“Frida has no interest in you, Fritjof,” he replied. “You are too old for her. Leave her alone.”
Fritjof had come up close and stuck his face right in front of Torsten’s. “What I do is none of your business,” he said in a menacing tone. “If I wish to take Frida to be my wife, I will. You cannot stop me.” He paused. “And if you try, you will be sorry,” he added.
Torsten got the message. His interference was unwelcome and Fritjof would be willing to harm him. But he was worried about Frida. What would happen to her if Fritjof somehow managed to force her to marry him?
Frida hummed a little tune as she gathered eggs from the chickens and put them in her basket. Her dark hair was tied back with a strip of cloth and her cheeks were glowing with good health. She was thinking about what to prepare for the evening meal. Perhaps they would have some egg; the chickens had been generous today. She rounded the corner from the chicken coop and found someone standing in the pathway. She gulped back a scream.
“Frida,” Fritjof said, coming close to her.
She could feel his hot breath on her face and took a step back. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
“Do not run away, Frida,” he said, leering at her. “I think it’s time we had a little talk.”
She yanked her wrist from his grasp and stifled a scream.
“There is nothing to talk about,” she choked out and bolted away from him to the safety of the house.
That evening, Alfonso appeared while she was preparing the evening meal.
“We have a guest for dinner,” he told her. “Make sure there is enough food.”
“Who, Father?” she asked innocently.
“Fritjof.”
Her blood froze. “No, Father! Not him!”
“Why? He is a nice man!”
“No, he is not! He frightens me!”
“Nonsense! It is I he came to see, not you. Be gracious to him.”
That evening, Frida sat with her family at the table as was their custom. Fritjof, the honoured guest, sat opposite her. She had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. Every time she raised her eyes, he was looking at her, his eyes intense and watchful. She felt as if she were being hunted in the safety of her own home. Worse, no one else seemed to notice. Her skin crawled and she felt nausea rising from the pit of her stomach.
A few days later, Frida was walking along the road to the center of the village. It was another sunny day and her heart was light until she saw Fritjof walking towards her. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be helping Halvar establish the new village?
“Frida,” he greeted her.
She mumbled a reply and tried to duck around him but he stood in front of her and blocked her path.
“Let me pass,” she told him.
“Not until we talk,” he replied.
“There is nothing to talk about, Fritjof. Let me pass.”
He stood looking at her for a long moment. “Very well. You do not want to talk to me. Then we shall have to do this the hard way.”
“Do what?”
He gave her a lecherous grin. “You will find out soon enough,” he replied enigmatically. “Your little friend Torsten will not be happy.”
Frida had no idea what he was talking about or why he made mention of Torsten but her heart clutched with fear at his words. She was certain he had evil plans for her.
That evening, she confided in Sigrid after they were in bed.
“Have you noticed Fritjof?” she asked.
“Not particularly,” Sigrid replied. “Why?”
“He scares me,” Frida confessed.
“What has he done?” Sigrid asked in alarm.
“He grabbed my wrist when he found me by the chicken coop. He told me we had to talk. And he would not leave me alone when Kaarina and Landwulf and Halvar and Eira got married.”
“I am sorry, I did not notice,” Sigrid said. “But I will watch now that you have told me. I hope he just stays away from us.”
“I do not think he will,” Frida said. “He told me today that if I will not talk to him, we will have to do this the hard way.”
“Do what?”
“I know not. He would not tell me. But I am afraid of what he might do.”
The following day, Frida was again preparing the evening meal when Minna came in.
“Fritjof will be joining us,” she said. “Prepare extra.”
“Again?”
Minna looked at her sternly. “We never refuse hospitality to guests,” she said. “Fritjof is a nice man. Be friendly to him.”
“But Mother …”
“No arguments, Frida,” Minna said. “He will be joining us and if he wishes to do so tomorrow, then he may. He is proving to be a good friend to Father.”
Frida’s heart sank. She’d been hoping that Minna would at least listen to her misgivings but that hope had been dashed. She would have to rely on Sigrid to be her ally in her attempts to avoid Fritjof.
That evening, Frida once more endured Fritjof undressing her with his eyes. He was again seated across the table from her, in the vacant place occupied by Landwulf before he’d married Kaarina. She made the mistake of stretching out her feet under the table. Immediately, he put his foot on top of hers, pinning it down. She jerked her foot away with an involuntary little squawk. All eyes turned to her.
“Have you a problem, Frida?” Minna asked, censure in her tone.
Fritjof’s eyes bored into her, threatening her if she dared to utter a word of complaint.
“No, Mother,” she murmured, but not before she caught Sigrid’s eye.
“Then let us hear
