Hela Takes a Holiday

by Rebekah Lewis

  Björn inched closer. While she seemed to be a Dane based on her speech alone, it didn't mean she was there for nefarious means. And yet… Norse shield maidens could be every bit as fierce as a male warrior, and a forced conversion to Christianity under the Danish king didn't mean a person magically changed their beliefs—as he could acknowledge by the situation with King Olaf. What was this woman doing there?

  When she stepped into sight, Björn sucked in a breath. The moonlight revealed a tall, raven-haired beauty with pale, flawless skin. She was also nude. Unaware of his own movements, he crawled from the bushes, rose to his feet, all the while unfastening the thick cloak of bear fur from his shoulders. How could she stand it out here without a dress, or even a cloak of her own? The snow had gone, but the air was enough to snap the toes off the strongest of men if they lingered without footwear overlong.

  "Oh!" She jumped when she spotted him standing there, holding his cloak like a fool. Where was his bow and arrow?

  A quick glance at the ground where he'd hidden revealed that he'd left his weapons in favor of this idiotic move. Wonderful. This would be how he died. Her father would show up and…wait. "I heard you looking for your father," he said calmly. Best not give her reason to attack just yet. Mayhap she planned on seducing men and killing them when they were in the throes. He had to control his impulse to protect a beautiful woman, and to be wary of what she could do to him.

  She stepped closer, and the light caught her eyes. They were a pale blue, nearly silver. A shiver ran through him at the eerie color. Who was she? If she was from around the village, how had he never seen her before?

  The woman took the proffered cloak from his hands and wrapped it around her shoulders. The front swallowed her until all that was visible outside of the dark fur was her head. "Thank you. I really do not feel the cold much, though I guess you could say I am aware of it. Warmth is so much more pleasant…" As she let her words trail off she squinted at him. "Mayhap I am rambling overmuch. I am Hela."

  "Like the goddess?" His eyebrows rose, and he clasped his hands together behind his back, decided that was awkward and then gave in to crossing his arms over his chest. His woolen tunic was thick, but the loss of the cloak made him mourn the added warmth it provided.

  "Aye," she said, her gaze darting away from him toward the ground. "Family tradition, naming us after the gods."

  Was that what she had meant by not trusting Loki? "So…you are Hela, and your father is named Loki?" He wasn't sure if the gods would be honored or insulted by it. Well, Loki would probably be amused, if any of them.

  She snuggled deeper into the fur and he bit his lip to keep in the groan. How he envied that cloak at the moment. All that soft skin, longing for warmth.

  Warmth he'd be eager to provide… Stop thinking about it. You do not want a wife, so avoid things that could lead to having one. However, his father would likely reject the idea of his marrying a Dane, so he might be safe around her. Gods, stop this dangerous thinking!

  "What are you thinking about so intently?" Hela asked, eyes bright.

  "Nothing you should concern yourself with." Yet. He needed to determine why she was in Norway before he preceded in assisting her further—or kissing her full, pink mouth. As she licked her lips, his gaze followed her tongue's movement and hot longing settled in his gut. When was the last time he was with a woman? It was as if he couldn't be in the presence of this one for five minutes without losing his mind?

  Hela leaned in closer to him. "Can I ask you one question?"

  "Of course."

  "Where are we?"

  Everything was so much brighter on Midgard, and it was only nighttime. What would the landscape look like in the sun? "You never told me your name." She turned toward him and smiled. The man was handsome, with long, dark blond hair and sapphire eyes. His shoulders were broad, his muscles toned. Scars lightly dusted his chest above the top of his tunic here or there. One more visible than the rest followed the curvature of his left cheekbone. He was a warrior. One destined for Valhalla in the afterlife rather than her icy home.

  The twinge of disappointment seemed unfounded. She shouldn't wish to see him dead at all, but she would never see this warrior again who was so kind to her without knowing her. Not after she returned home. Loki wouldn't hesitate to put her back where he felt she belonged.

  The warrior raised a hand to his chest, resting the palm over his heart, now only covered by a woolen tunic and the worn leather strap of his quiver because she had taken his cloak. He also had a sword strapped to his side. What had become of his bow though? She hadn't seen it. "I am Björn."

  The corners of her lips twitched. Björn meant bear. He was certainly as imposing and fierce as one. "Just Björn? Not Björn the Fierce or Björn the Killer of Men?"

  His eyes widened, and he barked out a laugh. Had her humor surprised him? "The Untouchable."

  Before Hela could stop herself, she reached a hand out from under the warmth of the cloak and stroked her fingers down his cheek, over the scar. "Not that untouchable, it would seem." His skin was warm to her touch, so different than the cold souls with no beating hearts within them back home. Her own heart thudded faster in her chest and she fought back the urge to sigh.

  He cupped her hand to his cheek. They were suspended there, in that moment, unblinking, barely a breath between them, before he lowered her hand from his face and cleared his throat. He didn't release her hand, however. "Why are you in Norway?"

  "Am I?" Her heart fluttered. She'd heard wonderful stories about Norway, had always longed to see the fjords. Hela didn't have any idea where she had been deposited. Loki hadn't said much, but had discarded her in the cold without a dress or a notion of what to do or say to the first person she saw. It was the grace of the gods that had her come across a warrior with a good heart and not one with a penchant for terrorizing women. She'd seen both kinds cross over into her realm.

  "Aye." He let go of her hand and peered at her through narrowed eyelids. "Why are you so far from Denmark?"

  She blinked. Whatever was he going on about? "Denmark?" She'd heard of that place as well. Were they near to each other? "I did not journey from Denmark." Not a lie, but she wished she understood why he thought she did. Did she look like a Dane? She supposed she needed to come up with a place of origin though. Mayhap she should have said she had come from Denmark, except…the handsome mortal didn't look pleased about it. Björn did nothing more than cross his arms and glower.

  "A number of your words have a Danish ring to them, so aye, I'd be a fool to believe you weren't a Dane." The tone of his voice held an unsubtle amount of animosity on the word Dane. She struggled to remember any of the rumbles of Midgard politics, but she honestly knew nothing other than the names of the peoples who worshiped their pantheon.

  "I'm not a Dane." She concentrated on her adaptation ability and added, "Speak to me in Norwegian so I can hear the difference."

  "I have been." His left eyebrow quirked up as though he dared her to continue to deny something she had not known she'd done.

  "I understood you perfectly," she said. Had her ability to know all languages caused confusion somehow? Or had Loki cursed her to speak like a Dane in a territory that would not take well to it? Come to think of it, that was just the sort of trick he would play so she'd ask to go home. "What was different about what you said from everything I said?"

  Björn rubbed his chin and stared at her with a furrowed brow, like he wanted desperately to figure her out and could not. "Well, aye, you would understand me. The differences are small. Words said slightly different. We speak the same language, mostly, but different too…" He shrugged his right shoulder. "It is only natural for two countries to speak a language in their own way; in time, it will probably be entirely different."

  But it wasn't now? This time, she was the one who furrowed her brow. "So…I am speaking your language, but too much like a Dane would speak it?"

  "Aye. That is what I said."

  She fidgeted
with the cloak, clutching the fabric in her hands. "How do I speak more like a Norwegian then?"

  He stared at her.

  "Why are you looking at me that way? If I am in Norway, then clearly I should be speaking Norwegian." Her temper was rising. Why was he giving her a hard time about languages when he'd been nice to her before? Damn Loki's eyes. It had to be his doing. Had he really removed all her god-magic as well? She attempted to call forth the winds, but the chilled air remained the same. Definitely without powers as he'd said. She should be glad to speak a Norse language at all.

  "Are you all right?" Björn frowned at her. "You are…twitching and rambling under your breath."

  "I am not a Dane. I do not know why I am speaking it." Wait, the Danes were their enemies, weren't they? She thought that was right, though couldn't recall why they were at odds. Her anger at his needling her over her speech started to diminish. Should she be embarrassed instead? No, that didn't seem right either.

  "Has something…happened to you?" His eyes narrowed slightly with…concern?

  Were you harmed? Taken against your will?"

  "Not that I…" A thought occurred to her. She couldn't explain her real reason for being there, as without her powers she couldn't prove her claim anyway. "I don't remember anything. I know who I am. And my father was the last person I remember talking to, and then…here I was and there you were." She fluttered her lashes hoping she looked innocent and confused and not like she was simple-minded.

  Whatever internal debate Björn warred with was over as quickly as it began. He sat down and worked on removing his boots, which he handed to her. "They will be too big, but it will help until I can find some proper garments for you."

  She took the boots, clutching the supple leather and frowning at his bare feet. "What will you wear?"

  "I have gone without shoes in worse elements than this, and you might have been out here for a while. I would prefer giving you some relief from the cold until we can figure out why you were in these woods."

  She didn't miss the speculation in his gaze when he looked at her. He didn't believe her lie. She would need to become better at telling tales if she wanted to enjoy her stay. Her father had sabotaged her time here already, and mayhap hoped she'd have been attacked in the woods by an unsavory mortal so she'd go crying back to Niflheim and embrace her fate. She would not give up so easily.

  Sitting on the ground, she roughly tugged on the short boots and fastened the ties on the side, happily taking Björn's proffered hand when he helped her to stand. He was right—the boots were far too large, so she'd have to walk strangely to keep them on. Even with them tied as tightly as they could go. Thankfully the cloak was long enough to hide the evidence of her efforts.

  "Why are you upset?" Björn asked as he retrieved a bow and a single arrow from the underbrush. Her mood darkened further. Clearly, he'd been about to shoot the Dane in the woods before he realized she was a woman without clothing. She didn't know if it made her feel better or worse that she understood his caution, but her annoyance at her father was ruining her time away from her realm and that upset her all the more.

  "I am not a Dane," she repeated.

  "Where are you from then?"

  She shut her mouth with a snap, then said through gritted teeth, "I do not know."

  "I see." Sighing, Björn gestured for her to walk with him. "Let us find you something to wear and food, and then mayhap the healer can determine why you don't remember crucial details of your coming to be here."

  Nodding, she remained beside him through the woods, but she had nothing more to say. His earthy, masculine scent clung to the fur on the cloak. Something about him was…just…right. She had no idea what that thought meant or how she felt about it, especially since everything was going wrong from how she spoke to having no idea how to explain why or how she had come to be in Norway. She shuddered at the thought that it would only get worse…

  Chapter 2

  Björn had no idea how to explain Hela to his father, to his village, when he couldn't even explain her to himself. He was positive she was a Dane, even if she claimed otherwise. She'd had to have been raised by them to adapt their way of speaking. Either her upset over the accusation was for show, or something about her didn't ring true. Regardless, he'd discover her secrets. Until then, he didn't want her mistreated if she had been hurt or there really was some misunderstanding. While he didn't think anyone would attack her openly, the Danes were mistrusted.

  The situation became more and more complicated the longer he remained in her company. How did a delicate woman like her end up in the woods naked and alone, with not a scratch on her to show a sign of struggle or violence? She hadn't been frightened or intimidated by him, wasn't even shivering from the cold. And if he wasn't mistaken when he'd commented on her speech being more Danish than Norwegian, she had been…offended and angry that she hadn't known. The situation was puzzling to say the least.

  Now, he paced in front of the great hall, listening to the cheers and merriment of the people inside, his father included. Björn had to inform him of the situation in case it was some sort of trap he had walked into by offering a woman kindness. He'd left Hela in the care of Sigrunn, the healer, at her workshop on the outskirts of her husband's farm. It was also the closest farm to the keep and great hall in the center of their village. He was able to get his boots and cloak back once Sigrunn had fetched proper clothing to lend Hela, something belonging to one of her daughters who was closer in size. He hadn't stayed to see her after she changed. His feelings about her appearance were dangerous enough already.

  Thoughts of Hela swirled through is mind as he continued his repetitive trek back and forth in the dark. She was gorgeous, almost like she was a breed above the rest of them, but that was ridiculous. A Dane with that sort of beauty could be deadly if she attempted to ambush them from inside their borders rather than a direct attack from the outskirts. She didn't need weapons to do that. All she would require is for one poor soul to take her to bed and she'd have access to his weapons. Had she awaited the arrival of her people? Had he interrupted a meeting between Hela and this Loki fellow? Could they have used the names of the gods in place of their real ones in order to hide their identities? Whatever it was, it would weigh on his mind until he had the truth. And the more he dwelled, the more ridiculous his imagination made her motives and future actions.

  The door to the great hall slammed open and Björn's best friend, Erik, stopped dead at the sight of him pacing about and looking undoubtedly grim. The man raised his horn of ale and shouted, "Bjöooooooorn! Where have you been? We've been looking everywhere."

  Erik wasn't oblivious to Björn's need to be alone at times, so when he didn't answer the question, the other man merely shrugged and took a hearty swig from the drinking horn. Should he confide in Erik about what happened? Part of him wanted to, but it was better to talk with his father first. In case he had brought a Dane into their village who was intent on murdering them all to ensure the jarl and a number of good warriors were disposed of. He cringed. So far, despite his misgivings, he was playing right into her schemes if it were true.

  It cannot be true.

  Could it?

  He sighed, shaking his thoughts away as he glanced at his friend. "Is my father in there?"

  Erik nodded. "What troubles you tonight? You look like someone has taken a piss in your ale."

  "Later. First I need to talk about it with the jarl." He stressed his father's position and Erik's teasing grin faded.

  "Should I fetch my sword?" Erik had left his sword belt behind, wearing a loose gray tunic over brown trousers. Björn never left the village without at least a sword, which he was the most skilled with. He'd taken his bow and arrow tonight because he'd considered practicing his aim, which had been off lately, and then had gotten lost in thought instead. Loaded down with his own weapons, had he still brought back the doom of his village because she had a pretty smile and a body he— "I should hope not, but…" He struggle
d to find words to break away from his dangerous musings. "Stay vigilant. Something odd is afoot tonight. I shall find you after I see my father. If you are still around."

  Again, Erik nodded, leaning back against the wooden building where he likely would remain until Björn exited.

  Stepping into the great hall, his gaze passed over the long tables and benches where villagers and farmers would come to dine and drink during the festivities over the coming days. Now though, barely a dozen men were seated, some flirting with the thralls serving them ale and mead. His father sat at the table at the head of the building, laughing and nearly spilling a goblet to his left when he slapped the table in his mirth. Birger the Wise's blond hair had darkened to a brown when Björn was just a boy, and now it was graying rapidly. His beard had given up holding a color even quicker than that. Birger's blue eyes twinkled when he turned his head toward the doorway.

  "Björn, my son! You missed supper."

  He approached and took a seat next to him. "Father." He nodded then returned his gaze to the two female thralls standing on his father's other side, holding empty mugs and goblets they must have just cleared from the table. Birger had apparently been talking to them before he arrived since they hadn't moved on. He looked back to his father. "I must speak with you. Alone."

  Birger didn't pay the women any mind when he waved them away. Neither said a word, but migrated to a group of men nearby, pausing when the men spoke to them. "What troubles you, son?"

  "Have you heard any whispers about Danes in the area, that mayhap use the names of the old gods for secrecy?"

  His father snorted. "That was the last sort of mad tale I thought to hear tonight. What brought this on?"