Page 7 of A Shield Maiden's Earl
“Wewill teach our daughters,” he corrected. “As we will teach our sons.” His eyebrows swept up. “For are you not a renowned shield-maiden in your own right, Freya? I might have relented to your father, but I meant what I said on the shore and wish this arrangement could be otherwise.”
“Then why not persist?” I returned, trying my best not to be charmed by him. He had clearly developed not just physically but in the ways of flirting with the opposite sex. Frowning, I spoke out of genuine curiosity rather than anger and frustration. “Why didn’t you fight harder? Why give in to his wishes so easily?”
“Because this is a truly favorable arrangement for our country,” he replied logically. His voice turned husky again, and his gaze lingered on my face. “And because I would not risk losing you again.”
It seemed he was about to say something else, but after his attention flickered from my father back to me, he thought better of it, and he shook his head. “It matters not.” Catching me off guard, he lightly fingered a lock of my hair, as if he had been longing to do it for years. “What matters is I want you now and was willing to do whatever it took to get you.”
I inhaled sharply at the feel of his warm fingers brushing the side of my neck before he pulled away when my father summoned forth our tribe’s bard to sing tales of old. Stories that spoke of our people and the great polar bear spirit that watched over and fought alongside us. A means to impress Soren and his men so that they might regale their people with tales of what their chieftain’s new bride brought to the clan. The great strength I would lend them through our children.
Yet all the while, I remained aware of Soren by my side and hardly heard the tales. I thought about the things he had said and the way he said them. The emotion and intensity in his words. I thought about the stories I had heard of his escapades and of the scrawny boy he’d once been. More so, I reflected on the friend he had once been, because even though I wouldn’t admit it, Ididremember our moments together.
What had he meant by not losing meagain? I knew nothing of that because we had made no promises to each other when we were young. There was no love beyond friendship. Perhaps some infatuation, to his childhood way of thinking, as he did take up his wooden sword when he thought me in harm’s way, but that was it. Nothing more.
We had little chance to talk again after that, despite my hoping we would, because I wanted to understand what I might expect in the coming days. Soren spent most of his time with my father and their men, discussing what the unification of our tribes would mean for the future. Perhaps there would be moremarital ties to bind us? Trade deals? Battles we would fight together if the king called upon us?
Yet all the while I was aware of the way Soren caught my eye every so often as if wanting me to know he would much rather be talking to me. So said the warming of my talisman yet again, forever steering me toward my destiny.
Ourdestiny.
“Come, sister,” Tove said later in the evening, falling in beside me in a merry crowd that seemed determined to separate me and Soren with a thick wall of warm bodies. A crowd I should be grateful for, but felt frustrated by as the evening wore on.
“We must ready you for the morrow as you will be leaving at sunrise,” Tove went on.
I was surprised she would be assisting me, as my father rarely wanted her anywhere but by his and Knud’s side. That’s when I realized Soren had managed to capture both my father and Knud’s attention with ale and tales of his own tribe, giving Tove this opportunity. And though it might have been my imagination, when his gaze connected with mine across the room, and flickered from Tove to me, I got the impression he wanted me to take this time with my sister while we could.
Tove led me out without another word into the cold, blustery spring night, past the flickering torches to the dimly lit paths beyond. The chilled air smelled of an incoming storm, heavy fog drifts swirled around us, and wind gusted much like it had years ago when we first came across the gray wolf pup. Sensing something rather than seeing anything, I stopped and looked back to catch my wolf’s eyes glinting through the fog.
“Do you see it, Tove?” I asked because neither she nor Astrid had after that first time. “’Tis our gray wolf.”
“Nay,” Tove said, slowly unsheathing her blade when a sizeable black wolf emerged from the fog behind us. “’Tis Soren’sand I will not hesitate to cut down the beast if he comes any closer.”
“’Tis alright,” I said softly when the wolf stopped and our gazes locked. “He’s not going to hurt us, sister.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because his hackles are down,” I reasoned, despite sensing it more than anything when my talisman once again warmed. “If he meant to attack, he would bare his fangs and raise his hackles.”
“Even so, ’tis rumored he never leaves his master’s side, so why is he here?” Tove kept her blade in hand. “’Tis said he rarely strays from Soren’s side unless he’s protecting the entrance of wherever he goes.”
“Then we must assume he feels his master is safe within our tribe,” I replied. “And that mayhap he is choosing to watch over us at the moment.”
Or me, I thought, certain I was right and unsure what to make of that.
I continued heading for my cottage, urging Tove to do the same, yet all the while I wondered at the wolf’s appearance. Why did he follow me? Because I knew he did. Just as I knew that my gray wolf never strayed far, always watching me from the shadows.
Fortunately, Tove followed me into my cottage, glancing back one last time before shutting the door. “If I didn’t know better, Soren commands the wolf every bit as much as we do the polar bear.”
“You mean asyoucontrol the polar bear,” I reminded, more pleased than I let on that she spoke to me like she once had. A sister rather than an overseer of my and Astrid’s every move at our father’s behest. To that end, I spoke plainly. “I’m surprised you are here, Tove.”
“As am I,” she conceded, surprising me yet again with her revelation. “’Tis your soon-to-be husband you should thank for that.” She sheathed her blade and gestured at a pitcher of ale and two wooden cups left by a servant. “He insisted I be the one to see to your preparations so that we might have these last moments together as sisters, and shockingly enough, Father agreed.” She gave an approving nod. “But then ’tis clear Soren has not just a way with blades but with words.”
“It certainly seems that way,” I said softly, adding wood to the dwindling flames on my hearth, more grateful to him for this time with my sister than he knew. Then again, perhaps he knew more than I gave him credit for. I looked her way. “Might we sit before the fire and talk as we once did over an ale or two? It has been too long, and I fear we may never again.”
“As do I,” she said, honest in a way I appreciated. She filled the cups, set them on a small wooden table nestled between two chairs before the fire, and sat. “So let us catch up whilst we can, then do as we have done with Astrid since her departure.”
“Ja,”I murmured, knowing what she meant without her saying so.
Although we had exchanged rare letters over the past year, it was our talismans that helped us understand each other from afar, in the way of the seers. Occasionally, it was just a feeling, and other times a sign, oftentimes through the flames of fire, such as the one we sat in front of now. We always knew it was her from the distant shores of Scotland, and she knew it was us.
