Page 38 of A Shield Maiden's Earl
“Why now?”
“Need you ask?” For the first time since we met, he looked at me with pride and approval. “Now you have very much proven there is no length you won’t go to keep him safe. Protect him. And that—” he gestured at my boat—“this, what you are determined to do at significant personal risk, shows me how much you care about him. And that is all…”
He trailed off when a heavy gust of wind blew up out of nowhere, and the boat lurched forward so fast the oarsmen had to lift their paddles.
“Oh no,” I whispered, murmuring a prayer to the gods when the ocean grew darker around us, and I felt the ominous presence of the land of the dead, yet knew it didn’t cast its shadow on me, but my other half.
Soren.
Blinking back tears and trying to appear strong when I felt anything but, I rallied those sleeping to wake. We needed to put all oars in and row even faster than the winds that were carrying us.
“If we do not, we will lose Soren before we reach him,” I warned, fearing it might already be too late.
Chapter Sixteen
Soren
Even after beingimmersed in eternal darkness after getting cut down in Largs, I longed for Freya and our child, when I should only be eager to visit the great halls of Valhalla now. To finally share an ale with my All Father. Yet the darkness did not fade, and I feared I was in Hel, the land of the dead despite dying honorably in battle.
Moments later, the darkness splintered into fragments of shearing pain and moonlight, then all went dark again before I woke to more splintering pain and blinding candlelight. Unable to do anything but moan in agony, I squeezed my eyes shut, only vaguely aware of voices, before fading into darkness once again. The next time I stirred to semi-awareness, men speaking with Scottish burrs were arguing, and a cool cloth pressed to my head.
“Shh,” said a gentle, feminine voice with a Norse accent. “’Twill be all right, but you must battle the darkness, Soren Dahl, because your fight is by no means over.”
“Where am I?” I rasped, my throat parched and my vision blurry when I cracked my eyes open again.
“Nowhere you want to be, heathen,” a deep voice growled. “Nowhere you—”
“Enough,” the female interrupted him, a frown evident in her voice. “Now is not the time.”
“’Twill soon be, though, lass,” he muttered, “because I dinnae like this one bit and he will know it.”
“I’m fairly certain he already does,” she cut back. “Now, both of you leave us be so that he can be tended in peace. He earned it, did he not?”
“Och,” the man grumbled. “He earned nothing but—”
“Go,” she bit out more firmly, the octave of her voice reminding me much of Freya’s when she grew exasperated, determined to have her way. And I could only be grateful because I was clearly in enemy territory and at the mercy of a man who did not like me.
Where was I, though? Given the woman’s accent, I could only pray I had somehow ended up in the hands of Freya’s sister, Astrid. Fortunately, once a door slammed shut, implying we were alone, she confirmed it.
“You must try to drink some water, Soren,” she said softly, tilting something to my lips. “’Tis crucial so that you see my sister, Freya, once more, for she worries about you greatly and is coming for you.”
“No,” I tried to say, but cool, refreshing water had already slid down my dry throat, and I had no choice but to swallow, craving it more than I realized.
After gulping down as much as I could before my pain became too much, I must have passed out because when I stirred awake, I was finally able to open my eyes and see my surroundings. I appeared to be lying on a bed beneath fur blankets in a stone room with sparse yet well-built furnishings and narrow windows. A fire burned on a sizeable hearth, telling me I was likely in a castle, and its master was someone of higher rank in their society.
“Good morning,” came that same soft, feminine voice, and I realized a woman sat beside me. What looked much like a white wolf with the same pale blue gaze as hers sat by her side. Lovely with honey blond hair tied back and a simple brown linen dress, she smiled and pressed a cool cloth to my forehead once more.“My name is Astrid Helvig, sister to your wife, Freya. Mayhap she has told you of me?” She gestured at the wolf beside her. “This is my husky, Oksana.”
I recalled Freya talking about Astrid’s huskies. How she ended up with several strays when a child near the Russian border, and now had one of their descendants here in Scotland with her.
“Of course, Freya mentioned you,” I managed, my voice still raspy. Despite doing my best to smile, I suspected it didn’t quite meet my eyes. The pain in my midsection was still too intense. “She speaks highly of you and your sister, Tove, and misses you both greatly. ’Tis good to meet you, Astrid.”
“You as well, Soren, and I miss my sisters just as much.” Sadness flickered in her gentle gaze. “Very much.”
“What happened?” Frowning when I recalled her mentioning Freya coming to me, I shook my head, hoping I had misheard. “I thought you said Freya was coming, yet I assume I’m somewhere in Scotland despite thinking I died in battle?”
“You are at Mackay Castle on the western shores of Scotland,” she confirmed gravely. “’Tis a wonder you didn’t cross over to your gods before we got to you, but it seems you’re blessed because you still live.” She shook her head. “But make no mistake, you need to take great care, as your injury is grave. I applied a special poultice and put herbs in your water to ease your pain, but youmustremain in bed for now, healing, as your journey back from your deities is not yet complete.”
At first, I found her turn of phrase unusual, given our gods were the same, until I saw the cross hanging around her neck. Freya had never mentioned she was Christian, but why would she? It was common enough now for our people to convert, so mayhap it was of no consequence, even for seers, which struck me odd, but it was the least of my worries right now.
