For Milady

TWENTY SIX: Betrayal

TWENTY SIX: Betrayal

Over the next couple of weeks, Astrid saw more of Chief Torgeir than she would have expected. As she regained her strength, she began to walk around the village and beyond, finding a small clearing with a couple of hardened and lightning-blasted tree trunks that would do as a training ground. She still rested and found that especially in the afternoon, Thumper wanted his rest. But despite her need for more rests, she she forced herself on, walking, running and finding a suitable staff to practice the movements for her axe. And she became more aware that the villagers were beginning to acknowledge her, eyes flicking up to inspect her as she walked through the increasingly-familiar geography of the village but the sensation of eyes trailing her was something she found intrusive.

Torgeir visited every day and insisted that she dined with him. The first time he had women bring in what seemed to be a feast, Astrid had been embarrassed and had wanted to decline but he had gently but firmly insisted that it was his wish as Chief-and the she, as guest, should accept his hospitality. It would be insulting if she didn't, after all. So she had accepted with good grace, savouring the well-prepared food and enjoying the company she was offered. Torgeir was charming and attentive, his tales of his exploits in battle interesting to the young woman though she found herself mentally comparing him with the self-effacing and brilliant Night Fury Rider who owned her heart. But she smiled and nodded at the correct points in the tales and made sure she laughed at his quips because her instincts told her that he was not a man who took criticism well. The memory of the brief flash of offence as she laughed at him in the Arena was probably the strongest clue in a man whose behaviour had otherwise been exemplary.

He seemed fascinated that she had trained as a warrior and a Shield Maiden and his attitude had been mildly superior, implying her desire to be a warrior was charmingly old-fashioned and doomed to failure. To Torgeir, the notion that a woman could rival a man as a soldier was fantasy and his dismissal of her skills irked her no end. Old Astrid, back on Berk and secure in the love and acceptance of her friends and Tribe, would have yelled at him for being a chauvinistic ass and punched him but here, alone and vulnerable, she managed a pained smile. Sitting back, his attitude was as if he had won the argument and she had balled her fists but said nothing, wondering what he would make of the fiery woman she was under her iron control. But back in her room-and visiting Stormfly-she had vented her frustration and paced back and forth, growling in her irritation. She had observed the village workings and realised that women did not seem to be taught weapons craft at all, being employed in 'traditional' roles as bakers, cooks, mothers and homemakers.

But she was regaining her strength and suppleness, though she missed having her axe and she hadn't wanted to broach the subject while she was finding her feet in the village, not being sure what their attitude would be to her having the weapon and whether she would be granted it. But once she had been there for almost three weeks, feeling accepted and more comfortable and she had done everything to regain her fitness without her weapon, she had waited until Torgeir had arrived to take her for dinner and then she had walked quietly alongside him.

"I have something to ask you, Chief," she began and he half-turned to her, the small smug smile lifting his lips. He gently touched her arm and she almost stiffened at the unwanted intrusion.

"Torgeir-please," he told her in an amused tone. "How many times do I have to ask?" She nodded and stared ahead for a few paces.

"I have something to ask you, Torgeir," she repeated, her tone cool. "When I arrived, I was armed and when I checked my packs, I found my axe, my knives and my other weapons were missing." His eyebrow quirked.

"Really?" he teased her and she stopped dead, her eyes flashing.

"Yes!" she snapped. "I know the contents of my packs-and I know that someone rifled through them, removing items that I need. Not to mention my primary weapon, my axe which was made for me by my best friend." And the man I love. Torgeir frowned.