“Ellie, go inside,” he says, letting go of my wrist and pushing me back away from him.
“But—” I go to protest even though I don’t know why, perhaps from fear of losing my current protection.
“Now!” he yells at me, and the gray wolf’s eyes focus on me and goes to lunge at me only for Frey to stop the attack with his own body, tossing the wolf on its side as I walk backward away from them.
I then see Frey’s bare hand rip into the wolf’s body and pull out some of its insides that look like sausage spilling out. I hear multiple yelps and howls as it still tries and attacks him.
I turn away from the gruesome scene feeling sick, my stomach turning and twisting, and I push my way inside the house and slam the door shut behind me.
I breathe heavily, and I block out the sounds coming from the outside, my back sliding down the door slowly.
Who would think a simple fight would turn into something like this? I have forgotten how scary these Northmen could be.
Especially seeing as they have the blood of a beast running through them.
They are truly scary.
It’s not long before Frey ventures back inside and uses a rag and a bucket of water to wash his bloody forearms and face.
I watch him sitting in the corner while holding my legs and I ask him, “Is he dead? Did you kill him?”
“What do you think?” he asks me snottily as he wrings out the washcloth. He then continues wiping the blood off his cheek with the rag. “He tried killing you and disrespected me. Do you think I would allow that and let him live like nothing happened?”
I look away from him, not responding, and he then asks me, “Why are you upset about it?”
“I’m not,” I hiss out.
“You are,” he says back, his voice low and deep. “I can sense it.”
I turn back to look at him and I can tell his eyes are serious. I am not even sure why I am feeling upset like he said. Maybe because I actually feel guilty for causing the boy to die when things could have been handled differently, but then again, he was set on killing me.
Perhaps the reason didn’t matter, and it was better off the boy died but how would Bard and the rest react when he finds out one of his friends are dead because of me?
Frey sighs heavily. He drops the rag into the bucket before approaching me, and I look up at him.
I hold my legs tightly, and he asks me again while standing in front of me, “Ellie, why are you upset?”
I frown before I respond, snapping at him, “I don’t know. Maybe because I nearly got killed today because I am weak, and I witnessed you gutting the boy like a deer.”
Even though the boy was a wolf when the gutting took place...
I then stand up, clearly dismayed, and Frey stops me by grabbing my arm.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, staring up at him and trying to pull my arm back.
“You smell different,” he says while sniffing around my hair and taking in my scent.
“What do you mean?” I ask him, my eyes narrowing and getting weirded out slightly by his smelling.
“Your scent is starting to change...stronger than it was before,” he states, sniffing by my neck one more time before moving away from me and letting go of my arm.
“Have you bled yet?” he asks me from a distance.
I feel my cheeks flood with heat, and I look down for a second, knowing what that means as I have been informed by Noma when I bled it would mean I was no longer a girl, but a woman, and my body was ready to have children.
“No,” I respond before looking up and meeting his sharp and intense gaze.
“I see,” he says, not pushing the matter before saying, “If you think you’re weak...I will train with you, then.”
“Really?” I ask him, his words striking curiosity in me.
“Yes, really. Though it seems you can handle yourself well already. You hurt that boy while he was a wolf,” he says while sitting down in one of the wooden chairs, smirking slightly. “I am proud of you for that.”
Somehow his words make me feel good, and he then goes on to say, “But I won’t put you in any danger during training.”
“You already put me in enough danger by stealing me and whisking me away from my lands,” I say sassily to him.
“You have a point,” he says, grinning slightly.
And I then ask him, “When?”
“Anytime you want and when I am not busy,” he responds.
“How about tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Fine by me,” he says, rubbing at the slight scruff on his face.
I smirk slightly, already starting to feel slightly better than I did before at the confirmation of Frey’s training. Now I can grow even stronger. It won’t be long before I can become an official shield maiden.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Frey says.
“What is it?” I ask him.
He grins smugly, and he says, “But first I have to make sure no one else attempts this folly again...”
Yes…How could I forget? A boy was dead, and I was attempting to be normal, as if nothing was happening and so was he.
Chapter 11
First Blood
June 24th, 996 AD
So, this is what he meant yesterday, and I stare up at the boy I once knew hanging up in a tree with his intestines spilling out and flies buzzing around his dead and smelly corpse.
I feel sick just staring at it, and a crowd has long since gathered around the tree gawking and whispering about yesterday’s rumors.
Noma has her hand on my shoulder as she says, staring up at the corpse in the tree, “That is what the boy gets for trying to attack you. He should be glad I wasn’t there and that it was Frey. He would have suffered much worse.”
As Noma speaks, my eyes wander around the crowd only to see Bard glaring at me, tears in his eyes before he runs off.
He was by himself, unlike most days, and for some reason I feel sad at seeing his face even though I know very well I shouldn’t.
I am too soft on these pagans. I’m beginning to feel pity for them. It isn’t good. I have spent too much time here, and I move away from Noma telling her, “I’m going to go.”
“Ok, be careful! No more incidents like yesterday!” she yells back to me as I make my way through the crowd and as I walk further away, she also calls out one more time, “Stay close just in case!”
By then I am following Bard as he runs through the village, not looking back and not caring. I know I am dumb for following him, but my feet move on their own, my eyes focused on his back and my legs pushing me towards him.
Am I dumb for this?
Perhaps, and I am not sure why I follow him, but I do know for sure Bard was alone...just like me. Though, I am unsure of the fate of my family, unlike him, who very well knows what remains of his family.
Bard’s mother is dead along with his father who died in battle over in England. As far as I know Bard is also a single child and all he has is the group of children and that unnamed older boy who was his best friend who is currently hanging up in a tree dead.
I imagine he wasn’t feeling too great right about now, and as I run to keep up with him, he turns a sharp corner. Not soon after I follow in his footsteps, but instead of looking at his back I am face to face with a still teary-eyed boy.
He frowns at me, and I stop before I crash into him. Before I know it, he yells right in my face, silent tears steadily falling from his eyes, “Why are you following me?! Are you planning on killing me too, you murderer!?”
He then shoves me back, and at first I don’t say anything. He breathes shakily, and I look down towards the ground before I look back up and I say, “No...what happened could have been avoided, but your friend attacked me first. I had no choice.”
“So, you did kill him,” he mutters, breathing sharply through his nose.
I shake my head “no,” and I reply, “All I did was hurt him...but things got out of control. He tried attacking me, possibly tryi
ng to kill me, and Frey wasn’t going to overlook that.”
He sneers at me, shoving me back one more time, and he hisses, his face warping in sadness and anger all in one. “He wouldn’t have killed you. Hurt you and scare you, yes, but he wouldn’t have been as foolish as to kill Frey’s mate.”
I am silent as I absorb his words, and I say being too honest, “Then he was a fool. If he was going only after me, he should have backed down when he saw Frey, but instead, he was foolish and still persisted in going after me, which resulted in his death.”
I see anger flash in Bard’s eyes, and he acts on it, raising his hand to slap me. I should have known, he is always slap happy and acts out on his anger even though I am a woman. To him, I am nothing more than a common enemy who killed his father.
I don’t dodge his hand; instead, I prepare myself for the impact, feeling guilt. The more I think about it, the more everything could have been avoided.
If my idiotic self that day didn’t challenge Bard and fight with him, the boy would have never even chased me back. And perhaps Bard was right about him just wanting to rough me up, but it was too late now.
Everything was too late...
I clench my eyes shut tightly, but I don’t feel the powerful impact of his hand and after seconds toll by I open my eyes to see Bard looking horrified.
I see someone with a gold arm ring belonging to a warrior of the village. He holds on to his wrist forcefully, and my eyes glance over to see none other than Frey.
He then says gruffly, glaring at Bard and looking down at him, “I thought I made everything clear of how she was going to be treated, boy. You disrespect her, you disrespect me, and most of all you disrespect your chieftain.”
He lets go of Bard’s arm, and he steps closer towards him snarling. “And if you want revenge for your friend, then I suggest you wait a couple of years and come after me and not be a coward and go after my wife instead. She did nothing wrong, it was me who killed him.”
Bard doesn’t say anything, but he swallows as he stares up at Frey who was most definitely angry with him, but I notice Bard’s eyes grow darker and sterner the more time that passes, his nerves nearly vanishing.
“Then I will get my revenge for what you did,” Bard says before walking away, and Frey and I watch him walk off more like a man than a child. For once, he acted mature, but perhaps these events are slowly making him more into a man.
Frey then turns towards me after Bard disappears and he looks at me sternly before lecturing me. “You were going to let him hit you...Why? That is not the Ellie I know.”
I don’t know how to answer him. I curl my fingers into my palm, and I reply, “I don’t know....”
I feel guilty. The guilt isn’t fading. I feel like my hands are covered in blood as much as Frey’s are. I have sinned...Perhaps God has abandoned me because he sees I have mostly taken to the life of these pagans.
He steps towards me and once he is close enough, he says, “Don’t let him or anyone hit you without a fight. You will be disrespected if the other villagers see you letting things happen like that. Even if it’s just your voice, scream and show you are not afraid, and he is nothing.”
I then stare up at Frey, listening to his words. I feel an odd warmth from them, and I ask him, “What are you doing here?”
“I came to find you. I have nothing better to do at the moment, and you wanted to train with me, no?” he asks me, the corner of his lips tugging up slightly.
Here I am acting as if this is normal and what is worse, I feel something flutter in my chest, and I answer him, “I want to train with you. I have been waiting for a while for an opportunity like this.”
“Then let’s go. I believe you are mature enough to spar with me,” he says. He turns around, expecting me to follow behind him to which I eagerly do, glad he was taking me seriously for once instead of calling me “cute” and turning me away.
“I have been far mature enough already,” I say, glaring at his back.
“Really? Have you knocked mother down yet?” he asks me in return.
My eyes avert away from him as he glances back at me, and I reply quietly, “No.”
He grins some more, and he says, “Then if you haven’t done that, I shouldn’t even be sparring with you.”
“But you said you would,” I say, sternly hoping he wasn’t going to back down now.
“And I will,” he says back. “I told you that already.”
I want to sigh, but I keep it in as he turns back around and starts heading towards the training grounds.
In the silence, I then ask curiously, thinking back to yesterday and seeing the boy turn into that beast of a wolf, “Are you able to turn into a beast like that boy did yesterday?”
He chuckles in response, and he replies, “Yes, I think I told you this before. You’re usually sleeping when such things take place.”
“Does it hurt?” I ask him more.
“It does. The pain is bearable now, but it wasn’t at first. The more you shift, the less it hurts,” he explains.
“Can I see you shift someday?” I ask him, not thinking of how gruesome the full event can be and recalling how I witnessed the boy rip his own skin off, practically.
“Maybe,” he says, not seeming too eager to say yes or no, meaning he wasn’t too happy about the idea.
Things get silent after our small talk, and as we walk, I stare at him like some foreign object.
I have noticed small things about Frey lately—the faint scars on his face, how long his hair was getting, but he didn’t seem to mind and kept braiding it, and most of all how he seemed more interested in getting closer to me.
I mean, it’s only natural.
When he said I would be his future wife, I thought I would be mistreated and humiliated by this barbarian, but Frey has never once hurt me or mistreated me.
He only gets angry with me, and that just happens when I hit him or call him names when he upsets me.
I haven’t forgiven him for bringing me here. I still crave to go back to England. It calls my name from across the ocean. Sometimes, when I have time to think, I’ll sit at the docks staring out at the water and wonder how things are back at home.
I haven’t been given any information, purposely. Though I have heard rumors of some of the Vikings going to England and settling down after overthrowing kingdoms and villages. Was my kingdom still ruled by my mother and father? Or was it overthrown ever since I was a child?
For a moment, my mind goes to a dark place, but I quickly snap out of it upon reaching the training grounds, and Frey stops walking any further.
He turns to face me before he questions, “Has Leif or mother taught you anything about battle?”
I reply to him, “A little. Noma has taught me shield formations and some self-defense. And Leif mostly has taught me how to use a bow.”
“I see. Are you good at archery?” he asks me.
“I would like to think so,” I reply back.
“That might be your strongest point, being an archer,” he says before he asks, “How good are you at shooting a moving target?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really tried shooting anything that moved,” I reply.
He gets quiet before he says, “Next time, remember to bring your bow. I can be your target.”
My eyes widen slightly, and I say prominently, “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why can’t you?” he questions. “Getting shot with an arrow is nothing. Do you know how many times I have been shot by them in battle?”
“What happens if I get your face or throat and kill you?” I ask him, my eyes still wide. I then go on saying, “It’s reckless...Actually, getting shot anywhere with a bow is harmful. I could kill you.”
He smirks at me and asks, “Are you worried about me, little lass? How cute you are being.”
I hate him...my cheeks heat against my will at being called “cute.” I feel childish, and I hope my cheeks aren’t pink or red. I would rather die tha
n let him see me blush.
It’s just how such words have been affecting me lately. As a child, I didn’t seem to care, but now being called such things makes my chest feel weird and my face heat against my will.
Well, I was told by Noma I will start looking at things differently once becoming a woman, especially men and their words. She warned me some of them would have a honeyed tongue and they would seduce women with it. I wonder...was Frey like that too?
“Fine, you can die for all I care,” I say, trying to purposely come off as snotty, and I then ask, “So are you going to train me or not?”
“Of course. That is why we are here in the first place,” he says, and he unsheathes his sword from his belt and walks towards me. He offers it to me after turning it around and points the hilt at me as he grabs the blade.
I wrap my fingers around the hilt of the sword and much to my surprise it is heavier than I thought. I grip it tightly and I look to him for further instruction as he lets go of the blade of the sword.
He then moves behind me, and he says, grabbing my other hand and placing it on the hilt of the sword as well, “Always have your right hand at the top here and your left at the bottom. This way if your opponent in battle tries to knock the sword from your hands, you will have a firmer grip, and he will have a harder time. Never hold any sword with just one hand.”
I nod my head as I listen to him and he then says, adjusting my arms to where the sword is pointed slightly up, “Never focus on just stabbing your opponent with the sword. It’s a rookie mistake and will get you killed in battle. Also, avoid lifting the sword above your head. It creates too many openings and again could get you killed.”
“So, what do I do?” I ask him.
“Have your stance exactly like this, your hips need to be facing your enemy,” he says, “and for now I want you practicing different angles of attack. You don’t have much strength in your upper arms.” He then grabs my upper arm firmly as he talks about it.
I turn my head, glaring at him for a moment before he says, grinning slightly, “Eyes forward. Do you want to learn or not?”
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