Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

With her eyes squeezed closed, Hedda rested against the bow of the boat. How had she let this happen? How could she have been foolish enough to fall for that hulking brute?

Men were all the same. Eldberg might seem different when he climbed between her bed-furs, attempting to entice her, but in the end, he was only concerned with his own lot—a man who could not sense, nor seemed to care, what she needed.

He would let her down as Einar had done.

Whatever happens, I'll be alone.

A low ache brooded in her head.

Alone.

Once, she'd thought it was what she'd wanted—the freedom she'd felt when Einar had left only confirming her certainty. The passion she'd shared with Eldberg had reawakened a desire to share her life, but the stranger with the soulful eyes and scarred body was not the man to share it with.

There is no one. I'm to be alone forever .

She refused to acknowledge the tears brimming in her eyes.

I'm not crying over him!

She should have known better, should have done better than this, but somehow, she hadn't been able to resist the allure of Eldberg.

"Hedda?"

She lifted her chin at the female voice, embarrassed to have been found by her kin, but the concerned face that met hers took her by surprise.

"Frida?" Her sister should have been the last person she wanted to see. The two relentlessly bickered, and they had nothing in common other than a passing similarity in looks, yet Frida's sympathetic smile stirred Hedda from her misery.

"What are you doing here?" Frida knelt. "Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine." Hedda wiped at her eyes with the heel of her hand. "What brings you this way?"

"I was just musing upon things." Frida cast a glance out to the ocean. "I thought a walk by the shore might help."

"And?" Her sister was always worrying, looking too far inward. It was one of the things that Hedda found most irritating. However, she felt an affinity for her today.

Frida shifted to sit beside her. "In truth, I wanted to come to this place specifically." A slight tremble entered her voice. "I've been wanting to cast my runes beside their vessel."

Hedda noticed the small ball of cloth her sister was clutching, which no doubt contained her tools of divination.

"The omens are ominous." Frida's fist tightened about the pouch. "Something dangerous is coming."

Hedda usually scoffed at Frida's endless need to see the future, but her tone spoke of genuine fear. Hedda was minded to take her seriously.

"For the men?"

"I can't say." Frida's expression was troubled. "The peril perhaps derives from the men, else it's headed for them."

Despite the warmth of the sun, Hedda felt a chill close about her. She couldn't deny that her sister had a gift, though her declarations were often woefully vague. Only once before had Frida been insistent that a menace loomed over them—in the time before their menfolk fell ill.

To her shame, Hedda had been among those who'd most vehemently mocked her sister. By the time it became apparent there was substance to her warnings, it had been too late.

Was it happening again?

The men had believed a curse lay upon the island.

What if they were right?

"Frida, you don't think?—?"

Despite her fury with Eldberg, one emotion rose fiercely in Hedda's breast. He couldn't die. Not like the others!

Get a hold of yourself. If Frida knew more, she'd say. Until then, there's no point in pushing for answers.

Hedda swallowed down her dread.

"I don't know what I think." Frida slipped the pouch of runes into the pocket of her apron. "Not yet."

The old guilt nagged at Hedda. She ought to be kinder to Frida. In those dark days, she'd had compassion for none beyond herself. But, of course, Frida had suffered—first jeered at, then vilified, as if what had occurred was somehow her doing. Only their grandmother's intervention had prevented Frida from coming to harm. She'd made her hide somewhere until the worst was past.

The men had turned their ire upon the women in general, but soon they'd been too few in number to be of real threat. Those strong enough to leave had done so without wasting further time.

"Of course." Hedda forced a smile. "I was only wondering,"—she hesitated, unwilling to mention she'd been thinking of Eldberg and of what he'd come to mean to her—"what you make of them… these strangers among us."

"Living with a man is not as I imagined it would be. They're troublesome creatures. Nevertheless, I feel an attachment growing." The crease upon Frida's brow softened. "It is most curious… as if I hardly know myself or that I'm discovering some corner of my being of which I had no knowledge before." Frida's gaze met hers. "Of course, it must be harder for you since you wanted no part in the plan."

Hedda tensed. "Mine's a brute. I hate him!"

"Oh?" Frida's eyes widened.

Hedda searched her sister's face for the slightest flicker of amusement. If she dared laugh, Hedda would walk away.

Was she ready to admit how she felt? She was loathe to voice her feelings, but sensed Frida would listen without judgment. She was sitting patiently, waiting for Hedda to speak.

"Well, perhaps not all the time. Sometimes, he's not so bad." It was true he incensed her, but the other emotions he evoked were far stronger and more enduring. Hedda could not shake him from her mind. She rubbed her brow. This game of love was like a battle and one she couldn't win, yet she coveted a life with him.

"I'm drawn to Eldberg, even when I don't wish to be…" Hedda's voice trailed away. "It's more than just desire." There. Hedda's back straightened. I've said it.

"Hedda." Reaching for her sister's hand, Frida touched it lightly. "There's no shame in the way you feel. We aren't weak to express such sentiments."

Hedda snorted. "You mightn't say that if you'd heard the way he spoke to me earlier." She looked up at the cliff as she recalled the uncomfortable conversation. There, approaching the cape, was the man on her mind.

"You've spoken to him about how you feel?" Frida sounded surprised.

"Not exactly." Hedda glanced away from his distant figure. What was he playing at, standing so close to the edge? Could he see her there by the boat? Did he think to intimidate her, towering down from above?

"I think you should." Frida's smile lit up her face. "It takes strength to admit such feelings."

"Perhaps." Uncertainty knotted her stomach. She cursed herself as much as him. Her own belligerence had made her hold her tongue, but it was Eldberg's fault for being so insensitive to her needs.

He was sent by the gods to plague her!

She blew out a breath of frustration.

Why is this desire to be with him such an impossible struggle?

She resisted the urge to look back at the cliff .

"I know you were never happy with Einar." Frida gave a sigh of sympathy. "But if you think this man, Eldberg, feels as you do, you must tell him, Hedda. Perhaps this is a battle worth fighting."

"I don't know." Determined not to glance in her lover's direction, Hedda looked out to sea.

Eldberg , if I tell you what's in my heart, will you hurt me again?

She willed her thoughts to reach him. If she concentrated hard enough, would the man upon the rocks hear?

It's difficult for me to trust. Please , be honest… do you mean more than you say?

All at once, a deep disquiet stirred within her.

"Eldberg?"

She spun about, seeking his silhouette upon the crag. Then, as if time itself slowed, she watched the man she could not set aside slide precariously toward the point of no return.

Leaping to her feet, Hedda rushed across the dunes. "Stop!"

Her shout choked in her throat. "You do not have my permission to die! Eldberg, you cannot!"

Then, her heart seemed to cease its beat—for the man who was everything to her met the precipice.