Chapter One #2
Standing tall with my chin held high, I joined my kin at the shore, relishing the feel of the cold wind, wishing it were caressing my cheeks as I sailed my own boat in the opposite direction.
“You did not do your hair nor your face paint as Father wished,” Tove seethed under her breath when she fell in beside me. “He will not be pleased.”
“No, but this is how it needs to be,” I replied softly, with just as much venom. It would infuriate Father, but this was my life, too, and I was about to hand over my inner warrior to another. About to give up everything I was, my very being, for another, and I would see it done properly.
I would have Soren see me as I was before I became his.
Fortunately, my father, in his feeble state, had little opportunity to scold me or even order me to change my hair and face upon Soren’s arrival. The ships were already docking, and it was too late.
Soren would see all of me. Who I should be. Not what he intended to turn me into. So, I made my way down to the dock on the craggy, roughly strewn shoreline and waited proudly as the lead ship approached with the last thing I expected to see.
A man at the helm wearing a black fur cloak over his shoulders and with a real and sizeable black wolf by his side.
A ripple of awe resounded on the shore where many had come to witness such an esteemed arrival.
The man leapt off the ship with his wolf following behind, the two at ease in a way predator and prey should not be.
Yet as his long strides brought him closer, it became clear they were one in a way that spoke to his confidence and comradeship with the animal.
The wolf drew my attention so completely with its sheer size, it took a moment to look at the man again until he was right there, as tall, broad, and imposing as my father’s beast, Knud.
Although he had come to a halt in front of Bj?rn, who stood just ahead of me, and introduced himself as Soren Dahl, it was hard to focus on their brief conversation when all I could think of was how much he had changed.
Gone was the awkward, gangly lad of our youth.
Instead, there was a strong and impressive man.
It was easy to see that yes, now he was a formidable warrior.
He wore a black leather tunic and trousers, along with heavy black boots.
His thick hair was still a rich ebony obsidian, but his face had grown fine indeed, with chiseled features and a strong, bearded chin.
My father greeted him in turn, commenting on how much he had changed, clearly pleased by him but not so much by me.
So said the frustration in his gaze when he stepped aside to allow me to do as he had bidden.
He was right to be frustrated with me, too.
As Tove had noticed, instead of leaving my hair down, I had intricately braided it as if going to battle, and my face paint was for war rather than to emphasize my features to please a man.
While I wasn’t happy about this, my talisman was warm against my chest, telling me this was my destined path, and that Soren was part of my Wyrd.
So, forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other, I made my way to him and wasted no time with the pleasant formalities I’d ensured my father I would execute, but the opposite.
Although not entirely uncivil because Soren had done me no harm thus far, I stopped in front of him, nodded once in greeting, and held out my shield and blade to him, hilt first.
“Although I will always be a warrior, I give these to you as a show of goodwill,” I managed. “Might there only ever be peace betwixt us.”
“Only ever peace, then?” The corner of his mouth curled up, and his stormy, bluish-gray eyes twinkled with amusement in a way I recognized from when we were young. “Would that not grow boring after a time, Freya Helvig?”
Caught off guard by the heat curling through me at the look of promise in his gaze as he took me in with blatant admiration, I was unsure how to reply.
I had expected him to be a more callous, ruthless sort, given his notorious conquests.
More serious and commanding, seeing how men so swiftly followed him into battle.
And I certainly had not expected to be so attracted to him when that was the last thing I wanted to feel.
Yet as his gaze lingered on my face and he awaited a response, there could be no doubt something fluctuated between us.
Something that admittedly made marrying him seem less awful.
That is, until I remembered I was handing him things that meant a great deal to me.
Keeping that in mind, I hardened my expression and again motioned for him to accept my shield and blade.
“Whilst I appreciate your show of goodwill,” he went on when he realized I wouldn’t be answering, “I think you would find keeping your weapons more helpful, given you are a shield-maiden, are you not?”
Startled because I had by no means expected his reply, I arched my eyebrows and found my tongue. “Do you not want my gifts, then?”
“Surely he does,” my father exclaimed, frowning at Soren. “You are here for a wife, not a warrior, ja? My daughter is a fine woman who will give you many strong sons.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Soren continued looking at me with unmistakable appreciation.
“Yet I see no reason why she cannot keep her prized shield and blade while doing so.” His gaze lingered on my face for another moment before he looked at my father with a furrowed brow.
“Might their mother not set a better example for our strong sons if she were a warrior?”
When my father was rendered momentarily speechless, I couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered feeling the same way at one time.
If he recalled, he had once wanted the same kind of wife and had raised his daughters to be just like her.
Strong and fearless. Warriors who could not only defend themselves but also others.
Would this moment help him remember who he once was? What he once wanted?
It turned out it did, but not in the way I expected.