“No,” Woden said. “My daughter is not to be given to a faun mortal as a slave. A faun would scandalize her delicate sensibilities.”
“You can institute the laws you wish here,” Lugh said firmly. “But other realms do not follow Asgard’s laws. Others will follow the old Laws and treat her as a Marked Fomori. Unless you wish them to impose their laws on your realm? If she is pledged, there is nothing even you can do.” Lugh’s voice was softly cold.
Siegfried tuned out the argument that followed, knowing the decision had already been made. He tested the power of his bond with Freya, the power of those Marks. Was she happy yet? It always felt intrusive to touch her emotions, but they’d been intimate.
As he concentrated on her, he felt frustration, sadness, and a little bit of joy. Odd. Was she starting to be happy that he’d left her? Why did that disappoint him?
He was almost saddened for Freya, that Woden hadn’t followed them to the solar to argue the point further. Did he care so little?
But it was only he and Lugh in the room. The Ard Righ studied him with those blue eyes as Siegfried read the documentation on his lap. It notated all the applicable Laws and Siegfried’s responsibility. Freya would have no rights beyond what Siegfried gave her. It also frequently noted that Siegfried would be wholly responsible for Freya’s actions.
But some of it was more disturbing. In the kingdoms where the Law would be enforced, she would have to be restrained, collared or chained. Permission would have to be granted for her to pass through. She would have to be accompanied by Siegfried at all times.
“You are new to our ways, Siegfried,” Lugh said. “You are a mortal and have custody of the child of the most infamous fey in the Otherworld. You had best learn our ways quickly.” He rested an elbow on the curving arm of the triclinium couch. “And you have no designs on Asgard, truly? If Woden is disregarding the Laws, he could still make her his heir. Other fey, who still abide by the Law, would respect you as heir, but not Freya, just as they would have for Aillen.”
“I respect her and her opinions,” Siegfried said simply.
“How many laws would you disregard?”
“I do not know enough of Asgard’s laws. I’d give the people enough freedom to live their lives their own way without my intervention.”
“Ah, so you’d keep the state of near anarchy,” Lugh said. “You did notice that Woden nearly threatened me with another Great War, did you not?” When Siegfried didn’t answer, he went on, “Disregarding the Law is no small thing. With Asgard, I’ve always had to take the path of least resistance, not intervening unless forced. Woden always keeps to his own business. So like the Beasts. No wonder he bedded Hecate. Asgard only interferes with Jotunheim, which is not my jurisdiction. I would keep it that way. Now, are you ready to sign?”
Siegfried took a deep breath before placing his signature on each sheet of parchment.
Chapter Ten
Odilia stretched upon the bed beside Pompey and gave him another filled cup. The blood of the former Captain of the Guard, Berengar. They were running low, but the General’s condition was improving since his altercation with Freya. She smiled, dipped a finger in the goblet, and sucked the metallically flavored droplet off the edge of her claw-like fingernail.
He raised the cup to his lips. His jowls worked as he drank the dark liquid, a brown mole bobbing between the folds of flesh. He was aging, feeling tired. The Beautiful One had told her what to do to heal him and it had worked. Not that she loved him as a woman loved a man. They had a friendship; they thought alike.
“How do you feel?” she asked when he handed her the empty goblet.
He wiped the red stain from his lips with the edge of the silk blanket. “Slightly stronger. I’m surprised that this seems to be working. I thought it would take months.”
“I was promised that this would happen quickly.”
“It is hot in here of a sudden,” he said, pushing back the blankets, exposing his naked flesh. She did not turn away. She did not mind ugliness. Humanity was a sea of ugliness—ugly, stupid cattle. But Pompey was not stupid. Freya was. Freya was also beautiful, another anomaly.
“Any word on Freya?” Pompey asked.
She saw his wormlike member stir at the mention of the girl’s name. While Odilia had never lain with Pompey, she was angered that some part of him stirred to life at the mention of that little ewe’s name.
“I will check my mirror again. She keeps a mirror with her at all times. I’ve been seeing nothing but the inside of her satchel.”
“Never underestimate an enemy. Until you see their bloated, gray body, you can never be certain that they are no longer a threat. Even locked in a dungeon, an enemy can escape.”
“You are right, of course,” she said. “When we find her, I will make you an exquisite drink from that young blood. After I make her submit.” The Beautiful One had suggested that, a much better idea than simple death. But that plan had gone awry. The Marks the Druids put on her face were to have given Odilia control of her. Instead, Siegfried had taken her away. Was it still possible to make her submit? That would be the final shame for Freya.
“I want her first,” Pompey said.
Odilia nodded. She would like to watch the disgust Freya would experience at being taken by such an old man as Pompey. But she did not want Pompey to experience enjoyment in the act. Somehow that would make her think less of him.
“What did you mean by making her submit?” Pompey asked.
“A conquered enemy isn’t necessarily a dead enemy,” Odilia said. “True, the gods to which I sacrifice the dead will subjugate them. Berengar still has not died, because I yet see defiance in his eyes. Great defiance. Before we let them die, I want them to learn who their rulers are, why they must give all to their betters, and then to give it. It demoralizes the rest of their resistance, seeing figureheads or even those they knew well submit. If those stronger than they bend the knee, it instills the reality that rebellion is futile.”
“Where is the rest of the blood?” Pompey asked. “Surely a body has more fluid within it.”
“Greedy, aren’t we? No, the rest of the blood, as required, has gone to the Beautiful One in the mirror.”
“Yet Hecate has not answered you. Worry over the Beautiful One. It is the one helping you and helping me. I’d say this was nonsense, but I’ve felt its power already. I don’t want to anger it.”
“It isn’t an
it
but a he. A gorgeous he.”
“Does cold Odilia finally feel a stirring between those gray thighs?” He squeezed one and laughed.
“Of course not. I admire him as I admire a statue.”
“You don’t care what you look like, do you? No, you know you look rather manly.”
“Sexuality is nothing. A temporary feeling. A distraction. Something that makes people rut like cattle. A feeling that should be squashed so humanity doesn’t spread its filth.”
“But I will rut with Freya. I will have her on her knees, my hands wrapped in that skein of pale hair. Obviously, I am an animal. Go ahead and make her submit if you like. I’ll have her submit to me. It will excite me more, seeing her cowed. I want her subdued first. What if she doesn’t submit? What if she remains stubborn? What if the rest do as well?”
“The Beautiful One has given me some items to aid in the process.” Odilia grinned and tugged her skirts over her broad flesh. “Like all my subjects, her spirit will be broken, even if it takes help.”
“Ah, Milady,” her servant, Angelus, said from the other side of the door. “A man Freya spared brought a message. She said something about being a mouse in the shadows waiting to bite you. And, General, sir, someone calling herself Hedwig the Sea Witch said to tell you ‘Hello.’”
Pompey perked up. “Hedwig, the maid with the incredible tits. Spare that one. I want her taken alive if possible.”
“You are all making a mess of this,” said a feminine voice. The door was thrown aside, revealing a serving woman. Her hair had been shorn like the other women. A chicken was tucked protectively in her arms.
“Who are you to be so brazen?” Odilia demanded.
“It isn’t for you to question,” the woman said. “Freya is alone, without Siegfried. Now is the time to strike, but I suggest you heed me if you want to succeed. You’re also going to need the potion I brought.”
Defiance and a gift from a stranger. This was the one the Beautiful One had told Odilia to expect, was it not?
****
“Why did Woden make that remark about not trying to be Ard Righ himself?” Siegfried asked as he, Balder and Hedwig rode along in Balder’s carriage. He wanted clarification on this matter.
“Woden may appear oblivious at times, but he is well-liked,” Balder said as he tuned his lyre. “He frequently hosts social events, so it is a grave insult if one is refused an invite. Had Woden joined the Great War on Balor’s side, he would have pulled much of Lugh’s support. If he’d started a third side, he would have taken a lot of people from both. I think Lugh is afraid that Father might one day decide he wants to be Ard Righ. Having Freya wed to one of Lugh’s people would ensure he never would.”
Woden was not guaranteed a victory if he decided to pursue greater power, but he could make things miserable and difficult for Lugh. On a whim.
“At least her marriage to MacMidhna was avoided. He is called the Puppeteer for good reason. He’s always surrounded by his henchmen made of straw and cloth, the Masked Ones.” Balder paused a moment to contemplate the strings of his lyre. “They move on their own, doing his bidding. But he also has the power to control others’ movements with strings of magic.”
Siegfried shuddered, imagining that man forcing Freya to do things with him, having her under his complete control. A good thing he had not brought Freya. MacMidhna, desperate for a female, might have made her do something to incriminate herself so he could apprehend her. It was easy to see how a man with MacMidhna’s powers could have contrived something like the Marks of the Condemned.
It seemed it was Woden’s reputation that kept Freya safe. But what of Hecate? How was Hecate, a Fomori, able to go about as she pleased?
“Lugh’s afraid of Hecate, isn’t he?” Siegfried said.
“Hecate used Oblivion without becoming truly tainted by it. She was able to stop. No one’s ever done that.” Balder gave Siegfried a half-smile and reached into his cape. “Speaking of Freya, read this.” He set the scroll on Siegfried’s lap.
Siegfried had no idea what he was going to learn about Freya from the damned scroll. He poured himself a goblet of wine and was thankful that Balder and Hedwig were on the opposite side of the carriage from him.
He didn’t want to know much more about her, didn’t want to know what went on in her head. It had made her more appealing, knowing that she’d agreed with his cause instead of supporting Rome. He was still angry with her for lying to him after he’d revealed himself. It proved she could not be trusted.
But if she’d told me how she felt, if I’d believed even a word, I would have cheated myself out of that time with her. That’s why she kept lying, isn’t it? Still, it would have been better for her if her first experience had been different.
As he read, he realized exactly why no one had answered his questions about the scrolls, why Freya had gotten so red in the face when they were mentioned. The hero in the tale was an outlaw, fighting against a power-hungry empire. The heroine was a beautiful noblewoman. This did not surprise him, but it did frighten him a little. She really did care for him or at least her idea of him. He slowed when the hero of the story, Bow, had the female alone. How had Freya imagined her meeting with him would be?
Swan wanted to clasp her hands over her breasts, but cold irons kept them firmly above her head. Each time she tried to move, the manacles reminded her just who was in control, and it was not her.
Here it would come…this Swan would fight against Bow and be the one to chain him, tame him. This was beginning to sound erotic, at least for him.
There was a certain vulnerability to being naked like this with a fully-clothed male standing over the bed. He had removed his black tunic to reveal the dips and swells of his muscles as the boat rocked on the dips and swells of the sea. His black breeches hung low on his hips, two cutlasses resting there. The weapons he had used to cut her clothing from her trembling flesh in two slices. His other blade strained at the laces of his breeches.
He grabbed her ankles and wrenched her thighs apart with a growl. “Let’s see what your family has kept locked away so well, see if that little pussy is so valuable.”
Her slick folds dripped at his words and she knew he could see her reaction to him, what he was doing.
Freya knew he liked harem ballads. Was this why she’d written this? Reading this gave him chills. It had been so like what he’d done to her.
“But not just yet,” Bow said, pulling away. She bit her lip to fight off a moan, watching through her lashes as he lifted the lid of a mahogany box with gilt scrollwork on the lid.
That box sounded awfully familiar…
The pirate removed what she at first thought were two sets of pearl earrings. Was this really the time to give her such a gift? She didn’t want that, not now. She was impatient, but she’d not let him know.
He plumped her left breast in his palm before biting her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp, sending heat spiraling from her breast to between her legs. Her eyes rolled back in her head. He clamped one of the pearl rings on a taut nipple. Her breast grew heavy with sensation. He performed the same service to her other breast with the same matter-of-fact demeanor. Was he unmoved by this? No, no, his cock was straining at his laces. It must be that he was better with self-control. She could not keep from moaning, lifting her hips from the mattress.
Nipple clamps, eh? In one of those wooden boxes… It had been obvious Freya had gone to Ulf a lot. How else would Freya know of such things? The damned woman had been purchasing these items to develop her fantasies? He was curious to see what happened next, even though part of him demanded he put the scroll aside. Then he thought of her piercings and continued.