As the sun began to poke over the horizon, Strian and Gressa met the others on the dock. Strian took command of his crew, ordering them to load the last of the supplies and weapons into the compartments beneath the deck. Gressa consulted with Lorna and Tyra about the route from Scotland to Wales, explaining where the Welsh had anchored when they arrived in Scotland. Gressa guessed it would be a place Grímr would stop again in a final effort to recruit lawless Highlanders before arriving in Gwynedd, the territory where the prince and princess lived.
“Mama!” Heads turned as Freya ran towards her mother shaking her head. As a one, mouths dropped open to see their frú dressed for battle. Her hair was pulled back into tight braids, and she wore leather pants, a leather vest, and leather bracers on each wrist. Her shield rested against her forearm, and her sword was sheathed at her hip. Lena had once been a shield maiden, but that was before she became the lady of their tribe and a mother. She had fought alongside Ivar for years, but most people assumed she had not touched a weapon in at least two decades.
“Yes, daughter?” Lena raised an eyebrow at Freya. “You know my past. This may be our family’s last stand or our most glorious victory. I won’t let us go down without being a part of that fight, nor am I willing to miss the glory. It’s my duty to fight just much as it’s my duty to see everyone fed.”
“But you haven’t trained in years. Not since--” Freya trailed off not wanting to speak aloud of the babes her mother had miscarried or that had not survived their birth.
“You are not privy to everything that goes on between your father and me.” Lena raised an eyebrow, and Freya flushed a deep red. “I’m more than able to keep up. Besides your father would have a fit if he thought I couldn’t defend myself. Why do you think he has been willing to leave me behind to defend our homestead?”
Freya stood aghast to learn her mother had been training all along, obviously in private with Ivar.
“I never knew. I never imagined.” Freya stumbled over her words.
“Just as Rangvald and Ivar kept their alliance a secret for years to trick other jarls into giving away their secrets, Ivar insisted we keep my skills a secret, hoping any jarl who set their sights on us while most of the tribe was away raiding would assume we were weak and not bring many warriors. Only a few have made the mistake of thinking our village can be overrun.” Lena looked at Strian and Tyra before continuing. “You can imagine what made Ivar decide I had to keep training.”
Lena referred to the last successful raid on their village ten years earlier that had killed Strian’s mother and Tyra’s as well. Lena had nearly died trying to protect the women and children of the village. It had led to the avenging battle that cost Strian his father and Gressa. His uncle took advantage of the melee to stab his brother in the back, and Gressa had been injured.
Gressa approached the women, looking at Lena with doubt clouding her eyes. Lena understood Gressa as any mother would and nodded her head in consent.
“Freya, there is one secret from our childhood that I’ve kept from you and Tyra. I didn’t want to hurt you. It was your mother who convinced me to be a shield maiden alongside you and Tyra. I didn’t think I’d be allowed because of who my parents were. Lena introduced me to sparring before you and Tyra began in the training fields. I’ve known all along that she trained. It’s her sword I carry, the one Tyra recovered after I went missing.” Gressa dipped her head, fearful Freya would be hurt that Lena passed her sword on to Gressa instead of saving it for her daughter.
“That was never a secret.”
Gressa’s head jerked up as she looked at Freya then swung her head to look at Tyra. Tyra shrugged and nodded.
“Ty and I knew Mama trained you. I just didn’t know she still trained for battle. We used to spy on you and then pretend to fight like you did. I was peeking when Mama gave the sword to you. Why wouldn’t she have? You are my adopted sister and older than me.”
Gressa shook her head in disbelief, thinking all these years that she was protecting her friends, her adoptive sisters really, from feeling slighted.
Lena stepped forward and wrapped both women in her embrace. She looked at Tyra and gestured with her hand for Tyra to join them.
“You three have always been my own. Tyra knows how much Ivar and I regret not bringing her to live with us when her parents died. We failed her by making her live with her aunt and uncle, but that didn’t diminish the love Ivar and I have for her. Freya may be the daughter of my body, but you are all the daughters of my heart.”
The four women squeezed one another before stepping back having shared more sentimentality in public than they each intended.
“Wife,” the love in Ivar’s eyes belied his gruff tone. “We have a ship to sail. Can we cease carrying on and be underway? We shall miss the tide.”
“I thought to fill the time while I waited on you,” Lena teased before dashing across the planks to Ivar’s ship with him hot on her heels. He captured his wife as they stepped onto his longboat. He tossed her in the air before giving her sound kiss and a spank on her rear. With models like Ivar and Lena, and Rangvald and Lorna, it was no surprise that the five friends could not keep their hands off their mates.
The fleet set sail just as the pinks and purples filled the morning sky. Strian stood at the tiller as Gressa took a seat at an oar, prepared to do her share. It struck Strian by how similar the scene was to a few weeks earlier but how different the circumstances were. As Gressa moved in time with the other oarsmen, he was thankful that they were speaking to one another on this voyage and that he did not have to disguise his looks at his beautiful wife. He had not been sure whether they could ever repair their marriage let alone fight for the same side. Their marriage had been tested over and over, yet their love continued to prevail despite how the gods interfered. Strian wanted to order one of the other crew members to take Gressa’s place, so she could stand by him, but he knew she would be furious if he singled her out for better treatment than the others. He knew she would take her turn at the oar throughout the journey, even spending more time than anyone expected just to prove she was neither weak nor spoiled. She had done it when they sailed back to the Trondelag, but back then, it had also been to avoid Strian.
As the hours of the morning crept by, Strian controlled the tiller while watching for Tyra’s signals. He had sailed with Tyra since they were children, and he still did not know how she understood the moods of the sea and the weather. It was as if one of their gods, probably Ran or Ægir, whispered to her secrets they shared with no one else. She had survived and led her friends to safety when others had floundered and sunk. The sun beat down as the day progressed, and Strian could feel the sweat sliding down between his shoulder blades. He called for a rest as the wind picked up. Once they needed the rowers again, they would switch with the next team.
Gressa pulled in her oar and stretched her back, appreciating the cracks and pops as her spine straightened once more. Her arms were tired and sore, but she counted her blessings that the callouses remained on her hands otherwise the wooden handles would have torn the skin with deep blisters. Gressa looked around, sensing someone watching her, and it was not Strian. Her eyes landed on a woman she remembered from years ago, but they had been little more than girls. The tribe was still large enough that she did not know everyone well, and she and Strian had spent as much time alone as they could. The woman watched her with open hostility. Gressa could not fathom what caused it. She guessed it might have been because they were on another mission when many believed they would end the fight with Grímr in their homeland.
Gressa turned when a gentle hand rested on her shoulder but not before she saw anger and malice fill the other woman’s gaze. Gressa understood the cause now. Strian. She stood and Strian wrapped his arm around her middle, guiding her to the stern. He had given the helm to his first mate but still needed to be nearby. He pulled Gressa against his chest and lowered his mouth to hers.
“I’ve missed you,” he murmured against her lips before sinking in for a kiss that made Gressa’s toes curl. Using his own body as a shield, he ran his hands down Gressa’s back until he cupped both globes of her backside. He squeezed and needed the flesh, eliciting a soft moan from Gressa who had lost feeling to her bottom from sitting for so long. The sound only encouraged Strian to massage deeper as he pressed his arousal against her mound. Strian pulled back when he knew he was on the verge of losing control, wanting to take his wife right there in front of his crew and every ship in their fleet. He repeated himself, “I missed you.”
“How can you miss me when I was sitting only feet in front of you?” Gressa grinned.
“Easily. All of me missed you. Can’t you tell?” He pressed his hips forward as he pressed hers against him. “I miss talking to you as much as I miss being hilt deep inside you.”
Gressa buried her face against his chest to muffle her groan, but she rocked her hips against Strian, confirming her need for him equaled his need for her.
“Why must you tease me? We have days, if not weeks, before we can make love again.”
“Why should I suffer alone?” Strian countered.
