Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Elin's wisdom never failed to astonish Frida, as did her level-headedness. Calmly, she assessed each of the strangers while Frida searched to the very end of the bay's curve, lest some poor soul had crawled that way. As to the severity of their injuries, Elin could not entirely say, suspecting some wounds were more than skin-deep. Together, they pressed wadded cloth to open wounds, taking care to move the men as little as possible. Even so, the interference caused more than one to whimper or moan in his unconscious state.

All were well-muscled, fit, and strong, in the prime of age. There were no boylings, for which Frida gave thanks. She hoped none of tender age had been among the crew, for they had surely numbered more than six for a vessel of such size. ‘Twas a strange circumstance, her friend agreed, that the ship had made its way to their island. Theirs had never been a place for trading, the menfolk sailing once yearly for the purpose of provisioning. Stranger still that the vessel had managed to land upon the beach, even in this sorry state. The rocks that littered the entrance to the bay forbade safe entry to all but those who knew a certain path.

Meanwhile, Elin swore she'd heard naught of the storm, though she'd woken while it was yet dark, and a strong urge had come upon her to visit the shore. The goddess Freyja's hand was clear to see. For whatever reason, she'd desired Frida to be first upon the scene, but she'd sent Elin to her aid.

"We must fetch Hedda," Elin urged. "These men should be brought inside, and that we cannot do without the approval of the others nor without their help." One aspect went unvoiced—how the rest of the women would respond to this unforeseen thread in the island's fortunes.

The matter would need to be handled with delicacy, and Hedda was likely to be in opposition. Frida bore love for her sister, but it had been long since the two had seen eye-to-eye. With Hedda's marriage to their former jarl, the distance between them had grown insurmountable. She suspected Hedda's instinct would be to do the men harm, and any prophetic advice from Frida would be dismissed with scorn.

Nonetheless, Elin was right. Though they governed themselves in a manner of equality, under the leadership of their council of five, it was Hedda who many of the women looked to for guidance.

"Make haste." Frida nodded.

When Elin had departed, she returned to the man who had briefly regained his wits. He slumbered again, his lips parted, mumbling softly to himself. She hoped his dreams were not too frightening. It was perhaps advantageous the men had not yet awoken to their pain.

Once their clothing had been removed, the fuller extent of their injuries would be apparent. ‘Twould be easier to administer to them, to stitch wounds and set bones, if they remained senseless, but the beach was not the best place for such things. If the men continued to live and breathe, they would need to be moved. The more swiftly such action was taken, the better.

Kneeling beside the blue-eyed stranger, she brushed aside the tendrils of hair clinging wetly to his cheeks. Despite his wan complexion and the furrow through his brow, he was undeniably handsome, with a slender nose and a strong mouth. Wetting her finger, she ran it there, where the salt had dried.

How would it be for such a man to press his lips in a kiss?

The thought came unbidden, and Frida blushed, though there was no one to know the fancies of her mind. No man had ever been interested in wooing her, nor were they likely to be. She was too odd, too otherworldly, too peculiar in her outlandishness—as Hedda had oft pointed out. Others had said worse, though ‘twas merely because they didn't understand her gifts.

Frida could hardly blame them. For most of her life, she'd barely comprehended them herself. Only these past months had so much been revealed, and there was a great deal she was still learning about herself.

"All will be well." She spoke the words for her own benefit as much as for the sleeping man. She hoped her tone was reassuring. "We will help you."

Could he hear? It was impossible to tell, but she hoped… With a sigh, she rose to her feet.

"Stand!" a barked command called from behind the rocks, and Frida whirled about. Brandishing her dagger was Hedda, looking bitter-mouthed.

Frida pulled a steadying breath. "I've searched as far as the headland." There seemed little point in small talk. The two rarely had much to say to one another that didn't inspire scorn, and Frida wanted to impart what she knew. "There are no other survivors that I can tell. All have gashes to the head and bruising about the face. At least one has broken a bone. Like them all, he was unconscious but moaned pitifully when I moved his arm. Another's fingers are mangled. There are likely more injuries I can't see."

Elin ran toward them, breathing hard, but wasted no time in addressing Hedda. "If they're bleeding beneath the skin, there's not much we can do, but we might cut their clothing. It would give us an idea before we attempt to move them."

"We won't be cutting anything unless it's their throats." With her usual petulance, Hedda's tone was filled with spite.

Elin sighed, walking to stand between the splintered boat and Hedda. "You swore you wouldn't harm them."

Hedda tutted. "I swore nothing. I said only that I would consider the situation. Now, I have."

"You cannot slaughter innocent men." Frida had no wish for conflict, but she wouldn't stand by and allow Hedda to slay those whose only crime was being shipwrecked on their shore. What her sister suggested was murderous.

"What makes you think they're innocent?" Hedda's voice dripped disdain. "All men are ruled by heated tempers. You want to bring their violence upon us?"

"You are the one ruled by ire, Hedda." Elin folded her arms across her chest. "You deride our jarl, who is gone, saying we're better off without him, but you're just as bad if you act without consideration for what the rest of us think is right."

Hedda glanced away at the accusation, seemingly stung.

"There is something strange, sister. I feel here,"—Frida placed her fist over her heart—"that the gods have some hand in it." This is Freyja's will. She didn't vocalize the final line, but it was there on the tip of her tongue.

"You and the gods!" Hedda pressed her lips together. "You invoke them as if you know everything."

"‘Tis not true!" Frida's passion brimmed. This was typical of Hedda, who seemed to view herself judged whenever she looked upon Frida's gift. "If only I did understand more, I would know…" She blew out a breath as she shook her head. "I've been seeing signs… in the flames, in the flight of birds, in the entrails of fish even. I know not how to interpret them, for they speak of good and ill, but I believe these men are here for a reason… that the gods have sent them to us."

"There may be something in it," Elin offered Frida a small smile. "For how did this longship come to be wrecked here? I lay awake a large portion of the night, and while the moon was yet high, I came to sit under the stars. I heard no wind nor saw any sign of a storm. Perhaps our watchful goddess Freyja beseeched her father Nj?rd on our behalf to search his ocean realm for a ship of valiant men, and he dragged them here."

"I also endured a troubled night." Frida's eyes were wide. "When I did slumber, strange dreams came, and I woke with the feeling that I had to come to the shore."

Frida omitted how she'd consulted her runes prior to coming to the water and how she'd gazed upon the rising waves from the hillside. Elin's description validated Frida's instinct. If there had been no storm during the hours prior to the wreck, then what had produced the strong gusts she'd experienced? There was but a regular breeze now, and the dawn light revealed clear skies upon the horizon.

Frida turned to her sister, half expecting a cutting reply. She was surprised to discover no response at all.

"In any case, the decision is too important for you to make alone." Elin broke the silence. "We must consult the others. I shall run back and bring them here." Sprinting the way she'd come, she left Frida alone with her ill-tempered relative.

The sun sat high by the time the women had made their choice.

The way some had spoken! Frida had been ashamed to hear their lewd comments. Worse still was Hedda's proclamation that the men should have their throats cut where they lay. Thankfully, their grandmother had swayed matters, and for all Frida's fears, Hedda had submitted to the will of the women's vote—each islander casting a stone to decide how the strangers should be dealt with.

Frida had been allocated a man to watch over, as had Elin and three more of their women, in addition to Hedda! Frida could only hope the fellow had the gods on his side, for he would need all the help he could garner to survive that fate! Naturally, Hedda had been outraged to be burdened with him, but it was a responsibility Frida took seriously. These men had done nothing more than fall foul of Freyja's plan. They did not deserve hatred.

It had taken only a little intervention to ensure the one carried to her chamber was he of the dark-blue eyes. He lay now unconscious on the makeshift bed she'd assembled, clothed only in his braies . Elin had rolled those back to his knee on the injured side, the better to attend his wound.

‘Twas the strangest thing, having a man beneath her roof. He seemed to fill the space—with his physical presence, with each breath he took, with the masculine smell of his body, and with the feelings he evoked from Frida herself. From the first, she'd been drawn to him, and now he was hers—or, at least, he was hers to care for. As for what else might transpire, that would be as the gods intended.

Her grandmother had wasted no time in taking up the plan that the men be made use of in the way that mattered most. They all knew it to be vital. Their community would cease to exist if there were no more children. These men, as pitiful as they were in their current state, offered a chance for the island. As Frida had been led to believe, even when a man was in physical discomfort, he was capable of the reproductive act. As for a woman, she had only to lie quietly and accept the seed he put inside her. The details were beyond her experience, but she trusted in the destiny Freyja surely intended for them all. Babies would come where women were willing.

A child!

‘Twas a gift Frida had never thought to have. How could it be so when she had not even a husband? But, through her goodness, Freyja was offering her that chance.

If I might have a daughter or a son, I shall ne'er ask another boon. They shall be my lifelong comfort, and I shall teach them well.

Elin had accompanied her back to her hut to tend the injured stranger who now lay upon the pallet. With clasped hands, Frida offered up her promise. As for the man himself, she did not expect anything more from him. Elin had spoken as if these men might wish to remain, to make a home here and marry, but Frida made no such assumption. Even if they did choose to stay, taking wives when the job of dispersing their seed was done, no man would seek her for his spouse.

As Hedda said, she was set apart. In the time when she might have been betrothed, no man had shown interest in taking her to his bed furs. They'd looked at her with mistrust, even when her father had lived, and she'd contented herself with believing that was her lot. Later, when the illness had come, she'd realized how deep-rooted the men's fear of her ran. It mattered not that she wished only to love and be loved. She had not been born to that fate—or so she had thought.

"There!" Elin sat back on her heels. "The lacerations are not deep. Only five stitches and the blood is staunched already." She smeared some unguent upon the place. "This salve I shall leave with you. We'll bind him tight, for ‘tis greatly swollen. The bone has not displaced nor broken, but perhaps some hidden crack is there. With rest, the place will surely heal."

"‘Tis all?" Frida could scarce believe it, for the man's foot was near purple with broken veins and twice the size it ought to be.

"Aye." Elin appeared almost cheerful as she wrapped the cloth about the injury. It was always so when she was exercising her own gift of the healing arts. "His other scrapes and bruises are naught to cause worry, though he'll likely feel sorry for himself. The bump on his head is but a small one."

"So, it shan't be long until his man seed is ready?" Frida couldn't help blurting out the question. Awkward as it was, the thought preyed upon her mind.

Elin looked up with an astonished expression. "By the goddess! Are you so very eager? The poor man is not yet even wakeful!" A small smile touched her lips. "Though that is not as much of an impediment as you might think…"

"I would never!" Frida brought her hands to her cheeks, which were now filled with burning. "His manpart is his own, and I would ne'er touch it without his say-so. ‘Twould be wrong in every way!" She took a calming breath. "I only wondered if the ankle would be an obstacle to such things and how long it might be before he was well enough to think of mating matters."

Elin's brows rose even higher. "‘Tis a question for you to ask the fellow himself. I'm sure he'll be pleased with your enthusiasm, but you may wish to give him a day or two."

Frida nodded, too embarrassed to speak further.

The corners of Elin's lips twitched. "There are others I should attend, so I'll leave you be. Tend to his recovery as best you can. I'll bring herbs for a poultice before the day is done, and some you may brew as a tonic to provide relief from the pain. Once he's roused, he may sip at that as oft as needed."

"My thanks to you." Frida wrapped her friend in a hug. Of all the women, besides her grandmother, Elin was the one who was most patient with her. She hoped Elin had luck with her own efforts at growing a babe, as was surely her intention. Though she'd been married before and had born a son, both husband and child were lost to her now, and she must sorely miss them. Elin deserved happiness.

I must read the runes for her, when the time is right, to see if such an outcome is likely.

Once Elin left, Frida turned back to the sleeping stranger. As a maid, she'd never been alone with a man before. The fact he was there, in her dwelling, left her perturbed and intrigued in equal measure.

"Well…" Nibbling at her lower lip, she came closer to the shipwrecked man. "Let us see what the new moon brings."