I was not certain about sailing with a woman, but it is a rare opportunity to join a new crew.
The older captains take on only their cronies.
She can fight.
A rare compliment that, to be either topped or spoiled entirely by the one that came after.
She scarce seems like a woman.
Did Hulda not wish to be a woman? She had put all such things away from her, had she not? Driven by the relentless, inborn desire to look after herself, defend herself so that no one might ever be lost for her sake.
But ja, shewasa woman, and upon rare occasions, and though she’d never admit it, enjoyed looking at a man.
She had enjoyed the kiss she had taken from Quarrie MacMurtray.
Since they’d worked on theFreya, hidden away in Frode’s narrow inlet, no one in the greater settlement knew what theywere about. Not until the afternoon they sailed her around to take a berth in the main harbor.
A gray day it was, with rain clouds stealing in from the west and not a breath of air stirring. They came in under the power of the oars and strong young backs, and in that regard Hulda was impressed by her crew.
On every voyage she’d taken in the past, there had been complaints from men taking up the oars, especially older men. This crew, enthused and energetic, did not seem to mind.
The harbormaster watched them come in, joined by the aging warriors who hung about the place and anyone else on hand. A strange boat coming in always drew attention. Some there recognized this vessel; some did not.
The harbormaster, a man named Hans who was close to Jarl Gudmund, stood with his arms akimbo and a scowl on his face.
“We will not get a good berth,” Hulda said, standing next to Garik at the rudder.
“Who cares?” He tossed his head. “So long as they know we have arrived.”
They did that. As soon as harbormaster recognized them, he directed them to a far slip and continued to glower.
When they came ashore in a group, he cried, “What is all this? No one informed me a new vessel would be taking up space.”
“She is theFreya,” Garik’s brother informed him.
“I can see that. Battered she was, and barely seaworthy.”
“She is seaworthy now,” Hulda told him. “Under my command.” She met his stare with a cool eye.
Someone in the gathered crowd scoffed. The harbormaster did not. Too close to the jarl and thence to Faðir he was, though Hulda did not doubt the story would soon reach Faðir’s ears.
Indeed, a hint of respect lit in the harbormaster’s eyes as he looked around at the crew. This was how thingswere done in their world. Men—and apparently women—seized opportunities.
“A young crew,” he commented, shooting another hard look at Hulda.
“And a capable one,” she returned, causing chests to swell.
“Does your faðir know of this, Hulda Elvarsdottir?”
She lifted her chin. “What has it to do with my faðir?”
She found out that evening when she was summoned to Faðir’s house by one of his servants, who ran her to ground in the ale hall.
“Mistress Hulda,” said the steward, who had known her from childhood, “your faðir requests your presence.”
“I am too busy right now. Tell him I will come when I can.”
“Mistress, he bade me tell you it is important.”
