The Temperate Warrior (29 page)

It was difficult for Gustaf to accept their overabundance of charity, but he didn’t put up much of a fight for it was considered rude and offensive to deny the openhandedness of others. He could only look back at the caravan of cargo trailing behind him and feel blessed to have known such hospitable people. If not for his family that awaited his return on Inis Mór, he would be content to stay and raise his children among them.

Ignoring the tug on his heart, Gustaf continued to lead his horse down the grassy slope. He would have preferred to be mounted behind Æsa, but with the size of her belly swollen with child, there was no room in the saddle to accommodate them both.

Once they reached the bottom, the longship was placed in the water and loaded. Extra care had been taken to balance the cargo within the hull to ensure the vessel wouldn’t capsize once the crew boarded. Chests, doubling as benches, lined each side of the boat where an equal division of Gustaf’s men would man the oars. A solid pine mast lay at their feet until conditions were right for raising the sail on the open sea. Confirming the buoyancy of the ship, six slender oars were slotted into the oarholes and the rigging secured. Their longship, adorned with intricate carvings along the gunwales and prow, sat proudly equipped and adrift on the shoreline as the water lapped against its underbelly.

Gustaf gazed at his well-crafted ship, his seven loyal men ready to cast away with him as they’d done so many times before. A sense of nostalgia and pride overtook him. They were brothers by oath and warriors by blood. He could think of no better friends than those who aimed to see him start his newfound life as a future husband and father.

He turned to Æsa and lifted her from the horse’s back. Setting her on her feet, he held her close and unconsciously cradled her protruding belly with his hand. “Are you certain you are ready for this?”

“If you are asking me if I am ready to meet your family at last and take you as my husband, then aye.” She stretched her aching back as she braced herself with his forearm. “Besides, the sooner we marry, the sooner I can birth this temperamental boy. I swear he will kick and scream his way out.”

Gustaf laughed and slid his hand down her thigh until he found the jasper stone Halldora had fastened to her leg many months ago. “You keep him in there for a little while longer, you hear?”

“As best I can,” Æsa groaned.

He picked her up and carried her to the side of the longship, where Jørgen and his sons were gathered together, exchanging words and hearty embraces. Gustaf handed her to Snorri and waited until he set her safely on the chest near the steerboard before he turned to say his own farewells.

Ulfr met him halfway with a large satchel across his arms, Ketill behind him. Gustaf examined how neatly it was secured with leather bounds. “What is this?”

“’Tis a gift from Ketill and myself,” Ulfr explained. “But you must promise not to open it until after the birth of your son.”

Gustaf smiled. “If I must.”

Ketill stepped forward and dropped a heavy hand upon Gustaf’s shoulder. “It has been an honor, m’lord—to hunt and to take up arms with you. Know that you will always be welcome amongst us, son of Rælik.”

“That means a great deal to me.” Gustaf glanced at Halldora and Helga waiting in the distance. “Watch over them as you have always done. That is all I ask.”

“Of course.”

He noticed the tinge of sadness in the pair of sons’ faces, knowing their father was leaving them again. “Your father will return before the summer solstice. I give you my word.” He gave each strapping lad a vigorous embrace and made his way toward the two women who insisted on seeing them off.

He took Helga’s hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Øyven will be back before you know it. This I swear.” He could sense, as she kept glancing over his shoulder, that she was most eager to say a personal goodbye to the handsome warrior. “Go on. Say your farewells.”

Helga, in a fit of excitement, sprinted down the hill toward the ship. He watched as Øyven leapt from the gunwale and ran to meet her, throwing his arms around her dainty body.

When Gustaf looked back at Halldora, he was surprised to see the old woman smiling instead of grimacing. “‘Tis a good match,” he asserted.

Halldora gave him a sideways glance. “You need not convince me, Gustaf. I know well the happiness Øyven has brought my granddaughter.”

“‘Tis nigh killing you, is it not?”

“What?”

“That you cannot hear what they are thinking or saying to each other right now.”

“Taunt me not, warrior.”

Gustaf tugged the old woman into his arms and hugged her. “It does you good to step into a world blind and deaf to other’s emotions from time to time. Cherish the silence whilst you have it.”

“I assure you ‘tis nice to have reprieve from your lustful thoughts.”

“Serves you right, Halldora. I told you many times to stay out of my head, lest you know what an aroused man suffers on a daily basis when he has a temptress within reach.”

Halldora shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Be off with you.”

“You are going to miss me,” Gustaf interjected playfully as he strolled toward the ship. He knew the witch wanted to disagree, but the forced grin on her thin lips proved she missed him already.

Like a lively lad whose enthusiasm got the better of him, Gustaf jogged passed Øyven and slapped him on the back, interrupting his private conversation with Helga. “With or without you.”

“I am coming,” Øyven said. He gazed one last time into Helga’s beautiful eyes. “I will return.”

Helga smiled shyly. “I will wait for you. And worry not. I will take proper care of your falcon.”

He cupped her hands in his. “I have no doubts.”

Helga wiped away a falling tear and took out a scabbard and sword from within her cloak. She traced her fingers along the leather sheath, eyeing the shiny silver hilt decorated with amber stones extending beyond the casing. “I want you to have this. ‘Twas my father’s.”

Øyven’s eyes dropped to the beautiful weapon. “I cannot accept such a gift.”

“You will. I insist.” She looked down at her feet nervously. “I must know you are safe. Please, take it.”

Øyven grasped the weapon reverently in both hands and slid the blade halfway out, inspecting the craftsmanship. He sheathed it in haste and secured it at his hip. “I am not worthy to possess your father’s sword, but I am honored nonetheless.”

Before he could say more, Helga reached up on tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on his lips. She gathered her skirts and ran back toward her grandmother.

Øyven stood there in shock. He touched his mouth and smiled, the feel of her kiss lingering as he watched her climb the hill.

Snorri cleared his throat purposefully loud from the nearby ship, gaining the young man’s attention. Upon seeing the longship floating out to sea, Øyven rushed to catch up. Tramping through ankle-high waters, he hoisted himself over the side and fell awkwardly to his knees. He ignored the assault of jests thrown about the hull and stared at the only woman who’d enchanted his heart.

“Man your oar, boy,” Snorri commanded from his post. “And I am not talking about the one between your legs. Count your blessings that Halldora is unaware of your rising interest in her granddaughter.”

Øyven settled himself at the only empty chest and gripped the oar with both hands. “So, it comes back to this, aye? Cutting me down to size for your gain?”

“You should know better than to bring your feelings with you, Øyven.”

“Odin’s teeth, here we go again,” Jørgen sighed, casting an apologetic look toward Æsa. “I fear ’twill be a long journey for you, m’lady.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Gustaf who stood fixed at the steerboard behind her. “Is this what you had to listen to all these years?”

“Every bit of it, love.”

Æsa cradled her stomach and rubbed the somersaulting child within. “My word, Gustaf. ’Tis a wonder you had any temperance left.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Æsa doubled over, groaning and panting through the onset of labor as the longship tossed about on the waves. Her contractions began to occur at regular intervals, spurring Gustaf into a frantic mess. Between ordering his men to row harder and recurrently surrendering his post at the stern to talk her through the agony, he assumed many tasks to get the mother of his child safely to land before she gave birth on the open sea.

Gustaf scanned the horizon and spotted the much-desired island of Inis Mór. “Heave men! I will not have this child out of wedlock!”

Æsa groaned simultaneously. “I will not have this child on a bloody ship!” Wracked with utter pain, she slipped off the chest and reclined on the hardened planks of the hull. “Gustaf…”

He deserted the steerboard and fell to his knees beside her, taking her hand. He watched as she bent her legs in a birthing position, her thighs spread apart. In haste, he blocked his men’s view with his own body and pulled her skirts down over her calves.

“You cannot have this baby now, Æsa.”

She glowered at him, her eyes as blazing as the hair upon her head. “I do not think I have a choice in the matter,” she gritted behind clenched teeth. Another moan escaped her and Gustaf’s chest tightened.

Without thinking, he cupped her mound and pressed his palm against her. Again her eyes glared at him like heated embers. “You think you can hold him in?”

The idiocy of his actions hit him as sharply as Æsa’s sarcastic remark. He knew no matter what he tried, his son would soon be born on this earth, with or without his consent. “Tell me what to do?”

“Turn your men around! I will not have them staring at me while this baby emerges from my—” Her words were cut off by another excruciating contraction. The shrill of her cry sliced through the wooden hull of the crowded longship and echoed on the Atlantic.

Gustaf sat frozen, helpless, staring at her dilated private parts.
This cannot be happening
!

Æsa sat up in a flash and grabbed his cloak, jerking his face toward hers. “Turn. Your men. Around!”

Gustaf shook himself out of his incapacitating stupor and swiveled his head on his shoulders, meeting the wide-eyed stares of his rowing men. “You heard the woman. Turn around! Assume a raid-retreat position and heave for all you are worth!”

“But, m’lord,” Snorri said, still dazed. “’Twill be more difficult—”

“Snorri!” Æsa screamed, yanking Gustaf’s dagger from his belt and bearing its shiny blade. “’Twill be more difficult for you to row without your bollocks!”

As most men cherished their testicles like gold, all seven warriors spun on their benches and propelled the very capable streamlined ship forward. By pushing the oars away from their bodies, they strove to skate the vessel headlong toward the rocky isle. No one dared test the authority of the hostile woman in labor, lest she just might act upon her threat.

“Easy now, Æsa,” Gustaf soothed, carefully confiscating the knife from her trembling hand. “Settle yourself.”

Æsa’s face puckered with a hatred he’d never seen before. “Settle myself?”

Gustaf stammered, realizing he’d said the wrong thing. “I—I mean—”

“I am about to push your volatile tempered, whale-sized son out of an opening the size of my nostril and you want me to settle myself?”

Gustaf glanced down between her legs. “If you could see what I see, you would not exactly regard it as a small orifice.”

Not amused, she sat up and grabbed his crotch in her fist. “If you do not get me off this ship, I swear I will geld you myself.”

He tried peeling each finger from his balls and nodded his comply. “I will get you to land. Just, for the love of Odin, release me.”

Fortunately for him, she fell victim to another contraction and her hands clutched her tightening stomach. Gustaf dropped backward and supported his throbbing genitals in his palm. He didn’t dare complain about the dull ache or the fact that he thought he might vomit his bollocks at her feet. Only a foolish man would mention his misery when his woman was writhing in childbirth.

When he fell in love with Æsa for her feisty spirit and quick temper, this wasn’t exactly the kind of vivaciousness he had in mind. Never in all his years did he think he’d be enchanted by a feminine hellhound who looked like a goddess and screamed like a wailing banshee. Nonetheless, he loved her with all his heart and reminded himself that his lovely betrothed would return to him as soon as she delivered the baby.

Breathing through his nausea, he righted himself on his haunches and commanded his men through a strained voice. “Row like you have never rowed before, men. Trust me when I tell you, your life depends on it.”

When he looked back at Æsa, he saw that tears streamed from her eyes as she lay on her back, staring at the gray sky above. Pity overtook him and he crawled to her side, wiping the trail of wetness from her temples. “We are almost there, Æsa. Hold on, love.” He took hold of her hand and held it tightly. “I will not leave your side.”

“It hurts…”

“I know,” Gustaf crooned, squeezing her hand as she rested. “But ’twill soon be over. And we will have a son. Cry not, my dearest Æsa.”

“What if I fail you?” she sobbed. “What if we are not wed in time…”