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Excerpt:
The warm late summer breeze meets her face as Freya stands on the edge
of the cliff; her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling. Her home of the Shetland
Islands main isle was beautiful in summer and she loved to spend her days like
this; walking with her best, and most trusted, friend Eska.
“Your father will kill me if he knows I let you that close to the edge,
Lass.” There is an edge of fear in the young man’s voice and Freya turns her
green eyes on her friend, seeing his slightly taller frame standing with his
arms crossed over his bare muscular chest. She just gives him a smile and
shakes her head, turning her face back out to the sea and watching the waves
crash into the grey stone of the cliffs.
Her father was always over protective of her, but even more so since
she was twelve and her mother died of the fever. That was twelve summers ago,
and Freya was still working on getting her freedom from her Chief father, Ivan
the Good, and her five older brothers. The thought of her mother and brothers
makes her frown and her outstretched arms fall to her sides, swishing in her
already dirty, simple brown dress with her favorite green apron holding in the
young apples she had gathered.
Two of her brothers, Folkvar and Hoakon, helped her father rule the
main isle with little villages of their own posted on the northern and southern
points while the other three brothers, Lund, Rune, and Arik, held posts on two
of the out skirting islands; a first line in defense if they should be
attacked. Their islands have been peaceful since before Freya was born, and
since her mother’s death, her father has let priests from the east introduce
Christianity to his people; mingling the teaching with those of their
traditional Gods.
She takes a long look out over the waves, taking in the salty smell and
the everlasting call of the seagulls, smiling to herself as she turns to her
friend. “My father will be fine because what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,
right Eska?” She smiles, lightly slapping him on the shoulder as his brown eyes
track her movement past him.
***
Being a son of former slaves in England, Eska was only a toddler when
Ivan had taken his parents from their home and brought them back here on the
last of his raiding trips. He carries the slight Scottish accent that his
parents passed down to him, along with the blonde hair from his mother. As he
smiles and shakes his head, following his friend as she walks down the path
away from the cliff, he takes in her scent as the wind blows it slowly to him.
Being of lower birth, Eska should not love her, but he does. He has
loved her since the day he first saw her cuddled in a bear skin playing with a
doll in the great hall, at her father’s feet. They have been inseparable since.
His parents have told him numerous times to move on and marry a girl of his own
status; a nice farmer girl- one from the village. But, he doesn’t want any of
the plump, already deflowered girls. He wants the petite, yet curvy, strong
willed, reddish-brown haired daughter of the Chief and has asked Ivan for her
hand in marriage twice over, being turned down apologetically each time.
“I’m sorry, Son, but she is not ready to be married. Her soul still
sails in the wind and roams the waves,” Ivan had told him both times, his
massive worn hand on Eska’s shoulder, squeezing it lovingly like a father. He
has treated Eska’s family well, giving them a home and throwing work at his
father when they needed the help. Ivan is a good leader, but Eska wishes that
he would see that he too, could be a great man and husband to his daughter.
“Eska!” The urgent sound of his name brings him from his musing and
mindless following of the one who holds his heart, and he casts his brown eyes
up, his chin length blonde hair sweeping across his eyes as he finds Freya
standing on her tip toes, looking over the edge of a stone wall.
“What is it, Lass?” He asks, coming to stand at her side and seeing her
eyes cast out over the waves once more. Yellow and blue striped sails catch his
eye and he sees the longboats docked on their beach with men mingling around
them. His eyes narrow and his ears strain, trying to hear what they are
laughing at, but the wind carries it away.
***
“My father didn’t say anything about expecting a landing today?” Freya
questioned as a slight fear settled in her heart. The men on the beach had
swords at their waists and battle axes strapped on their backs. Their shields
lined the sides of their boats, four boats in total, and as they unloaded
supplies onto the stony beach of her home, her heart stuttered.
She turns her green eyes to her friend, her long hair blowing across
her face as she sees Eska’s head shake. That was the only sign she needed;
pushing herself from the stone wall as the fear and adrenaline mixed in her
veins, sending her heart racing. Her legs propel her forward as she picks up
her dress, not wanting to trip as she runs down the worn cart path.
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