The End of The Cursed

‘Visions do not have clear timelines. A thing that appears to be tomorrow, could in fact be ten years hence. Be wary of what meaning you ascribe to such images.’ – Witches to the Wise

Freyr returned to his senses just as he returned to consciousness. He sat up and looked down at himself. He was whole and unburned. What had not been finished by Gilda’s tears had been finished by the transition. He was now a perfectly healthy, enormous bear. He tilted his nose into the breeze. He could tell what direction they had gone. Should he follow them? Rearden would figure out the secret that they had all been keeping if he did.

He sighed and got to his feet. It was not really a choice. He had to see Gilda and make sure she was alive and unharmed. She had healed the invading King before she had healed herself, and she could be terribly wounded. He could not hide in shadows and assess her from there. He needed to see her, to touch her, and to speak with her. His long muscular limbs were ready for a run. He broke into an easy lope across the rocky hillside. The only thing he needed to worry about now was the lack of cover. Lord Phillip was not the only man on Earth who owned a gun, and the sight of a bear running in the clear would send fear into the hearts of most who saw it.

The scent trail was obvious. No one smelled like Gilda, and everyone else smelled like soot. He came upon them almost without trying. They were sitting around a fissure of warm air. They all had so little clothing left that it made sense. The air was only 50 degrees and as naked as they were, it would have been freezing, especially as the King appeared to be in shock. Pelynor’s hands were shaking as he tried to force himself to light a small fire for warmth, but he seemed frightened of the sparks. Every time he struck one, he failed to help it catch. His whole body was trembling from the mental effort.

Gilda was helping Rearden to stretch his twisted body out alongside the largest vent. A thick vapor of steam gasped out of it every few seconds. He would be wet, but he would be warm. Freyr could guess that the man’s body did not circulate blood as well as a healthy one. He was more likely to be cold than the others were, despite having the most clothing remaining. Gilda glanced up when she heard the click of claws on the damp stones.

She leapt to her feet, but moved toward him slowly across the slick surface of the wet rocky ground. Everything that wasn’t slippery damp stones was slick pale green wet moss.

“You are you now my love aren’t you?” She asked him with a glance toward the sunrise breaking over the horizon. At least the arrival of the sun was going to warm them. He picked her up cautiously in his clawed arms and held her to his furry chest. She didn’t struggle or protest. She laid her golden head against him and wrapped her arms as far around his massive body as she could.

“Yes. I am entirely myself.” He answered, nosing her hair and exhaling warm breath onto it. Gilda grabbed fistfuls of his fur in order to keep herself tightly affixed to him.

“Stop getting yourself half killed.” He felt the wetness of new tears soaking through his fur.

“Enough of that. You will dehydrate yourself. I’m fine. Completely fine.” He reassured her.

Rearden rubbed his eyes. He could not be seeing what he was seeing. The girl was embracing her familiar with such tenderness… Then it spoke. It spoke in the voice of the crown Prince. It had never been a familiar. He inhaled audibly, so it was what he had thought…and then attributed to a smoke addled mind.

Freyr and Gilda turned toward Rearden. He must have figured it out. If he wasn’t smart enough to do that, he wasn’t worthy of his throne. Freyr bowed.

“Good to see you alive and well Majesty.” Freyr said, in case there was any need of clarification. Gilda clung to his arm nervously. She knew quite personally how hard this was to absorb. Surprising everyone Rearden threw back his head and laughed. It was a harsh and bitter sound.

“So this is your secret? You really are a Demon Prince!” His shoulders were jerking about spasmodically with his amusement. He shook his head. “Huh. I had wondered if it was albinism or porphyria or partial blindness – a sensitivity to light…any and all medical reasons for only being seen at night. I considered all of them. I never believed the rumors of curses, or vampirism or demons…yet here we are.” He laughed again.

“I’m not actually a demon. I’m just a man under a witch’s curse.” Freyr enlightened him. “No harm to you at all.”

“But you married a witch! Why would you marry the granddaughter of the woman who gave you such a monstrous curse?” Rearden glanced between the two of them with interest and confusion. “Ordinarily I would assume it was some strange attempt to punish her. There are plenty of ways to torment a woman who can’t legally get away from you-but that is clearly not the case. You actually care about this woman.” He raised his eyebrows. “I can make no sense of this situation.” Rearden did not enjoy being confounded.

“He married me to protect me from witch hunters. Incidentally, it was before either of us knew that my grandmother was the original witch.” Gilda paused. She might as well tell him all of it. “But she is not my true grandmother, just a woman who took me in when I was orphaned.” Gilda gripped Freyr’s furry arm reflexively, she was nervous about admitting this next part. “I am not in the end, a real witch. I have a few abilities, but those are because of spells that were cast upon me, not ones that I can cast alone. I don’t actually have any powers.” Admitting this in front of Pelynor and Rearden was exceedingly dangerous. She didn’t want to be tortured into producing tears for the rest of her life. If her powers, or lack of defensive powers, were ever known by many, neither she, nor anyone she loved enough to cry over would ever be safe. But after everything, it was only fair that he should know the whole story.

“All this time I thought that I was getting the better end of the bargain. A crippled King of a poor country marrying the Princess of a wealthy one with the power of many witches on its side? But that isn’t true. Not if your sister…”

“She does. Exactly the same as I do. Sun up and Sun down.” Freyr answered, his voice was contemplative and distant. “But the treaty burned, the marriage contract burned, the curate and the witnesses are likely all dead. You have the choice to escape this agreement and make war with my country if you would like. Now that you know the truth of what you’d be agreeing to, you might be grateful for this unfortunate circumstance.” Freyr was slumped to less than his usual 15 foot height as a bear. Gilda shook her head rapidly. She left Freyr’s side for the side of the King, she slid her arm under his in order to help him to his feet.

“The curse changes things of course, as does the fact that you are not a crippled King.” She touched his shoulder. “Look at your legs Majesty.” Gilda had spread her tears over almost the entire surface of the man while he had been unconscious and Freyr had been asleep. She had not known what the effects would be, but once the burns healed and his limbs were still twisted she had been disappointed. Healing his prior injuries was important, especially with the treaty now burnt. Thankfully it had just taken a bit longer for internal problems to heal.

“Why should I end our treaty?” Rearden looked down at his two straight, healthy flawless legs. He felt his hand along his twisted spine and found it even and well aligned. His shoulders were the same height again with no slump or angle at all. The witch had healed all of it? He leapt up to his feet in surprise, grasping her by the shoulders with both hands and kissing her cheeks. He simply could not believe it.

“You fixed me?” Looking down at himself he was incredulous. He was holding no cane and yet he was standing as tall and perfect as an arrow pointed at the sky. “You were burned so badly! Why did you heal me before yourself? Why did you do more than just heal the burns?” He asked. This angel could have died because of her delay in healing herself. She could have become dehydrated after such effort and been unable to heal her injuries at all!

“Because. The fire. It burned the contract, the treaty, the man who performed it, and the witnesses. You could have thought that Gyllene set the fire in order to kill you, weaken your country and avoid the alliance. Even the fact that we rescued you would prove nothing. It’s an old trick isn’t it? Almost kill, and then save the life of a hostage? I needed you to know that it wasn’t true. We have no desire to go to war with you or to conquer you. We only want peace.” Gilda said earnestly. Rearden shook his head as he knelt down in front of her.

“I will honor the contract, and the treaty. I would never go to war with a land willing to kill its Princess in an effort to save the life of its enemy…let alone for the mere purpose of fixing his ugly spine.” He took Gilda’s hand and kissed it fervently. “I swear fealty to the Princess Consort of Gyllene, to its Crown Prince and its King.” He rose again. It was clear to everyone that he meant his pledge in exactly that order. He looked at Freyr, and then at the rocks beneath him.

“You saved my life from the fire at great cost to you and to your bride. Without my added weight you would have run much faster. Thank you, for what you have done.” He looked chagrinned, eyes on the ground. “I will withdraw my armies. I would marry your sister regardless of any curse-but you do not have to offer her to me.” He turned to Freyr. “My country needs the dowry you offer, but you do not need my country. I will not make war against you, alliance or no. You may withdraw the offer without fear of repercussion. I was wrong to attempt to take what my country needed from yours. I will not make the mistake again.” Rearden bowed to the gigantic animal in front of him without feeling any awkwardness.

“Then we will leave the choice to Freya, when she arrives. Until then, you should still accompany us to the Keep. My father will want to discuss trade options to improve your country’s situation and sign a new treaty for lasting peace, regardless of your marital situation.” Freyr glanced down at Gilda’s scantily clad body…she was standing far too close to Rearden for his liking. “For now, we should all return to the Estate in order to send word to your armies of your survival, and to find everyone something to wear.” Rearden smiled.

“Indeed. I can’t make declarations of peace to you and then have my second in command begin marching on your lands because he fears I’ve been assassinated.” Gilda climbed up onto Freyr’s furry back carefully, her shorn off dress was not made for climbing. Pelynor and Rearden fell into place beside them, intending to walk back. They had no other choice as the horses had been either killed, or run off during the fire. The long walk would be a rare pleasure for Rearden, and one that he had not experienced for a very long time.

“How did the fire start?” Gilda asked as they began walking. “Did anyone see anything?”

“I just hope it wasn’t some strange attempt of my father’s to…” Pelynor began.

“It wasn’t.” Freyr said sharply. “Just an imprudent man, in a place he didn’t belong. This was an attempt on Gilda’s life…unrelated to the proxy marriage.” Gilda inhaled sharply. Freyr growled. “He will not be trying again.”

Gilda let go of her grip on Freyr’s shoulders, holding on only with her knees. She rested her face against his wiry fur. A dozen men had been killed, and a village’s entire yield destroyed, because of her. Phillip had actually managed to find them, and he had killed so many people…just to get to her. The sooner they got to the Keep, the better. She had been made wrong. Everything about her inspired destruction. She thought she had changed her mind about the next step. She didn’t want to do what Fairlight wanted her to, but how could she avoid it? Every day of her life brought new danger to Freyr’s. It was just as well that they were marching right into the end of it.

Freya hadn’t told Elias about the vision. She hadn’t told him, that while his noble refusal to take her to bed may have saved her homeland, it would ruin their chance at happiness. She didn’t want to see the sad, but resigned look on his face. He was a good enough man that he would try to ignore his own sadness in order to make her feel better. She didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on him. He shouldn’t have to try to comfort her when she was destroying his hopes.

She hadn’t told Frederick either. This was the sort of information that he would crow over. He would love teasing her in lurid and disturbing ways about the joys of marrying a crippled man. He would no doubt be desperately inventive and descriptive about how she would have to fulfill her wifely duties. She knew that if she told Frederick before she told Elias, it would be Frederick who’d make sure to tell him with great amusement and fanfare. If she told Elias first, then Frederick would be moody and sulk for the rest of the journey.

The best that she could do was to force them to travel a little faster, stay on the road a little longer into the dark, and start a little earlier in the morning. It would have to be soon enough. She couldn’t cajole them into getting there any more rapidly unless she confessed…which she didn’t plan to do. She had enough emotional pain to sort through without bringing any others into the mix. She wasn’t even sure if her nocturnal conversations were real! Although, the pine needles brushing at her thigh through the pocket of her dress spoke otherwise. She was lying to herself in order to prolong the inevitable.

Elias was boiling snow for drinking water by the fire they had made for the night. At this point they had to set a large fire at least an hour or more before setting out bed rolls for the men to sleep. Any less and the ground would be too wet or snowy. Xanthippe still took up very little space in the wagon, but that would be changing soon. She’d stopped being ill earlier in the week and had started eating as though she were the one who wanted to hibernate.

Freya watched Elias with a wistful expression. He’d grown thinner on their journey. Especially lately, as he kept giving part of his serving to Xan. Why did no one else think he was handsome? His sandy hair was thin, but such a pleasant color. His eyes were kindest she had ever seen, and his hands the gentlest. There was beauty in goodness, and Elias was full of it. Freya felt her heart tearing a little. Elias was ladling water into cups and setting them in the snow to cool. No one had asked him to do this, no one had ever had to give him a task. He just thought about what others would want or need and did it. The world would have no need for war-ending loveless marriages if people were more like him.

“Good evening Elias.” Freya laid a hand on his arm. He startled slightly. It had been a month since she had touched him with affection. He knew he had hurt her deeply when he had refused her.

“Good evening Freya.” He responded. He considered daring to brush a stray strand of her now wispy hair off of her face, and then thought better of it. She tucked it behind her ear. It was still too short to braid evenly after having been burnt off during the witch hunt.

“I have something that I need to tell you.” Freya sounded extremely reluctant. Frederick sat down next to the fire, and grabbed a glass of cold water without thanking anyone for the hour of effort that such a simple thing had taken.

“What is that?” He asked, crossing his legs at the ankle. Xanthippe sat on one of the logs he had brought over for that purpose. She was between him and Theodore without touching either of them. Freya sighed. She had not wanted so large an audience. Better this way in the end she supposed.

“We need to travel a little more swiftly, if it can be done safely.” Freya glanced inadvertently at Xanthippe, who seemed to shrink in on herself even more if possible.

“May I ask why?” Mr. Grant asked, almost putting his hand on Freya’s arm and then pulling it back. The audience was too large. There was also a fire, several sharp ended logs, and boiling water readily available if his affectionate gesture offended anyone present.

“Because we are needed in Gyllene with all expediency. War has been declared and…”

“How on earth would you know that Freya?” Frederick asked with great suspicion.

“Because our father keeps a witch now, our Aunt…and she is a Seer. She visited me in a vision the other night.” Freya was aware of how ludicrous all of this sounded. Frederick was already laughing.

“You get to call meetings based on a strange nightmare?” He chortled. “I could tell you all what I dreamt last night, but I think it might embarrass Xan.” Xanthippe blushed scarlet and walked angrily away toward the wagon. She was furious. Theodore got up and followed her silently. Frederick kept laughing without concern. “I knew you liked controlling everything, but inventing some sort of prophecy is beneath even you.”

“It’s true! She gave me a talisman to prove it. I swear to you that she gave me a vision and told me that we needed to return as soon as possible in order to prevent a war.” Freya tried to protest. Frederick shrugged.

“So what? We hurry back to assist them in forming an alliance how? I ride into battle on a great white charger and the army stops in its tracks? What? Is there a foreign Princess I am supposed to wed?” Freya blanched at his words and then blushed.

“No. No foreign Princess. Just a…”

“Foreign Prince.” Elias finished. He took her arm despite the possible consequences from her brother.

“Yes. My father would like me to marry the King of Twyle. I was supposed to, when I was younger…but it got called off when he was ill enough that it appeared he might die. It was thoroughly dispensed with when we disappeared I imagine.” Freya tugged the short end of her braid. “I don’t even know how such a thing is going to work, what with my curse. How could I be Queen of anything?” Freya sat down finally. The night sky, the fire, and the strip of white snow between it all, glowed so deeply and so beautifully. How could such a gorgeous night be filled with such intense sadness?

“Come with me.” Elias said pulling Freya up to her feet and attempting to lead her away from the fire. Freya followed him with great confusion. She glanced behind at Frederick sitting by the fire alone. His face was light like a ghoul in the firelight, angry and somehow, disappointed. There was no place for him in this rescue plot for their homeland.

“Where are we going?” Freya asked as she followed him deeper into the cold woods. They could not even see the glimmer of the fire now. It was cold enough to see your breath, and dark enough that the trees disappeared into night as if the whole woods were just a long black tunnel. She felt Elias’ hands on her waist and his lips against her ear.

“Which do you want more?” He asked, his voice hoarse. Even for her superior eyes it was dark.

“More than what?” Freya didn’t understand the question.

“The safety of your homeland, or a marriage to a man you know loves you - implicitly?” He asked. His voice was unusually intense, and desperate. He loved her and he had only one chance not to lose her. He hadn’t known how unwilling to give her up he was until it seemed unavoidable. He could not repeat his error of ten years previous; no man could do something so stupid twice.

“Marriage to a man I love.” Freya was beginning to understand what Elias was really asking. His hands were telling her without need for explanation. He was kissing her on the lips more fervently than he had ever done before. Freya returned his kisses passionately as she helped him to undress them as minimally as was possible in the icy night. He held her against the wide trunk of a tree to steady them. Together, they committed treason against the country of Gyllene. Twice.

Fairlight woke up in the dark. She was sweating profusely. She had been burning from the inside out. Echoes were trying to force their way out of her body through her very skin. She gasped for air reflexively. When you burn, the fire eats all the air and you suffocate even as you scorch. She grasped around the dark room for a match to light the oil lamp by her bedside. She found one at last, and the small flame blazed to life. She trembled slightly at the sight of fire, but then sighed in relief. She was in her bedroom at the Keep. Thick gray stone walls kept the snow and cold outside the room. The suffocating heat was only the heaps of furs and velvets that her maid had put over her after she was asleep. A beautiful wrought iron bed warmer had been slid between the sheets in a thoughtful gesture. Her maid could never understand why Fairlight’s skin was like death itself it was so cold. Fairlight shoved all the blankets and the warmer off. The icy night air felt wonderful on her skin. No one listened when she said that she needed to sleep without blankets or a bed warmer. The cold was the only way to sleep without the echoes. She would need to request a different maid again. If they could not obey her, she could not keep them. One of these nights it was going to take her life.

Fairlight sat up and grabbed her glass of water, draining it in one swallow. The fever was receding and she could breathe again without the scent of flesh and sulfur. She would like to be well-rested when her father arrived. It didn’t matter what the King wanted. She was going to kill Grigor the minute she had the chance. Patricide was only a crime when the man in question was less evil than her father was. Every time she thought that she could spare him, she was reminded that it was impossible by another echo. Unfortunately, she had other things to deal with besides Grigor’s impending murder.

Freya had just made a very stupid and very selfish mistake. Her marriage to the King of Twyle was important for her future, and the future of her country. Wasting her virtue on the milliner was pointless. He would not be able to give her what she wanted. Not only was the man infertile, but Freya’s curse made it impossible to fall pregnant as long as she endured it. Every morning and every evening she transformed into a fresh version of each form. No injury or alteration moved from one form to the next. It wouldn’t even be possible for the man’s seed to reach her womb before it changed physiology. As long as she was cursed, Freya was also sterile. Her brothers, being men, had no such limitations. The only part that they needed to remain human for, was over in a matter of minutes. The curse had been designed with men in mind, not women, which ironically made Freya’s curse that much worse. It was appropriate though, women did always suffer more for the transgressions of men.

Fairlight curled her hands into fists. Did no one understand that she was trying to prevent large scale war, massive numbers of murders, and the end of the Vanhelstad line? All her worst visions were coming true, despite her attempts to prevent them. It didn’t help that the King was getting worse. She made him draughts for his headaches, but they made little difference. Whatever was ailing him was coming to a crux and she did not know how to stop it.

Phillip was dead, and that was good. Yet, for all her obedience, Gilda had still managed to disappoint her. Fairlight hadn’t seen this problem arising until after Gilda’s intended death, but something had changed. Gilda had ceased to push her husband away at the absolute worst time. The King would notice when she arrived, and it might sway his resolve to kill her. It would certainly increase the possible vengefulness of Freyr. How could she make her plan work under these circumstances? All the little threads of the future waved in the wind, begging to be woven into a meaningful tapestry. If even one was pulled out, the picture would not be complete. None of them were obeying her, and it was going to cost all of Gyllene their lives.

Fairlight walked across the room to the door that adjoined hers and listened. The bear was awake too. It must be nearly evening. Her nightmare had not robbed her of as much sleep as she thought. She opened the curtains that preserved the false night and was greeted by a sun that was half set. She rubbed the scars on her arms as the draft from the window touched her skin. Good. She would not have to try to return to bed. She did not long for her youth like other women did. Her youth had only ever brought her intense pain, physical and otherwise.

Gilda finished drying her hair and dressing in a long white nightgown. It had taken forever to get the smell of soot out of her hair. Worst of all, the soot didn’t smell like the smoke of burned wood. It smelled much much viler than that. This was going to be her last bath for a long while, as they were leaving for the Keep first thing in the morning. Reaching the Keep was more important than waiting for Freya. Pelynor had proven that he could be trusted, so he could be left to wait and watch for her and the others. In order to quell all stirrings and rumors of war, Rearden needed to be a guest of the King of Gyllene as soon as could be arranged. They had to reach the Keep.

Messages to his troops and to his mother in Twyle had been dispatched. Provided that they reached the mountains safely and sent another missive, there would be no war. As a bear Freyr could make the trek more easily than an armament of horses. They would have only a small team of sturdy long coated mountain ponies to carry their supplies, and to pull Rearden’s carriage. Gilda understood the necessity of leaving again so soon, but after the trauma of last night she would have enjoyed remaining in luxury a bit longer. Gilda ran her hand over the soft blue velvet coverlet that had been put on the bed. It felt like water under her touch. She shivered slightly. She had lain face down in a stream of water just that morning, and had been fairly certain she was dying. Impulsively she pulled it off the bed and threw it onto the marble tiled floor. It slid across the polished surface until it came to rest against the far wall in a wave. The adjoining door next to it creaked open and Freyr came in. He had bathed and dressed for bed as well, in simple linen trousers.

“Freyr! I was just…” Gilda began before he beckoned her towards him.

“Come here.” His voice was firm. “I want you.” He abruptly grasped her in a lightening quick motion and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He kissed her hard on her open mouth. Gilda was surprised, near death experiences did not ignite her passion, but they seemed to have the opposite effect on Freyr. He pressed his burningly hot mouth to the curve of her neck as he tasted her mouth and skin.

“Why must you do everything in your power to get yourself killed?” He forced her up against the tapestried wall. Her back was firmly against the woven surface to the extent that she could feel the curves of the individual stones in the wall against her shoulder blades. He bit the neck of her nightdress at the shoulder and removed it with his teeth in one long tearing motion.

“I didn’t ask Lord Phillip to have murderous compulsions towards me!” Gilda protested. It was an unfair assertion. He just growled and wrapped her thighs more tightly around his waist, his fingers gripping her flesh possessively. Gilda wound her fingers into his long wavy hair as he bent his neck to kiss her chest.

“No. You didn’t. But you tried to save Rearden from the fire when you should have just run as fast as you could. If I hadn’t found you in time, you would have been burnt alive trying to drag his body away from the fire.” He was actually angry with her for that?! She couldn’t believe it. His tongue had found the tip of her breast and the pressure of his mouth on it was making it hard for her to form coherent thoughts.

“I couldn’t just let him die!” Gilda gave a slight gasp as Freyr bit her lightly. She inhaled sharply as he pulled it into his mouth, licking his tongue across the tip he held in his teeth. He made a low grumbling sound.

“Or be crippled? You healed his malformation before stopping to save your own life! Just put yourself first when it might be fatal for you not to…that’s all I ask.” His voice was low near her ear as he kissed her neck and throat again. He slid himself firmly inside her as he spoke with one abrupt lifting motion. Gilda exhaled in surprise, digging her heels into his back as he grasped the tapestry on the wall with one hand, wrapping the other around her waist.

“I’ve been told I think of myself far too often.” Gilda whispered with her lips against his shoulder. Her one arm snaked around his waist and clung to him while her free hand caressed the firm landscape of his chest. He put his forehead against the wall, his breath growing ragged with each fraught motion.

“Nothing could be further from the truth.” He gasped, his fingers curling more tightly around the roll of fabric he had gripped on the wall.

“You’re the one who said it.” She enfolded him securely with the lower half of her body, connecting him to herself like ink on paper. He groaned slightly as she brushed her fingertips against his chest, every part of him was taught with momentary tension.

“I was wrong.” He pulled hard on the tapestry behind them as he attempted to delve more deeply. It came free from the wall and would have fallen over them if Freyr had not been cursed with fast reflexes. Freyr swiftly stepped back and then brought her down onto its crumpled surface when it came to rest on the floor with a crash. Gilda almost cried out in fear and shcok, but Freyr would not tolerate distractions. He pressed his lips to her open mouth, stifling her scream before it escaped. A fevered desperation was building inside him that could not be diverted. His desire to connect himself completely to his dangerous little lover was all-consuming.

Heat throbbed in Gilda’s chest as Freyr increased his haste. Her limbs were suffused with intensity and she dug her fingers into his shoulders to steady herself as the feeling tore through her like a whirlwind. It left her shaking as he collapsed onto her motionless and heavy, tangled in an expensive woven picture of Aphrodite and Anchises. Freyr stayed on top of her, trapping her immobile beneath him. He kissed the top of her curls.

“Just stay safe on this next leg of our journey? No fires, no healing, no gunshot wounds. Promise?” He asked, still not allowing her an inch, his body anchoring every fraction of hers to the floor. Gilda nodded, pressing her face into the curve of his neck.

“I promise.” He rolled off of her then and tucked the lurid portrait around them.

“I will hold you to it.” He drew her head to his chest. Gilda closed her eyes against his skin. He sighed and stood up, taking her with him and carrying her to the large bed. He laid her on the silken pillow and laid himself alongside her. He tucked the remaining sheet over them. He didn’t ask about the missing blanket. The warmth of their entangled bodies was sufficient.

“Go to sleep Gilda, you didn’t sleep last night, and we have a long journey tomorrow.” Gilda leaned on her elbow in order to look at him. He was not usually so easily satisfied. She ran her fingertips down his naked torso.

“This is the last time in several weeks that we will have a bed, and no audience.” Gilda whispered against his throat. Her lips were making their way across his shoulder. He gripped her wrists and pressed her back to the mattress.

“Sleep. Any more of this and I will not be able to stop from keeping you up all night. You can’t stay awake two nights in a row.” He said firmly as if there was no room for discussion. Gilda continued her hand’s progression down his body until it could make a wordless argument of its own for staying up later.

Freyr growled. The girl was getting bolder. She had lived with animals too long. Her firm, insistent fingers were impossible to ignore. Her soft mouth kissed the harder muscles of his chest. Damn. He had honestly wanted to ignore his own tireless wants, and let the girl rest. He groaned as he rolled her underneath him.

“Stop it.” He held her immobile with his weight. “Do I have to restrain you like this in order for you to sleep?” The scent of Gilda’s hair filled his nose as he remained on top of her. He couldn’t persist like this another moment without taking things in a different direction.

“I’m sorry.” Gilda sounded ashamed, embarrassed, deflated. Freyr could feel Gilda go limp underneath him. She was not struggling to continue her amorous intentions or to free herself. He had not expected her to acquiesce so quickly. He rolled off of her and lay beside her. He kissed the top of her head. His body was now in agony from the rousing she had done to it.

“Goodnight.” He whispered. Gilda said nothing. Was she already asleep? He leaned over her cautiously in order to look at her face. Oh hell. How was it possible that she was once again convinced that he did not desire her? Her face was a tight white line of closed eyes and lips pressed together. Damn. A few hours of sleep would have to do. It wasn’t as if he could sleep with his every muscle as taut as a harp string anyway. He turned Gilda back to him and kissed her closed lips firmly and forcefully.

“Wake up.” He drew her underneath him with warm hands. “I changed my mind, there is more I want from you.”