Filed to story: A Fate Inked In Blood Free
My heart thundered against my ribs. This was wrong, deeply wrong, but a selfish streak within me didn’t care. Wanted only to kiss this charming, attractive stranger with no care for consequences.
Except that was not who I was.
I swallowed hard, shoving away the aching, needy desire demanding I allow this to continue, instead holding out a hand, drawing him to his feet. His palms were calloused and the backs of his hands scarred in a way that belied his claim that he was no fighter. “Wherever you come from, the women must be either desperate or foolish to fall for such nonsense. Be on your way.”
I struggled not to hold my breath as I waited for him to react to my rejection, for few men took it well, but he only inclined his head and said, “It seems you are neither desperate nor foolish, which some would say is my loss.” He lifted my hand, not seeming to care that it stank of fish as he kissed my knuckles. “I say that it only means I must try harder, for you are a remarkable woman indeed.”
The brush of his lips against my skin sent shivers coursing through my body, my mind lost in the depths of those green eyes. Letting go of my hand, he reached up to touch my face, thumb brushing across the line Vragi’s knife had left on my cheek. “Where is your husband?”
“What makes you think I’m wed?” I demanded, but he only turned and walked up the slope, toward a horse I hadn’t even been aware was tied to a tree.
He pulled on a shirt before glancing back at me. “Your ring. Now, where might I find him?”
Instinctively I tucked my hand, which bore a plain silver band, into the folds of my skirts. “Why do you wish to know where he is?”
“Because I’m going to kill him. I’m going to make you a free woman so that you can bed me with no concerns for propriety,” he answered, tightening the girth before swinging onto the tall animal’s back. “What other reason could there be?”
My stomach dropped. “You cannot!”
“I am confident that I can.” He circled the horse around me. “You were right to say I am as talented at flirting as I am at fighting, beautiful. I will make it quick for the poor bastard’s sake, and then you’ll be free to pursue your every desire.”
“You will not!” I gasped, despite Vragi’s untimely death being one of my most frequent daydreams. “I forbid it!”
“Ah.” He circled me again, the ugly roan gelding snorting loudly. “Well, in that case, I will wait for him to fall victim to a flying fish. There will be some justice in that.” Giving me a smile full of all sorts of promises, he started down the beach.
“Where are you going?” I shouted, still not entirely certain whether he was teasing or serious, the real chance that he might actually be a raider surfacing in my head. “Are you going to kill him?”
Looking over his shoulder, he grinned. “Have you changed your mind about his continued longevity?”
Yes. I balled my hands into fists. “Of course not.”
“A shame.”
That was no answer, and I lifted my skirts, chasing after the horse. “Where are you going? What business have you in the village?”
“None,” he called. “But Jarl Snorri does, and he’ll be wondering where I wandered off to.”
I slid to a stop, every part of me wanting to sink into the ground, because my brother was one of the jarl’s warriors. If he learned I’d been flirting with this man…”You ride with the jarl?”
He winked at me. “Something like that.” Then he dug his heels into his horse’s sides and headed down the beach at a gallop, leaving me staring in his wake.
Unreasonably flustered, it took me until nearly midday to finish with the catch. I loaded the cart for Vragi before selecting two choice fish for my mother. By that time, the thrill of my encounter with the warrior had faded, replaced with the grim reminder that Vragi lived, I was his wife, and that I had angered him.
Wind whistled down the mountains, carrying with it the smell of melting snow, and I inhaled, glad to be away from the stink of fish and guts and my own shame, though a fair bit of all three still clung to my clothing. Pine needles crunched beneath my boots, filling my nose with their sharp scent and easing the tension in my shoulders.
It was fine. It would all be fine. This wasn’t the first time I’d fought with Vragi, and it wouldn’t be the last. I’d survived a year with him already and I’d survive another. And another.
But I wanted to do more than just survive. I wanted my days to be more than time I needed to endure. I wanted to live them, to relish them. To find passion and excitement in them the way I had for that fleeting moment on the beach with a stranger.
It was the wanting that made my life hard. If I could only stop wanting, perhaps I might find some happiness in what I had. Even as the thought rolled through my head, I cringed, because it was exactly something my mother would say. Quit wanting more, Freya, and you shall be content with what you have.
Gripping the wrapped fish under my left arm, I bent and snatched up a stick. Twisting, I cracked it against one tree and then another, moving down the pathway as though the forest around me were a horde of raiders, not caring that I was acting more like a child than a grown woman. I lifted my package of fish like a shield, knocking back imaginary attacks, my breath turning to rapid pants, sweat dampening the hair clinging to my temples.
I relished the burn in my muscles as I attacked and defended, savored every gasped breath, delighted in the sting in my palm each time my stick struck a tree. This was what I dreamed of: not of gutting fish next to the fjord to sell to the same villagers every day, but of fighting. Of joining the jarl’s war band in raids against our rivals to the east and west. Of standing strong in defense of our lands against Nordelander raiders, and of earning wealth with the strength of my sword arm. Then to spend the winter with my family, feasting and drinking and laughing until raiding season came again.
My older brother, Geir, had pursued the same dream, and he was well on his way to achieving it. When I was fourteen and he was sixteen, our father had brought Geir to the allthing and Jarl Snorri had gifted Geir an arm ring, inviting him to join the raids. Now, at twenty-two, my brother was a respected warrior.
Yet when I’d voiced my desire to follow in my brother’s footsteps, my words were met with laughter until my family realized I was serious; then their humor had changed to silent horror.
“You cannot, Freya,” my father had finally said. “It would be only a matter of time until they discovered what you are, and then you’d never choose anything ever again.”
What I was. My secret.
My curse.
“Once you have a babe, Freya, you’ll give up these foolish desires to always do what your brother does,” my mother had said. “You will be content.”
“I am not content!” I shouted at the memory, flinging my stick into the trees. But as I did, one of the fish slipped from its wrapping to fall on the forest floor.
“Shit.” Kneeling, I picked it up and did what I could to clean away the needles and dirt that clung to it, silently cursing myself for thinking the thoughts I did. For dreaming about things I couldn’t have.
“I hope that wasn’t intended for my belly.”