She started to build up the fire in her hut, burning it as brightly as she could until she was barely able to take the heat. She kept her small oven burning, needing to ensure that the man’s temperature rose as well, if he were to have any chance at all. Gingerly, Freya started to lift his arm up and tuck it into his side, the golden ring on his finger glinting in the warm firelight. It was a pretty thing, gold and intricately designed with an arm shaped like swirling waves, something that she had never seen before. Was it a mark of his family? Of who he was? Did he have somebody waiting at home for him? Surely, a man built like this had to be. Half the scars on his body were long since healed over, marking him as a fighter, a warrior.
She slipped it from his finger, telling herself that it was to ensure his fingers didn’t swell and cause further injury as she slipped it into one of her many drawers. If he were to awaken, then she could return it to him. Of course she would. But, knowing her fellow villagers and how prone that they were to their superstitions and occasional greed it was for the best. She didn’t need him to be marked as any more of a misfortune omen or lord forbid, a prize.
She covered him and sat by his bedside, marveling as his chest started to draw in deeper breaths, a soft bit of movement behind his eyes. Only moments prior, it would have seemed impossible.She had done everything that she possibly could, and now it was out of her control.
CHAPTER THREE
“It’s roastin’ in here!”
Freya was of a mind to tell whoever dared open her front door without knocking to go piss in the wind, but she knew that voice. Normally, Tristan’s presence in her life was an annoyance, especially in times like this, when she was busy. Some of the man’s wounds had started to ooze around the bandages, which, she figured was good as a result of him warming, blood moving around a little bit better inside of him, but she needed to keep his blood in his body.
She was covered in sweat and had to keep wiping her brow to keep it from dripping down into her eyes. “If ye dinnae have anything helpful to say, Tristan, then ye can just turn right back around again and leave the way ye came in.”
“See? The heat’s giving ye a temper.” Tristan said, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.
“I’m busy, if ye cannae see with yer own two eyes.” Freya sighed, wrapping the rest of the man’s hand once more. His fingers were going to take some work to function properly again. What had he been holding to injure them so? The top layers of his skin were wholly missing.
“I heard. Word of yer little project is already starting tae spread around the village.”
Freya’s irritation spiked. “This man is knocking on death’s door, and ye call him aproject?”
“Why should I call him anything else?” Tristan asked, walking close enough that she could feel his presence over her shoulder. He wasn’t nearly as large as the man on her bed. She couldn’t help but draw the parallel between the two of them as Tristian leaned over to get a better look at him.
“I’ve seen worse.” Tristan remarked.
Freya glanced up, knowing that it was attention he wanted, not that he actually felt as if it wasn’t that bad. If she were to give him the reaction he was looking for, no doubt he would claim to have somehow endured similar injuries and lived through it.
Tristan’s brown eyes met her own for only a moment, narrowing as he waited for her to react, but she had absolutely no plans to do so.
“If ye cannot stay out of me way, then ye have nay business here.”
“Imagine that,” Tristan continued, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “Freya is telling me that I’m in the way? Me?”
Freya lifted her foot, and kicked him clear off the bed, her lip turning in spite of how she attempted to control her face. Her bed was one place that Tristan knew very well that he had no right to touch. He wasn’t allowed anywhere near it and was taking advantage of the situation. If he was truly jealous of a dying man being allowed on her bed, then there was truly no logic left inside of his head.
Tristan looked up at her from the ground, a mixture of outrage and amusement for her being so bold. “I have gutted men fer far less than that.”
Freya rolled her eyes. “Ye havnae even been off the island!”
“This man is an outsider! All the more reason to cease what ye are doing right this moment!” Tristan stood indignantly, huffing as he straightened his shirt. “He is clearly a dangerous man!”
Freya paused only for a moment after finishing wrapping the stranger’s fingers. Her eyes were cold as they slipped toward Tristan. “Ye want me tae stop treating an injured man… on what grounds?”
Tristan fumbled for a moment. “As I said, he could be dangerous.”
“And ye have nay control over what I dae, nae matter what other foolish notion is rattling around in that empty brain of yers!” Freya hissed, not wanting to raise her voice, although her temper was threatening to get the better of her. “Ye also have nay right tae be in here when I’ve nae invited ye, Tristan!”
“Dinnae start this again…” Tristan bemoaned, looking irritated at the direction the conversation was headed.
“I am nae marrying ye, Tristan. I have told ye already and I have nay intention of changing me mind.” Freya insisted firmly, her voice raising and she couldn’t stop it. “If ye dinnae leave at once, I will have nettles slipped intae yer bed.”
He knew that she meant it, too.
Tristan’s face flushed from his chin all the way to the roots of his dark brown hair; even in the yellow light she could clearly see the flush of irritation on his skin. He was very fortunate that she was a kind enough woman to keep from laughing at him for such indignation.
Freya pointed directly to the door, and Tristan nearly stomped out of the hut after hesitating only a moment.
Tristan rarely meant any harm by his actions. Rarely did his ego intend cruelty, but he simply demanded so much more attentionthan Freya was ever willing to give him. He had long since been comfortable only being her friend. When he would no longer accept what she was willing to give, then there would be no more room for him. She was a busy woman, and he was the sort of man who would only want to keep her in the hut, having child after child.
