Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

“ W hat the hell dae ye think ye’re daeing?” Freya demanded as Tristan attempted to shoulder past her into her own home with a smarmy grin on his face. “Ye have nay right tae barge in here like this!”

Tristan smirked. “I think that ye will find that we dae.”

“If the man in yer house is a danger tae the village Freya, like we have good reason to think he is, then he needs to explain himself at once.” One of the council members said and motioned for her to move out of their way.

“A danger?! Ye keep throwing that word around, and fer what? This is a man who needed help, and I am giving it. Same as I would tae any of ye miserable lot were ye injured out on the water! He’s just a lost soul!” Freya insisted.

“Ye ken nothing about where he came from, or what sort of nasty business he is involved in.”

“Ye have just decided tae vilify him? Nae a single word and ye have just concocted a whole fairy tale about him and whatever sort of life he must lead?” Freya continued.

“Enough of this, woman! Step aside!” Tristan said and then had the nerve to put his hand directly onto her waist in an attempt to physically move her in her home.

Naturally, she smacked his hand off her person immediately. “How dae ye even ken that he is awake in the first place?!”

Tristan only smirked.

“... have ye been spying on me?!” Freya demanded. Her nose crinkled in distaste. He didn’t even have the decency to deny the claim. He didn’t care if she knew he had been shamelessly spying on her. It made her feel dirty. How long had he been doing that? What sort of thing had he seen when she thought she had been alone? Why did nobody around him seem to have the slightest issue with the fact that he was creeping upon her privacy?

“How else are we tae ken that ye are safe, Freya?” Tristan continued, putting on a mask of concern as if she didn’t know that being controlling was his only true motivator. “Everybody in the village has been worried sick about ye! Ye have treated the freeloader long enough. Now he needs to explain and be on his way.”

“Step aside, Freya,” said Craig, one of the council members of the island. He was an older man, with a greying beard and a pair of rheumy eyes which seemed to be glued right onto her sleeping guest. Even in the commotion, he had not awakened, his body still demanding rest.

“And if I dinnae?” She sneered.

But they would have none of it. Tristan was only too happy to remove her. He put his hand on her once more and yanked her out of the door, where the council members then rudely shouldered and shoved past her until the men were now dominating most of the space in her cabin.

She couldn’t cry.

It was so invasive, and she had done nothing to deserve being treated like this by people who had always regarded her as extended family. Now they had not only broken her trust, but she felt as if she was looking at strangers. Men that she had once looked up to, some that she had even admired now standing over a man who had only just stolen some time back from death’s hands.

The men started to shake him crudely, and while she wanted nothing better than to yank them right back out, she was helpless. She wasn’t a match for any of them physically, so she had to watch as their rough actions threatened to undo everything she had been working on day and night.

Rough hands were jostling him around, turning the pain in his ribs and spine from discomfort into agony. It wasn’t the soft, soothing hands that he had come to be so accustomed to when he had been conscious enough to realize that he was being touched.

Which begged the question in his groggy mind of who the hell was touching him like that.

He was forced out of sleep too suddenly, his heart pounding and his eyes wild and wide as he looked from one stranger’s face to the next. Where was the healer? Had they done something to her? Out of what he assumed was muscle memory, his mind supplied his body with the command to grab his weapon, but neither would his arm move, nor was he armed. He didn’t even have clothes on from what he could tell. He couldn’t calm down when they were all glaring at him like he had stolen their parritch right from their tables.

“Who are ye?”

“How did ye come tae be here?”

“What dae ye want with our village?”

“Yer name, lad!”

The questions all came as a sudden barrage, one on top of the next one. He could barely speak at all, let alone answer all of their questions at once.

“Dinnae just lay there! Speak!” One of them, significantly younger than the others, practically shouted at him.

That one he was going to choose to ignore; he didn’t much care for his tone.

“I dinnae ken who I am.” He answered finally in a cracked voice, hoping that would suffice to answer their questions en masse.

The younger man scoffed and shook his head. “Likely story. How very convenient that ye have nay idea who ye are. I dinnae believe ye!”

He tilted his head, looking at the man like he was mad. “And yet, it is the truth.”

Some of the other men exchanged glances with one another anxiously. “Have ye come here fer nefarious purposes? Ye were in terrible shape when ye were discovered, that’s true, but we cannae have a threat tae our village, and perhaps ye need tae go.”

“This is ridiculous!” The healer called from somewhere behind them, but he couldn’t see her.

“How did ye come tae be lost at sea? Can ye tell us that at least?” A man asked.

He tried to remember, truly he did. It was the strangest feeling in the world. He could feel his body, and he was at home within it even with the pain. He could see his limbs and recognize the tattoos on the parts of his skin that he could see, and yet, that was it. He knew he had a name, and a family. He could feel it but that was it. Every time that he tried to reach for that information, things that should have been reflex, his mind supplied nothing at all. He would start to speak and then flounder.

It was infuriating.

He could still speak, he could remember that much at least, but it was like everything that had happened to him before waking up in this very bed was just—gone. He didn’t remember being at sea. He had no idea if he was a fisherman, perhaps? A sailor? Merchant or just a traveling man? They weren’t mentioning weapons or personal affects that he might have been found with and he certainly hadn’t had a chance to ask the healer if he had had those things either.

“If this is some sort of game that ye are playing, it isnae amusing, lad.”

He tried to sit up, even just a little bit, but the pain was intense, and he was forced to stay right where he was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the younger man’s smile grow at the fact that he couldn’t seem to move himself.

“There’s nay game,” He insisted. “I cannae remember… anything.”

Saying the words out loud left a cold, hollow feeling inside of him.

“See? Just like I told ye!” The healer called from behind them, louder this time. “Ye think that this makes ye all big, strong men? Coming in here to pick on an injured man?” she scoffed. “Honestly, ye lot should be ashamed of yerselves! Being intimidated by a man who barely has any strength back?”

Guilt flickered over a few of their faces, but the younger man seemed more than ready to continue on with his witch hunt.

The healer finally squeezed her way forward, seemed to pick a man at random, and placed her hands on his chest, shoving the man backward with no small amount of force considering it was very obvious that he had no desire to leave.

“If ye remember anything, lad, ye have an obligation to tell the counsel.” One of them said before the healer managed to turn the rest of them away. The younger man lingered, gazing at her longingly.

“Ye ken that I’m just looking after yer best interested, Freya.” He said, stepping forward as if to touch her, and she moved away the moment that he was too close.

“And what makes ye think that I am nae able tae determine what’s best fer me?” She shot right back.

He couldn’t help but smile at her temper. He admired a woman who stood up for herself; at least he thought he did. Funny, which things his mind was choosing to display for him and which things were so obviously locked away.

The man didn’t want to leave; even he could see that. He tried to keep his amusement at a minimum as the man was prompted once more to get out of her home.

“And if ye so much as think about spying on me again, Tristan, I will do so much worse than nettles in yer bed. I dinnae want tae see ye again.” Freya said. “If ye come back here, then I’ll be having an entirely different conversation with the counsel.”

With that, she slammed the door in the man’s face.

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