They began to play hnefatafl over drinks fetched by Faramund. The evening was passed in a peaceful manner until Cook Bertha entered, dusting off nonexistent crumbs from her apron. “Milady, you must leave.” Bertha had been struggling to keep Freya in line for as long as Freya could remember, which might have something to do with the streaks of gray through her dark hair. The poor woman had been charged with minding Freya, to teach her the womanly arts of singing, dancing, and sewing when others had given up out of sheer frustration.
Were the Druids back? At the slight worry—only slight, because she was, after all, surrounded by warriors and had the Sea Witch—there was a pang in her temples. Then the worry was gone.
“Why? Are we in danger?” Freya asked.
“Yes,” Hedwig said. “My wine is empty.”
Faramund ran to get her another.
“It’s Etainen,” Bertha said, wringing her hands. “The chieftain. Oh, dear. Oh, dear.” Nothing ever made Bertha nervous. Except Freya.
Freya stood. “Did something happen to him? Has there been an attack?” Another pang.
“No. If only. He is on his way here. He is going to see you gaming with the guards and soldiers.”
“Ah,” Freya said. “Only a woman could be more concerned about propriety than an invasion or assassination.”
“Aren’t you leaving?” Bertha said. “What am I to tell him? How am I going to explain this to Etainen? He’ll change his mind. He’ll flee. This is not proper at all. You’ll be labeled a whore. What are you wearing on your head? You’re flighty enough without wings on your head.”
Freya stood and began a ladylike exit—back straight and what she hoped was a humbled expression on her face—but as soon as she passed Bertha, she paused, brushing hair from her eyes. The men stood to greet the Cimbri chieftain. Freya couldn’t see Bertha and hoped Bertha couldn’t see her.
When the door creaked open, Freya darted behind it, concealing a giddy giggle behind cupped hands. Heavy footsteps of the soldiers’ feet clomped into the room. The door closed, and she was presented with a view of their backs. Etainen had doffed his cape and wore a green toga, revealing, once again, his bronze arm and muscles so lean and well sculpted. And the ink on his left arm, bold thick lines under the skin. She had not expected something so masculine and appealing. If only he weren’t a Rome supporter. No matter what reason demanded, her thoughts strayed to the feel of those muscles at her back, his breath against her ear.
Why did she stand behind the door? Oh, of course.
She crept up behind Etainen and yelled, “Booga booga booga.” Her friends groaned. She never got them with that. She didn’t get Etainen, either. He turned around, tilting his head.
“Booga booga booga?”
She shrugged. “Would ooty booty booty make more sense? I don’t know what that means, either, but it’s fun to say.”
Etainen’s men, clad in the Cimbri’s colors of red and black openly gaped. Of course, they could afford to have dyed silks. They were friends with Rome, after all.
Had Etainen and his men fallen upon dangers on their way here? A few of the men had black eyes or fresh cuts, just beginning to scab. Yet their clothing was neat. Still, they seemed uncomfortable in it, tugging at the black togas and red capes.
She remembered how Etainen had rescued her in the marketplace.
“Hello.” She gave him a cheery wave and a big grin. “Come. Sit.” She grabbed one of the skins of blueberry ale from the belt of linked silver hoops and rose, extending her arm. “Have a blueberry ale.”
“Princess Freya,” Etainen said, taking the ale. “We have not been formally introduced.”
“Well, aren’t you Chieftain Etainen…or someone who stole his clothing and is trying to impersonate him or even…a pirate? They could be anyone, you know.”
“Freya.” Bertha gasped. So, the cook still hadn’t left.
“I think you might’ve given away Bertha’s secret,” Faramund said. “You outed her before she could sneak in Siegfried.”
“That isn’t funny, Faramund.” Bertha shook a finger at him, her plump face scarlet with humiliation.
“She’s right,” Freya said. “No one knows what Siegfried looks like, because he always wears a mask. For all we know, Bertha could have a very active secret life. What better cover?”
“Don’t say that too loudly or Pompey will be down here.” Bertha scolded, still shaking a finger. Did she ever stop?
“Sorry, Etainen, if that’s really your name. We’re on high alert and cautioned to be suspicious of anyone. You’d best be wary. For all you know, I could be Siegfried the Fox.”
“Your first guess was correct,” Etainen said. “I am your betrothed.” His eyes narrowed as he studied her, as if she were some sort of strange forest beast he was seeing for the first time. Has he guessed that I am the prostitute? Would he like the prostitute better than the princess?
“But isn’t that just what a pirate in disguise would say?” she asked, returning his canny look with one of her own. Her eyes had difficulty focusing with Hedwig’s potion in her system.
Etainen took her hand and kissed the top. “A pirate would not be behaving so honorably at the moment.” He said this as if he had momentarily forgotten his manners. She couldn’t fault him too much for that. She forgot manners often enough, after all.
“It’s true, I suppose,” she said, trying not to sound disappointed. Not that she wanted him to really be a pirate who would hold her down and have his way with her, even if that’s what she envisioned Siegfried doing. Siegfried wouldn’t exactly have to hold her down, though. In her imaginings, he now looked like Etainen. “I haven’t been around very many robbers or…well, yes, drunks, I’ve been around. But not robbers. So, I can’t verily verify the veracity of that statement. Hmm…alliteration. Verily. Verify. Veracity. Can I be victorious in verifying the veracity of vivacious villains?”
“Study in subtlety,” Hartwin said. “But can you verify the veracity of this study in subtlety?”
“I can corroborate your conception of my loathsome lack of nuance that has become a nuisance,” Freya said.
Etainen looked at her strangely before lapsing back into his stoic manner. “I admit, I did not expect to find you here.” He brought his face close to hers. “Then again, I did not expect to see you playing at being a whore, either.”
Freya’s cheeks heated, yet she could say naught, remembering all he had seen. Maybe this would make him run?
“Perhaps it is your loathsome lack of nuance?” His hot breath was scented with wine. Those lips were so close. She thought of that brief moment his lips had touched hers. “You were limping before. When you stood, you were favoring your right leg. I felt bandages under your cloak when I held you. And I can still see the scratches on your face under your powder.”
She bit her lip. That was an insult, wasn’t it? And he definitely was not going to kiss her again. At least not now.
“What is he saying that could make Freya blush?” Hartwin asked, his fist tightening on his tankard.
“Thanks for saving me in the market,” she said, with a noticeable squeak. “Please don’t tell Pompey. I don’t want him to know. I really need my cover, so I can investigate pirates.”
“I don’t think Pompey noticed a thing,” Hedwig said. How had she heard? “Seriously, he was hard when he grabbed you in the market. Didn’t you notice the huge bulge in the front of that skirt-thing Romans wear? He probably enjoys that kind of thing. Taking control and all.”
“At the time, Hedwig was on her way to become my maid,” Freya said quickly.
“Or perhaps Pompey didn’t notice because he thought you were a whore and his hand was on your breast,” Etainen said. His hand closed over her forearm, firm and strong.
Berengar, Faramund, and Hartwin were the first to lead the men in rising and drawing their swords. At least Bertha had gone. She probably had figured the damage was already done and didn’t want to watch what she would consider a catastroph
e.
“What is this about Pompey touching you?” Berengar demanded.
“Nothing,” Freya said quickly. She remembered Ulf until a sharper flash of pain streaked through her temples, and her distress disappeared. “Please. It’s nothing. Pompey just wanted to keep us safe from pirates.” The words were difficult to force.
“Wait. I heard of the whore Etainen rescued,” Faramund said. “Oh, Freya, please don’t tell me—”
“I was doing no more than I always do, and all of you know what I always do. Only I had not expected my normal actions to rouse suspicion. If you all go charging to Pompey’s chamber, he’ll know it was me as the whore. Then Mother and Father will know. And I have no idea how to explain any of that to them.”
“Pray tell, Freya. What is it you always do?” Etainen’s hand slid to her wrist, tightening. It was doubtful he’d release her without an answer. “I suspect you told Pompey some of the truth. What’s the rest? Are you whoring yourself for information? You told Pompey you had been in the wood, swiving whoever would pay. Do they only pay with gold, or do they pay you with information about Rome’s traitors?”
Gods. How was she supposed to explain any of this? “I…I…”
She took a long swallow of blueberry ale, hoping it would numb the pain that started whenever her thoughts drifted toward the unpleasant. “As I said, I was doing what I always do. I didn’t tell Pompey all of it, of course. Pompey wondered how I got the coin to buy myself the box from Ulf. He was close enough to hear, and… Well, it didn’t help that I pushed some cutpurse away from him right after. He was going to lop off her arm.”
How do I make it sound like I’m an idiot? An idiot who loves Rome.
“I really, really hate the sight of blood. I didn’t want to get sick. That would draw too much attention. Vomiting would also be really debilitating, so I thought it safer to help the cutpurse. Of course, Pompey questioned me as I was on my way back to the palace, and I had to say something. Considering what I’d bought from Ulf, I was sure I could corroborate—argh, alliteration—verify the lie—oxymoron—and be on my way. So, it’s my fault Pompey thought I was some whore who might be interested in him.”
She stuck out her tongue and uttered the dumbest thing she could think of, just in case. “I’m really glad that Pompey wanted to search me. He’s doing such a great job. It’s an honor and privilege to have strange Romans hands on my body. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to worry about. Next time, I’ll just carry the purchase in the open and won’t even bother with the box. I’ve been thinking that maybe it’d be safer if we all just went around naked. Cold, but effective. I mean, Woden prances about naked, problem free.”
Hedwig cackled. “You should tell him he prances.” That line earned a raised brow and a quick head shake from Freya.
“Freya, you didn’t have to go through the trouble of picking up that package for me from Ulf,” Hartwin said. “Though I daresay Hilde will be pleased.”
Hilde? Good thinking, Hartwin.
“It’s in the shrubs with my other clothing,” she said to Hartwin, then turned back to Etainen. “Obviously, I’m not a whore at all. I was just doing a favor for Hartwin with coin he gave me. I use money—not my body—to pay for information.”
Etainen finally released her wrist. “So your warriors would have their princess get such things for them? And what of Pompey’s other accusation, that you were asking about Siegfried the Fox?”
“I have a very close relationship with my men. Ooh, that sounded really, really wrong. Not that kind of relationship. The drinkish, friendly sort of relationship. As to the other accusation…well…Ulf was one of my sources.” She looked to her men and snarled a little like a Beast. When the pain hit, she snarled even more.
Lovely, now everyone definitely heard that.
“Something stuck in her throat.” Hedwig poured blueberry ale in Freya’s mouth until she choked. Freya flailed as she tried to push the ale away. The distinctive white wine taste told her it contained Delirious.
“At least the old general didn’t know your true name,” Faramund said.
Just the mention of a true name and anyone knowing it made Freya shudder and feel dizzy from what felt like bolts of lightning shooting around in her skull.
“She was very convincing,” Etainen said. “At least now I know where she learned her language.” He frowned at Faramund.
Hedwig slid sideways to let Faramund sit on her other side, managing to brush her breasts across his bicep. The chieftain’s men found other available seating.
“I shall have to watch you,” Etainen said to Freya, “as you seem the sort who will find trouble.”
Freya glared at him. “Me? Rome and Pompey will protect me. As long as I’m with Rome, I’m on the side of right, and I don’t have to be worried. Why, if it weren’t for Rome, I’d never have any peace of mind. I’d always be wondering if some pirate were going to climb in my window and take advantage of me, hold me down, and do all sorts of terrible, horrible things. I think I’d just faint.” She sighed, her hand on her neck, feeling dampness pool between her legs at the thought of Siegfried climbing in her window.
“Sounds like fun,” Hedwig said.
“How could you say such an awful thing?” Freya cried. “There’s nothing fun or funny about pirates. I know what is fun, though. Let’s do the most fun thing ever. Let’s play hnefatafl and talk about Rome.” Her teeth felt like they would shatter from smiling so hard. She placed a few gold coins on the center of the table.
“I see you’ve indeed had a unique education.” Etainen laid four gold coins upon the table. “A Roman tutor must have been pricey.”
“Chiron was Greek, actually. He showed up in my childhood, offering to tutor me in exchange for only food and a room.”
“Perhaps an even odder education than I’d thought. I would not have expected this from even a gratis tutor.”
“Yet here you are, gambling and drinking. So, you have the same education. I see our marriage will be blissful.” She met his stormy gaze as she set the hnefatafl board. Damn, the fluttering in her stomach when he looked at her. Why should she find him so attractive when he was being so mean?
“Did Chiron show you Quicksilver? Now that…that is a thing of beauty.” Hedwig had a wistful expression on her face.
“What’s Quicksilver?” Freya asked.
“If you have to ask, then you missed out.” Hedwig licked her lips. “Chiron and I, we moved in the same circles. He suggested me as a lady’s maid for Freya.”
Hedwig had slept with her tutor? Freya was fast becoming convinced, given Hedwig’s beauty coupled with her proclivity for handsome men, that she had slept with most of the men in the Otherworld.
Etainen shook his head. “So, your greatest concerns are drinking and gaming, Freya. No wonder you want to bring this poor excuse for a lady’s maid to my home. No wonder this Chiron suggested a woman who wears the shoes of Egyptian prostitutes.”
Hedwig’s eyes narrowed, and Freya espied a green glow surrounded her ringed fingers under the table. She gave the Sea Witch’s thigh a sharp pinch. Hedwig settled for sneering at Etainen.
Freya didn’t speak again until she’d won. “You got slaughtered just like a tribal rebel. Whee! Let’s play again.” She was feeling giddy. Hedwig’s potion was a strange thing, indeed. “How do you like that, Etainen?” She puncutated her words by slamming a fist on the table. “How does losing feel? I wouldn’t know, so I have to ask.”
“I think I shall have to hire another tutor for you,” Etainen said. “One to teach you how to be a better victor.”
“Um, yes, of course.” Freya’s head was swimming. “Swimmy, swimmy, swim, swim.”
“What?” Etainen said.
“Hedwig, is this supposed to happen?” She should feel worried; instead, she could describe the feeling she got only as fluffy. Fluffy? “I’m feeling all kinds of happy, as if I’m in a big ocean of blueberry ale, only not drowning, and the ale is fuzzy and warm.
Headache is there sometimes, but then it gets happy again.”
“The potion is working just like it’s supposed to.” Hedwig pinched her thigh under the table, harder than Freya had pinched hers.
Freya rose, unable to concentrate on hnefatafl. There were so many more pressing worries. “I want to dance. How do they dance in Rome, Etainen? Can you show me?”
“No one’s won the game yet,” he said, looking away from her. Why didn’t he like her still? He was supposed to like her. They were supposed to be gazing at each other with glazed eyes, murmuring sweet nothings, not about each other, but around Rome. Freya gave his broad shoulder a shake. Could he tell she was using the hand on him to steady herself?
“You said you gave her a potion,” Hartwin said, yanking her from Etainen by the shoulder. “What kind of potion?”
“A calming—”
Freya grabbed Hartwin’s hands. “Come on, let’s dance if Etainen’s going to be a squish-fun.”
“Er, there’s no music, Frey,” Hartwin said.
“I know a mouse that lives by the sunny stream,” Freya sang. “It ripples all day long like a pleasant dream. The little mouse goes eep, eep…” She continued with one of her favorite childhood songs. In fact, it was the only one she had learned before her singing instructor quit. Something about night terrors.
“Uh, maybe I should remix that potion if it’s doing that.” Hedwig covered her ears as Freya kept on singing.
“The little fish goes bloorble urrble, bloorble urrble.”
“This is Freya’s normal singing,” Faramund said. “Only she usually never sings.”
“I can see why.” Hedwig rolled her eyes as Freya kept on singing.
****
Siegfried was downing his wine faster now. That sound, that horrible sound continued. He tried to focus instead on Hartwin and Hedwig. The Remi soldier was still badgering the bold maid about the potion.
“Leave me alone about it already,” Hedwig finally snapped. “Do you want to sit here and listen to her cry and whine? I sure don’t.”
Siren Slave Page 8
