brushing her bare shoulder as his chest bumps her arms covering her breasts. “The Gods will watch over us because we are worthy. I know you will come back victorious and I love you more for it.”

  Her words make Asgar feel as if he might burst with pride, his heart beating for this woman standing shyly before him. Her faith in him causes a riff in the feral need for her and he softly runs the back of his fingers over her cheek, the smooth texture of her skin bringing to life every nerve in his body.

  “I am glad I found you and I have thanked the Gods every day for bringing us together.” He whispers, cupping her cheek before kissing her sweetly. “Tonight will not be soft and I want you to scream my name.” He growls his intention in her ear before lifting her swiftly and wrapping her legs around his waist, settling her core just above his cock and slamming her back down onto their feather bed.

  Freya’s breath catches in her throat as his weight presses down into her and his manhood presses her opening. She knows he needs an outlet for his anxiety and she is all too willing to oblige. Grasping his face, feeling the rough scratch of his stubble on her palms she fuses her mouth to his then moves one hand down his back and grasping his bare butt cheek, she urges him on as he thrusts into her, filling her to the hilt.

  Asgar groans, her warm and tight core muscles nearly sending him over the edge immediately as he slows his movements pulling out and sliding back in, trying to make this night last as long as he can. As Freya arches her back, silently asking him to continue the pace he has already set, he kisses her throat, moving to nibble at her collar bone and biting harder at the crux of her neck making her whimper.

  Moving hard against her, Asgar loves the way she arches her back, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips and uttering a slight moan every time he enters her, the sound of flesh on flesh filling the silent night air. He can feel that she is close, her breathing erratic as her muscles squeeze around his manhood driving him mad and he sits up on his knees, grasping her hips and driving into her harder.

  Freya feels as if she is on fire, the delightful pressure building in her belly making her feel as if she is really going to explode as Asgar’s eyes wash over her. She lets the sensations take over, meeting his thrusts and grasping onto his forearms. The delicious stars fill her vision and she feels the tremors start, digging her nails into his flesh she arches her back more screaming his name as her sex clenches hard down around him.

  He has to muster all of his self-control to not finish with his beautiful wife as her muscles squeeze him, her voice dying off as her body shakes beneath him. He slows to a gentle pace, drawing out the sensation for them both and he covers her body with his once more, whispering in her ear. “Ik hou van je mijn vrouw. Mijn hart klopt voor jou.” “I love you my wife. My heart beats for you.”

  His words mean more to her than he will ever know and Freya fuses her lips with his, wrapping her legs tight to his waist and pushing him up and over, trapping him underneath her. Taking his wrists and pulling his hands from her body, she pins them on either side of his head while still claiming his lips, invading his mouth as he had hers.

  Sitting up and smiling mischievously at him, Freya pulls one of his large hands to her chest, resting it between her breasts and grinding her hips against him, the sensation making both close their eyes for a split second in pure bliss. “My heart beats for only you, my husband.”

  Sitting up, Asgar wraps his arm around her and holds her tight, his hand still over her heart as he kisses her, tangling his fingers into her hair and tugging her head back as he skims his lips over her chin and neck. There is no need for any more words and as Freya grinds against him, falling prisoner to his lips upon her breasts she lets down every barrier she has put up. Her heart and body are open to him, willingly letting him have her in every way possible. When the sweet familiar pressure starts to build in her core for the second time she smiles into his shoulder, pushing him down to lay flat on his back once more.

  Resigning to sleep for only a short time after both had finished multiple times, Freya and Asgar lay tangled with one another as the sun starts to peek over the horizon. With her head tucked into his shoulder and her leg draped over his waist, Freya feels as if she is one with her husband as she traces an invisible pattern over his chest. They haven’t talked, just laid in each other’s arms, enjoying the company and letting the feeling sink into their skin to remember when separated.

  Sighing, Freya shifts so that her chin is on his chest and she can look into his eyes. “When will you sail?” Her voice is scratchy from their love making, her passion filled screams ringing out in the woods surrounding their home through the night. She can’t hold in the yawn and as tears from both exhaustion and sadness fill her eyes, Asgar cups her cheek.

  He will miss the feel of her underneath him, on top of him, beside him and Asgar can’t begin to fight the tight feeling in his chest at the thought of leaving her. “On the morrow. We will ready the boats today and make sure everything is squared away for you to help the people in my absence.”

  Nerves hit her at the mention of her running the village, making sure everything goes smoothly when he is away and she frowns, leaning into his hand for reassurance. She tries to avert her eyes, not wanting him to see the tears but he pulls her gaze back, locking her chin between his fingers. The moisture finds her cheeks as she feels the emotion warring with her self control, the knot in her throat growing as she looks into those blue eyes.

  His thumb brushes some of the tears away as he smiles, pulling her face up to his. “No tears, my wife. I know my people are behind you. Asa, Katla, and Eisa will stop at nothing to help you; I know this without having to ask. They love you as I can tell the villagers do.” He brushes her lips hesitantly, giving her a wicked smile and she giggles. “Their love compares not to mine and I will crush my enemies in your name, returning before you have the chance to miss me.”

  All Freya can do is nod in reply, the tears streaming down her cheeks as she kisses him deeply, covering his body with hers and weaving her fingers into his messy braid. She trusts his skills as both a sailor and warrior, but she knows you can never truly predict your enemy. She closes her heart against all of the gloomy thoughts and she turns her every attention to making love to her husband again, wanting his heart beating against hers for as long as she can have it.

  She knows it will be a hard thing to say goodbye to him at the shore, but she also knows it is an inevitable thing. She is a Viking wife and the heart of her husband will forever long for the sea.

  EPILOGUE:

  The slight breeze caresses Freya’s cheek, blowing strands of her hair across her face as she watches the men hurriedly throwing the last supplies onto the boats; all of the wives and children standing amongst her on the dock. Her heart is heavy, but she knows deep down that the love between Asgar and her will bring him back to her and she smiles when he pops up, his blue eyes finding her in a second as he swings down off of the ledge.

  The time has come and as Asgar approaches, issuing well wishes and
encouraging words to wives of his warriors as he passes, he waves his men off the boats to say their goodbyes. Clutching the shawl closer to her shoulder, Freya shudders when he stops before her, his heaving chest brushing her arms with every breath, the slight touch making her burn with desire for his attention.

  She is supposed to be silent and strong, showing what little emotion she can but as the tightness around her heart grows, she throws the shield into the wind, dropping her shawl and wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck. She kisses him without care of onlookers, without care of how passionate it was and what others will think. Sweeping her tongue over his bottom lip, she presses her body as tight to his as she can when his arms wrap around her, lifting her feet from the dock.

  Asgar holds his wife tight, moving his hand up into her hair and kissing her deeper until whistles and shouts ring out around him. Releasing her but not putting her down, he peeks around Freya’s shoulder to see his brothers and people smiling at him. “Pay attention to your own women!” He grins, taking her mouth once more as laughs ring out around him.

  His men heed his advice, following in his lead and showing their women what the thought of battle does to their emotions, leaving them all speechless as they board the boats again. Asgar holds her flush to him, kissing her sweetly and looking her in the eye.

  “Be strong my heart,” he whispers, kissing her lightly again before placing her feet back onto the dock. “I will be back with our enemy’s blood upon my sword.”

  Freya places her hand over his heart, feeling the mail beneath his tunic she gives him a slight smile, trying to fight the tears. There will be plenty of alone time for those later. “May Thor guide your hand.” He nods and kisses the inside of her palm, holding her hand to his face and taking a deep breath, memorizing her light scent. “I will keep our people strong, my husband.”