Chapter Twenty-Five
Bjarni became Hulda’s shadow, at her elbow so often while she worked upon the Freya, she sometimes bumped into him. He had developed a fancy for her, that much was plain to see, and no matter how she tried to dissuade him, he would not be put off.
The other men thought it was funny. Hulda did not, since she never went out of her way to play with anyone’s feelings.
It did, however, have its advantages. Bjarni was always at hand to do the heavy lifting, and she came to like him—the way she might a slightly perplexing younger brother, perhaps. She had absolutely no romantic feelings for anyone, save—
Nei, do not think of him.
She spent her days working hard on the Freya, learning more about boats than she’d ever intended, and both her days and nights not thinking of Quarrie MacMurtray. The second proved much harder than the first.
What was it about the man? He was just a man.
Nei.
When she grew tired and doubtful and annoyed with her companions, when she became uncertain about the crew she and Garik selected—young men, all—she told herself Freya was her means of getting back to Scotland. Eventually. And she labored on.
Her hands grew rough, her hair tangled, her body sore.
For diversion from the hard work, she took some members of the newly selected crew aside for sword work.
To measure their skills, she told Garik, but it was more than that.
As a woman, particularly, she had to keep her own abilities at fever pitch.
It was one of the things Jute had taught her.
“Systir, everyone who comes up against you will expect you to fail, ja? You will have to be twice as quick as the men, and three times as clever.”
Her brother had been a wise man. Every time she picked up a sword or axe, she missed him.
The new crew, gathered mostly from Garik and Helje’s friends and acquaintances, had never sailed with her and were not familiar with the notion of sailing under a female’s command. So mayhap the truth was, at sword practice she also sought to show them of what she was made.
To a man, they were impressed. She heard them muttering about it to themselves and each other later.
I was not certain about sailing with a woman, but it is a rare opportunity to join a new crew.
The older captains take on only their cronies.
She can fight.
A rare compliment that, to be either topped or spoiled entirely by the one that came after.
She scarce seems like a woman.
Did Hulda not wish to be a woman? She had put all such things away from her, had she not? Driven by the relentless, inborn desire to look after herself, defend herself so that no one might ever be lost for her sake.
But ja, she was a woman, and upon rare occasions, and though she’d never admit it, enjoyed looking at a man.
She had enjoyed the kiss she had taken from Quarrie MacMurtray.
Since they’d worked on the Freya, hidden away in Frode’s narrow inlet, no one in the greater settlement knew what they were about. Not until the afternoon they sailed her around to take a berth in the main harbor.
A gray day it was, with rain clouds stealing in from the west and not a breath of air stirring. They came in under the power of the oars and strong young backs, and in that regard Hulda was impressed by her crew.
On every voyage she’d taken in the past, there had been complaints from men taking up the oars, especially older men. This crew, enthused and energetic, did not seem to mind.
The harbormaster watched them come in, joined by the aging warriors who hung about the place and anyone else on hand. A strange boat coming in always drew attention. Some there recognized this vessel; some did not.
The harbormaster, a man named Hans who was close to Jarl Gudmund, stood with his arms akimbo and a scowl on his face.
“We will not get a good berth,” Hulda said, standing next to Garik at the rudder.
“Who cares?” He tossed his head. “So long as they know we have arrived.”
They did that. As soon as harbormaster recognized them, he directed them to a far slip and continued to glower.
When they came ashore in a group, he cried, “What is all this? No one informed me a new vessel would be taking up space.”
“She is the Freya,” Garik’s brother informed him.
“I can see that. Battered she was, and barely seaworthy.”
“She is seaworthy now,” Hulda told him. “Under my command.” She met his stare with a cool eye.
Someone in the gathered crowd scoffed. The harbormaster did not. Too close to the jarl and thence to Faeir he was, though Hulda did not doubt the story would soon reach Faeir’s ears.
Indeed, a hint of respect lit in the harbormaster’s eyes as he looked around at the crew. This was how things were done in their world. Men—and apparently women—seized opportunities.
“A young crew,” he commented, shooting another hard look at Hulda.
“And a capable one,” she returned, causing chests to swell.
“Does your faeir know of this, Hulda Elvarsdottir?”
She lifted her chin. “What has it to do with my faeir?”
She found out that evening when she was summoned to Faeir’s house by one of his servants, who ran her to ground in the ale hall.
“Mistress Hulda,” said the steward, who had known her from childhood, “your faeir requests your presence.”
“I am too busy right now. Tell him I will come when I can.”
“Mistress, he bade me tell you it is important.”
She doubted that. No question but Faeir merely wanted to harangue her. He himself—though once a fierce fighter and avaricious viking—had not sailed since before Jute’s death, preferring to remain at home and direct others.
“I will come in the morning,” she said carelessly, “if I have time.”
They meant to sail as soon as they could gather and load supplies.
The man looked pained, but he went away and bothered her no more. Not till the morning, when Hulda awoke in her despicable lodgings with a lamentably sore head, did she remember Faeir’s request.
Or had it been an order?
She lay and wondered whether to grace him with her presence. The fact that he was family might well make her owe him that. Besides, she would like to see Móeir before she sailed.
The Freya might be lost. Not every boat that went viking returned.
She contemplated wearing a dress for the visit, and decided to go as the woman she now was—the commander of her own boat. She carried some pride when she entered her faeir’s house to find him sitting at his breakfast, beside the hearth.
“So,” he grunted at her, “you come in your own time.”
“Ja. I am here. Where is Móeir?”
“Not yet risen. I do not think she slept all the night.” To be fair, he looked as if he had not, either, face drawn and eyes holding an expression Hulda could not quite define. “She fears losing another child.”
Hulda shrugged. “It is you who sent me to sea.”
“I did not send you, dottir. I gave you permission to go. From a little child you have wanted a sword in your hand. I thought to let you work that out of your spirit and settle.”
That made Hulda raise her eyebrows. Was it so? “You let me launch the last voyage—”
“Ja. I thought you needed that to stem your grief over Jute. I understand that grief. By Odin’s eye, I share it.” He fought down his emotions. “But you returned without the vengeance you sought. It is enough.”
“It is not enough for me.”
Anger joined the other emotions in his eyes. A reasonable man, usually, he hated to be crossed. “You have bought this boat of which I hear? Where did you get the means?”
“I have been viking from the age of sixteen. I put my wealth aside.”
That made him grunt. Approval? Derision? She no longer needed his approval.
“An investment in a boat and crew is not a bad thing. Do not sail with them, though. Stay here and direct the venture.”
“I sail.” Away to the south. Toward Murtray.
“I forbid this.”
“I am no longer a child. You cannot forbid me.”
He got to his feet suddenly, visibly trembling. “It will cause your móeir pain and worry. Care you naught for her?”
“I care. To be sure I do.”
“Then stay and glean riches off what your crew brings home. If they succeed. I hear they are very young.”
“Very eager.”
“And a hacked-together boat.”
“The Freya is sound.”
“Why must you do this, dottir?” It came as a cry.
Hulda was not sure she had an answer to that. “I am as I was made,” she said.
“So you will blame me, will you? For overindulging you, perhaps. You will blame your brother for giving you training?”
“I blame no one.” She lifted her hands. “Should there be blame for the woman I am?”
“Your brother always meant well by you. He loved you very much.”
A mist of tears came to Hulda’s eyes. “And I him.”
Faeir turned his face away from her. “See your móeir before you go.”
“I will.” Because she was woman enough.
Her móeir received her more calmly than Faeir had, but the grief in her eyes reached deeper and touched Hulda’s heart. When she wept at their parting, Hulda almost—almost—agreed not to go.
“You can move back home,” Móeir beseeched her. “Here with me.”
“And live under Faeir’s thumb?”
“He wants you home.”
“Móeir, I wish I could. I cannot.”
Something drove her, a force she’d only begun to comprehend.
One that would not relent.