Chapter 34

Bard stared at Freja, held roughly by her hair, the knife pressing hard against her throat. Jurgen's smile was cold, cruel and satisfied. He was a master of escape, it seemed, and yet again, he knew he had them exactly where he wanted them.

Bard waited for the fury to crash over him like a wave, to wash away the utter, abject panic that filled him from head to toe and fill him instead with the numbness he needed to act, but it didn't come. He waited for the blind rage to replace the terror, but instead the terror only grew. The only thing that he could feel was the wretched fear that Freja would be taken from him, and it was undoubtedly the worst thing he had ever felt.

Slowly, he got to his feet and took a step towards Jurgen.

'I don't think so,' Jurgen hissed. 'She isn't very pretty to begin with, but my knife in her face won't help.'

But Bard didn't intend to put up a fight. Instead, he killed the remnants of his pride and slowly dropped to his knees. He held up his hands, palms facing out in surrender, and looked up desperately.

'I'll do anything,' he rasped. 'I'll do anything you ask of me. Just – please, let her go.'

Jurgen's triumphant sneer widened. 'Bard Girionsson on his knees,' he said mockingly. 'Now there's a sight for sore eyes.'

Freja's face was bloodless and drawn. Bard watched her shut her eyes briefly, and a tear slipped down her cheek. He felt as though the dagger had been plunged into his own heart.

'Jurgen!' he said, his voice growing louder. 'Let her go!'

'What happened to the begging?' Jurgen asked, his coy voice filled with mock disappointed. 'What happened to the please? I was enjoying it a lot more.'

'Come now, Jurgen,' Stefan said reasonably, stepping forward. 'We're all friends. We've worked on the same boat for years, sweated under the same sun, sailed on the same waters. Let's be sensible about this situation, before anyone does anything they might regret.'

Bard stared at Jurgen with hopeful desperation, but Jurgen only snorted.

'You think that'll work with me?' he said. 'I'm not simple like you lot. I know you'll turn on me the second this knife is lowered.'

'Stefan has a point though,' Hans spoke up, his voice forcibly level. 'You can't stand there forever with your knife to Freja's throat. We need to come to some kind of agreement so we can all go our separate ways.'

Jurgen's eyes gleamed. 'Agreement?'

'Aye,' Bard said quickly, getting to his feet. 'Aye, an agreement. I'll give you all the coin I have, give you half of my catch every day. I'll fix up your house, wash for you, clean for you, anything. What do you want?'

'Money,' Jurgen said simply, and his lack of shame made Bard blink. 'I want silvers, a lot of them. And the boat will belong to me – only to me. And half the fish we take in will be mine, every day.'

'Done,' Stefan said immediately. 'We'll pay you handsomely in silvers, and the boat is yours. Will you let the girl go now, lad?'

'This feud will be forgotten,' Jurgen added, tightening his grip in Freja's hair and making her whimper. 'Every grievance that any of you have against me – you especially, Bard – will be dropped.'

'Done,' Bard agreed frantically. 'Now please, let her go.'

Jurgen hesitated. 'What's to stop you from turning around and taking this to the Master at the first chance you have?' he asked suspiciously.

'We're men of our word,' Stefan said. 'Besides, what proof do we have? For all the Master knows, we could just be four lying men.'

Jurgen frowned. 'Four?' he said. 'But there are only three of you.' Hans and Bard turned to peer into the shadows, and Stefan blinked.

'Kristoff…?'

Without warning, Kristoff materialised from the darkness behind Jurgen and smashed him over the back of the head with his sizeable fist. Jurgen grunted and pitched forwards. Freja was flung from his grip, and Bard immediately yanked her to safety by his side, holding her so tightly it was almost painful. She buried her face into his shoulder and clung to him, letting out a sob of relief.

When he looked up again, Kristoff had the dagger pressed to a white-faced Jurgen's throat.

'Well,' Hans said with deadly satisfaction. 'This changes things.'

'Don't hurt me,' Jurgen gasped. 'Don't hurt me, I've done nothing wrong…'

'Coward,' Bard said, and spat at his feet. 'No punishment is bad enough for you, Jurgen the fucking coward.'

'Just let me go,' Jurgen whimpered. 'I'll pay you! You'll never need for anything again!'

Hans, Stefan and Kristoff looked to Bard for a decision.

He hesitated. The overwhelming fear had ebbed once Freja was safe, and he felt the itch to take the dagger from Kristoff and plunge it into Jurgen's heart. Revenge would taste sweet, and it was so, so close. But at what cost would it come?

He glanced down at Freja, and as if she sensed his thoughts, she shook her head slowly.

'Please don't kill him,' she whispered. Snowflakes drifted down to gently land in her hair as she watched him with wide, earnest eyes that were still red from crying. He gritted his teeth, and made his decision.

'Justice shall be done,' he said at last, pulling reluctantly away from Freja and stepping towards Jurgen, who tried to shy away but was stopped by Kristoff. 'But between the Master and his cronies, you will find no punishment in Esgaroth. It will have to come from me.'

'Please don't kill me,' Jurgen whined, echoing Freja's words from before. Bard's lip curled in distaste.

'Death is too good for you,' he said. 'You will leave Laketown tonight, and never return.'

Jurgen's eyes widened. 'What? But where can I go?'

'Knock on the dragon's door for all I care,' Bard replied. 'But if I hear of your name, or catch scent of you in these parts again, you will become reacquainted with my dagger.' He stepped in, uncomfortably close to Jurgen's face. 'And I do not make idle threats,' he added in a whisper. Jurgen nodded his understanding frantically, and Bard backed off, satisfied.

'Let me get my coat and some food, I beg you,' Jurgen said once Bard was at a safe distance.

Bard looked thoughtful. 'Where do you keep your coin?'

Jurgen's face hardened for a moment, but then his mask went back on. 'In the top drawer in the kitchen,' he said. 'It's all yours.'

'Right,' Hans said. 'And where's the rest of it?'

Jurgen clenched his jaw. 'There is no more…'

'We'll find it,' Stefan said with confidence. 'Come along, Bard, let's have a look, shall we?'

There were a few odd coins in the top drawer in the kitchen, but the rest of Jurgen's small fortune was in a wooden box underneath his bed. Bard caught his breath when he lifted the lid.

'This must be at least five hundred silvers,' he breathed.

'It'd rival the dragon's own hoard,' Stefan agreed, eyes wide. 'Bard, my lad, it's all yours.'

'Jurgen owed Freja's father nine hundred silvers,' Bard said grimly. 'For the first time in his miserable life, the rat will pay off at least some of his debt.'

When they returned to the others, Jurgen saw the chest in Bard's arms and cringed. Bard smirked darkly at him.

'Time to go, Jurgen,' he said.

'We won't miss you on the boat,' Hans added airily.

'Please don't write,' Stefan chimed in.

Kristoff released him, and Jurgen breathed out deeply, putting a hand to his throat. 'You're making a mistake,' he hissed. 'You've made a dangerous enemy today. Watch your backs, for I will return!'

But before he could blink, Bard closed the space between them and stopped with his face inches from Jurgen's.

'Be careful you do not make a mistake,' he replied, his voice low and deadly. 'If you ever see me again, it will be the last thing you see.'

'Kristoff and I would be happy to escort him to shore,' Stefan said cheerfully. 'Come along, lad.'

Kristoff and Stefan each took one of Jurgen's arms and dragged him away. They rounded the corner and were gone from sight.

Behind Bard, Freja collapsed to her knees and began to sob, her face in her hands. He caught his breath and knelt beside her, taking her wrists and gently pulling them down.

'Freja,' he said, his voice breaking. 'Freja, love…'

'I'm s-sorry,' she sobbed. 'I know he's g-gone, I know it's – it's over…'

'You're right,' he said, taking her in his arms and holding her gently. 'It's over. It's over. He's gone, forever, and he can't hurt you anymore. He never will again.'

He stroked her hair and brushed tears from her face as they knelt there in the falling snow, in the flickering light of Hans' torch, until her shaking began to calm and her tears slowed. She pulled back and wiped her cheeks.

'It's really done,' she whispered, her voice laden with relief. He felt something inside him crack.

'Freja, love, I'm so, so sorry. There are no words I can say to convey how sorry I really am…'

She shook her head, frowning. 'Bard, none of this was your doing.'

'If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have had a knife at your throat tonight,' he said, feeling his own tears threatening. 'If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have fallen ill and lost the child. If it wasn't for me, your father would be alive, and you could have kept your home. Freja, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have been – been raped and left for dead, and I'm so sorry –'

'Bard,' she whispered, reaching out to cup his cheeks and pull his forehead down to touch hers. 'If it weren't for you, we would never have met. I love you.'

Bard's eyes widened, and his heart stilled. 'Why?' he whispered, the only word coming to his lips. 'How could you possibly love me?'

'Every terrible thing that has happened to me – to us – has brought us together,' Freja said, her hands still warm on his face. 'And I am glad of it.'

The thing that had snapped in his chest before suddenly became whole again, and Bard surged forward to press his lips to hers. They were cold and tasted like tears, but the kiss was searing and passionate and desperate and filled with burning relief. He knew it was neither the time nor the place, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away.

'I love you,' he breathed against her. 'I love you.'

She tilted her head up and deepened the kiss, and this time it was sweet and tasted of hope and promises.

'I'd ask you to marry me,' he murmured when they separated. 'But we already did.'

'I'd say yes,' she whispered, 'if you did.'

'I feel like I shouldn't be here,' Hans said loudly, and they both glanced up to see him grinning widely. 'Isn't there a more comfortable place to stage this little catch up?'

'You're awful,' Bard said with a half-smile, getting to his feet and offering his hand to help Freja up.

'I know,' Hans said. 'But I'm also cold. Let's go.'

Arm in arm, they followed Hans and the torchlight back to the house, and to the children, and to warmth, and to each other.


This chapter was brought to you by the 40% choc-chip bikkies from Coles, which (in addition to your reviews) are the only reason I made it through this week. S