ashandquiet

[ashandquiet]

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 5: Soirees and Reunions

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: Another chapter from Soma's pov, here we get further insight into what the Duke herself was doing between chapters 2 thru 4. We return to reader pov in chapter 6 *blows kiss* Sorry for the long lapse in updates, I have been battling some health issues since last November, and coupled with the need to work I haven't had the time to update. In September after a short hospitalization, I was diagnosed with stage 2 lymphoma and I am now working on finishing this fic in between my cancer treatments.

Read it on Ao3

The masked ball had been Birna’s idea;

They had been sitting in the rear parlor, the last golden light of afternoon being disrupted by pallid clouds. 

After Birna had found Soma amid her panic attack, laid out on the floor like a fool, they had agreed not to speak of it. It was neither the first, nor would it be the last, and that was known enough to the pair of them. Soma briefly explained the encounter in the field to an enraptured Birna who Soma pleaded with to remain silent about the full affair. 

When Lif had returned from the grain market, tea was brought in and the three of them entered their usual companionable silence. Birna laid out on the sofa that was strictly her perch, the ugly red thing brought from their townhouse in London. Lif sat at the pianoforte where he would occasionally tink along the keys. Soma sat where she always sat, at the tea table, in her chair beside the window where she could look out at Cambridgeshire and ponder. This was their way, a simple afternoon routine.

Birna gave a big huff sliding down in her seat into a slumped position, “The country life is beginning to bore me to tears Soma. We should host a party, a ball, like the ones we had in the city. Think of it, we invite all the silly people of this silly county and we have a ball.”

Lif’s hands slipped discordantly on the ivory keys, “A ball? Whatever for. Surely not the public kind.”

Soma had spared a glance at her companions, the two of them would begin bickering soon if she didn’t speak. Yet her thoughts still romped the fields of Norfolk. She was both within and without. Her mind swirled about the woman, all sense left with her handkerchief, she should have offered the woman a ride home, wherever home may have been. 

As Lif began to gripe about expenses, Birna tittered at him like a silly bird and rose to her feet stalking towards Soma’s chair in her great lumbering bear-like gait. 

“Think of it Soma, music, dancing, the halls all lit with candles and filled with flowers, we decorate it like a great temple, we feast and drink like gods once again,” Birna crooned in Soma’s ear leaning over her shoulder like some wily serpent. 

Soma waved her away with a hand, “I’m in no mood Birna.”

“Don’t push the issue Birna, we should wait to spend any excess expenses till after the tenant farms have all had their harvest,” Lif reasoned.

Birna swung around the front of Soma’s chair with a great dramatic sigh rising to her full height and striding to the windows, “I suppose you’re right, but both of you have no appetite for fun.”

”I have no need for fun Birna, yet if you are so restless, we can play a game of cards if you want fun,” Lif reasoned. “We can even take bets if you think you need them.”

Soma watched the tall dark-haired woman as she began to smirk and glanced at Soma out of the corner of her eye. She had taken on an almost evil glean, she was too clever and cunning.

“Think of this Soma, if we invite all the ladies of this county and the next, anyone titled and land holding, our friends and associates, surely your mystery woman is bound to show up,” Birna puzzled, her voice dripping with mirth. 

“What mystery woman,” Lif questioned looking between the two ladies, his brow raised. 

“Soma ran a woman over with her horse, and she has fallen in love,” Birna teased and Soma shushed her standing. 

Soma could not deny that Birna had made a great plan, sometimes she was too clever. The chances of meeting the woman from the field again rose from near uncertainty to some feasible chance, if they were to offer an invitation to most of Cambridgeshire and Norfolk. She began to pace, yet despite all this there was still no way that she could foresee herself being able to find the woman amongst all the people of the shire that a public ball would bring to her doorstep. 

 “How will I know if she is here if I never learned her name,” Soma asked, looking towards her clever friend. “Introductions are almost always required at balls. And the number of people it will bring through my doors, you know how particular people can be.”

Birna knit her brows together sucking on her teeth, and almost as quickly as she had begun pondering she grinned wildly, “We make it a masquerade! Everyone will come dressed in finery masks upon their faces, and the fools will be scared away by the naked maidens in the fountain. All you have to do is look for ladies with injured wrists and, voila! Your mystery woman is found.”

Lif scoffed at her from his perch at the piano, Soma knew he thought Birna a fool. And a fool she may well be, but Birna always seemed to come up with the most harebrained plans. 

“What of invitations, and when? the summer season ends soon and people will be returning to their homes, she could be gone if we hold off too long,” Soma reasoned, folding her arms across her chest. 

“Word of mouth, tomorrow we ride out and invite our friends and their friends, we go to houses, make inquiries, spread the news. And while we do that our dear friend Lif here can hire caterers and servers. Surely a week's time shall be enough notice?” 

“Surely not! Do you not understand how much time and money goes-” Lif was cut short by Soma who cleared her throat. 

“Make it happen, Lif,” Soma commanded, her word final. “It needn't be grand, just nice enough for guests.”

Lif huffed and nodded rising from his seat, “Then I’ll inform the staff, I will see you two at supper.”

Birna slung her arm around Soma’s shoulder then, “We will find your mystery woman my friend don’t you fear.”

ꕥ

Despite her own reservations and Lif’s protestations, the party had come together just like they planned. 

Food filled the tables, and waiters walked about with trays of drinks and ices. Birna had managed to find a quartet to play dances and had situated them in the main ballroom under the frescoes of valkyries that decorated the ceiling. Flowers purchased from a hot house decorated the halls, permeating the air with a dreamlike floral haze. Soma’s home glowed warm and inviting to her guests as they filtered through the doors despite the summer rains. People dressed in finery and frill, masked and shimmering filled her halls with laughter and all other exuberant sounds of life. 

A few of her friends and acquaintances made pains to seek her out and inquire as to why she was hosting such an opulently decorated hastily planned soiree. Soma just smiled and brushed them away with excuses of making rounds about the party encouraging her guests to enjoy themselves. 

After a leisurely pass through each open room to ensure her guests were more than enjoying themselves, Soma turned to a parlor room for a slight reprieve. It was just as she entered the room that a woman swished out the opposite door with haste, dropping a handheld mask in her wake. 

Her curiosity piqued Soma approached the abandoned mask and watched as the woman darted out onto the terrace. She snatched up the shimmering mask examining the beaded wristlet at the end of the handle as she followed the woman’s path. 

It was there in the darkness she found the woman, leaning against a column, the scant light from the sky illuminating her figure. As Soma approached and scanned her form she spoke; but the words failed her.

In the woman’s hands, she held a familiar square of worn fabric, and her wrist was wrapped as if it were injured. Soma paused, emotion washing over her. Was her search at its end? She beheld the woman before her, eyes almost misty, as if they threatened to fail her, all faculties abandoning her, Soma choked on the words; “Dove… is that you…?”

The pause was deafening, the air between the pair of them thick enough to be cut with a knife, yet Soma dared not move. It wasn’t until the woman spoke that she breathed as if all air had disappeared until then. 

“If you happen to be SG… yes,” the woman was tentative with her movements, unfolding the handkerchief to reveal the embroidery Soma knew so well. 

[ashandquiet]

Just locked all my AO3 fics to registered users only to avoid AI scraping, and it'd be wise for anyone else on the platform to do the same. The company is allegedly holding scraped work data ransom in exchange for important credentials (government name, address - enough to successfully perform identity fraud with) so this feels malicious.

[ashandquiet]

Digital Watercolor Portrait companion for My Most Unswerving Devotion

Soma Guthrumsdöttir: a likeness painted of the duke before the death of her guardian

[ashandquiet]

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 4: The Duke's Ball

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: Our heroine arrives at the home of the Duke and explores the splendorous halls of her manor.  I hope you all enjoy this update! I would love to know what you imagine your ballgown to look like, please visit my ask box and let me know there!

Read it on Ao3

You spent the next week buried in letters from Oswald, the rate of your correspondence had your aunt whispering about how you were surely in love, and how marriage couldn’t be far off. Yet that could not be further from the truth.

If she could’ve seen the true nature of your letters she would have been severely disappointed by the mention of Oswald’s other amour, Valdis, and that you were set to help him woo her and gain approval from her elder brothers; whose names you had come to learn were Brothir and Broder. They had fled from a gentleman in Denmark who was completely set on possessing Valdis even if that meant against her will. Due to these circumstances, the brothers were very apprehensive when it came to other alternate matches for their younger sister. 

So while you busied yourself with ways that Oswald could entreat himself upon Vadis’s brothers, your new friend had set about procuring all the names and likenesses that he could of the lady gentlemen about the countryside. 

In his most recent letter, Oswald assured you that at least three would be in attendance at the ball hosted by Soma Guthrumsdóttir. This list included the lady gentleman from the picnic, Birna Knudsen the daughter of some wealthy Scandinavian merchants, and the equerry to the Duke’s estate. Eivor Varinsdóttir, a friend of Oswald’s and apparently the Duke as well, was the orphaned child of a land-holding man in Norway who was adopted by another wealthy man. She and her brother had come to England to establish their own fortunes here.  And of course, there would be the fabled Duke of Cambridgeshire herself, Soma Guthrumsdóttir, as she was the host. Yet you doubted your chances of even meeting her.

While it was customary for the guests to introduce themselves at a normal ball, a masquerade was quite different. All you had to look for was the presence of women dressed as men with masquerade masks.

As you pondered the worn threads of the handkerchief while sitting at the old mahogany writing desk, you couldn’t help but feel a slight tinge of bitterness. 

Perhaps if you had been born wealthy or of better station you would have the luxury afforded to the women within the Duke’s inner circle. A life full of adventure and opportunity, and the freedom of financial choice. After all, it all came down to the money, it was not having it that put your future in jeopardy. Should your mother’s older brother have been more generous perhaps you wouldn’t have been forced into considering marriage as an economic proposition instead of one of amorous devotion. 

Perhaps all the books you have read have completely spoiled you, and true love didn't exist after all. 

You envied your new friend and his fortune in being a man, and his lady love for her vehemently protective older brothers blocking any idea of marriage.

You tried to shake the nasty feeling as you stood and paced about your room. Counting your blessings helped a bit to shirk the cruel sentiments away, you had made a friend, and he was willing to play at being your pretend suitor so that you could avoid matches at least till the end of the season. You had a mystery to unravel and a lady gentleman to chase, no matter how hopeless it seemed at times. And your uncle had just paid for a new dress to be constructed for you at the beginning of the summer, perhaps at the behest of your aunt and her insistence that your simple fashions would do little to win you the hand of a young man. 

But nonetheless, it had arrived from the dressmakers at just the right time. The elegant piece hung from the top of your boudoir now, with all its splendorous beading and embroidery. Its matching masquerade mask was fashioned with feathers and set upon a sculpted rod, with a loop for the wrist fashioned with a string of pearls. Truly the most opulent garment and accessories you had ever seen.

A pack of fortunate blessings indeed.

Regardless of the events to come at the ball, you resigned yourself to make the most of the evening.

ꕥ

On the evening of the ball, it was raining. 

You had stayed quiet while the maids helped you dress and affix your hair into a fashionable style with adjournments that complimented your dress in just the right way. They whispered and giggled about the joys of a ball and what a sensible event a masquerade could be for a burgeoning courtship. 

Apparently, all ears in the household were aware of the supposed romantic attachment between you and Mr. Egerton. You made a note to inform Oswald tonight that you would be limiting your letters to once a week before rumors could spiral completely out of hand. 

With your wrist freshly dressed with new bandages to cover the bruising and decorated with a pearl bracelet since gloves were out of the question due to limited mobility in your fingers, the maids stepped back to admire their handiwork and excused themselves back to other tasks.

“Are you alright miss?” One of the younger girls asked as the other two slipped out of the room with baskets of linens and your tray from afternoon tea.

You glanced over at her and offered a polite smile, “Yes, I’m alright, thank you.”

“If your wrist troubles you miss I could fetch some ice?”

“No it's quite alright thank you,” you hoped desperately you looked dismissive and that she’d leave. 

With a final nod, she collected her basket of things and shuffled out of the room leaving you alone with your thoughts at last. You rose from the vanity stool to stand by the large window of your bedroom. 

You rested your temple against the chilled glass watching as delicate droplets of summer rain hit the glass. Your thoughts were an incoherent mess, and your head was beginning to ache. Within a few hours, you would arrive at the home of the Duke of Cambridgeshire. 

There you would have to scour what you could of the faces of party guests all dressed in finery and hidden behind masquerade masks. All while at least appearing cordial to the young men in attendance. Perhaps, you could “lose” your dance card in the gardens, and then any attempt to secure a dance with you could be rebuked. For it would be positively impolite to promise dances to anyone if you couldn’t keep track of who had asked for dances.

Or you could “forget” to place them in your handbag altogether. Where would you positively have the space? You turned your attention to the handbag stuffing the handkerchief inside with a vail of peppermint smelling salts should you need them. You briskly made your way down the main staircase and into the foyer where your aunt and uncle waited for the carriage to be brought around front.

Ever the demure gentleman your uncle was dressed plainly in a simple suit, clutching his simple silk mask. Your aunt, however, was dressed extravagantly in a bright lilac brocade, a gauzy gossamer shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with her hair done up full of adornments. Her own masquerade mask much like your own was worn around her wrist on a bracelet, the gaudy thing looked heavy, all decorated with gold and feathers. 

She was so busy fussing over your uncle’s plain appearance, that when she finally caught sight of you she startled.

“Oh- my dear niece don’t you look just lovely! If you haven’t captured the heart of Mr. Egerton already you surely will tonight!” She swept her arms in large motions, making a full circle around you.

“Didn’t the dressmakers do the most wonderful job, dear husband?” She asked your uncle, though you weren’t sure she really expected him to answer.

“You look lovely Miss (Y/N),” your uncle nodded politely to you and walked towards the doors at the sound of the carriage wheels crunching on the wet stone pathway. “Now come on ladies, we don’t want to be late for the masquerade.”

You followed his lead and stepped out into the late afternoon air, despite the rain it was mildly warm out, and the smell of petrichor permeated the air with an almost iron quality. A butler held an umbrella over your head as you made your way to the carriage door, carefully lifting the skirts of your ballgown so they weren't ruined by the water that pooled in the rocks. On the horizon, you could see stretches of pink through the light spots in the clouds as the sun set just beyond the cover of rain.

As you took your seat you released a long breath and gazed out the window. Oswald had agreed to find you once you arrived, ask for a dance to keep your aunt satiated, and then after you would slip away and begin your investigation. All you had to do was survive this carriage ride. 

The whole of the carriage ride from your uncle's estate to the home of the Duke your aunt tittered about the humidity inside the carriage, the length of the ride, and the abysmal subject of the perversion of a woman to think she can take the title of a man. While you couldn’t help but wish that the sound of the rain on the carriage roof was loud enough to drown out her idle prattle, your uncle repeatedly rebuked her attempts to stir contempt toward your host.

“If you cannot bring yourself to be civil towards our host, I will have this carriage turned around at once,” your uncle stated plainly as he fiddled with the silk of his masquerade mask for the umpteenth time. “She has kindly extended an invitation to us, I do not understand where you have gained such a predisposition to dislike the Duke, but if you must. Please save the rest of us the misery of hearing you commiserate about it.”

Your aunt sputtered clutching at her gloves, “M-my love, but haven’t you heard she- she lays with women.”

“Must you really recycle that old rumor? Are you afraid she’ll steal all the young ladies of the countryside away from you?” Your uncle gave her a pointed look that suggested she say no more on the subject. 

“What would it matter if she did?” You asked softly as you fiddled with the wrap around your injured wrist.

“What would it matter-” Your aunt’s statement was cut short by a knock on the roof by the carriage driver. 

The sudden disturbance caused all heads to turn towards the windows, there in the shimmering night, lay a magnificent manor house. 

Even in the rain, the front was lit up with tiny glittering fires that shone off the cream-colored stone. Two mirrored staircases led from the oblong drive to an elevated terrace decorated with the boisterous blooms of hollyhock and delicate primroses, a Grecian colonnade held up a balcony lined with wisteria. Meticulously groomed hedges protected red-blooming crepe myrtle trees that hung heavy with blooms framed the front of the elegant home.

Identical glass doors lay open sending the raucous sounds of music and partygoers across the drive and waterlily-filled fountain, wherein the center three bare-breasted Grecian maidens poured water from painstakingly carved amphoras down into the pool that traveled the length of the drive. 

“It's… breathtaking…,” you whispered moving ever closer to the window feeling as if you looked away from the dream before you it would disappear.

“It certainly is, the old Duke did have a flair for the dramatic,” your uncle affirmed as the carriage rolled to a stop between the two staircases.

“I doubt the naked maidens were his addition,” your aunt quipped as servants dressed in deep Aegean blue vests approached with umbrellas.

Your uncle turned towards her sharply, “If you must make comments perhaps we should return home. (Y/N), would you like to stay?”

For all her previous bluster your aunt fell silent as all eyes turned to you. Now it was your decision. Stay and look for the truth, or go.

Mustering your courage you smiled politely, “I can ask Mr. Egerton to bring me home in his carriage come the parties end.”

“Then it’s settled,” your uncle nodded to the servant who drew open the doors and you climbed out of the dark humid carriage and into the dewy night air.

“Be polite!” Was the last cry from the woman you left behind as you climbed the stone staircase and raised your masquerade mask to your eyes. 

Finally, your hunt for the lady gentleman would begin.

ꕥ

Oswald met you in the main foyer, his own mask lifted so you could see his face, the mask pushed upwards mussed his blonde curls.

“Miss (Y/N), you’re here! And unchaperoned?” His voice was chipper yet cautious as he looked around for your aunt and uncle curiously.

“Due to, unforeseen… prejudice, I am attending unaccompanied yes, perhaps, it would be alright if I were to join you in your carriage for the ride back to Norfolk at the end of the night?” You asked moving your own mask aside so you could speak better. 

“But of course! I couldn’t leave such a friend stranded,” he smiled and offered you his arm. “Come with me, I’ll supply you with a tour.”

The interior was just as splendorous with wide-open common spaces and glamorous furnishing. Once you looked up to see the visage of a goddess draped in gold painted upon the ceiling, her long golden hair spilling around her like the rays of the sun, her face tranquil and her hands outstretched. 

Seasonal florals draped window sills and the edges of stairs, with spiraling candles decorating open spaces, illuminating the guests in a warm golden hue. The smell of orange flower cordial mixed with that of fresh fruit and decadent cheeses on table tops. Waiters stood in doorways and common areas with trays of ratsfia and punch, others with water and ices.

As Oswald guided you around the wide sprawling rooms decorated with paintings and sculptures, opulent rugs, and elegant drapery you became acutely aware that you were amongst a different sort of company here. Something about the energy that radiated from the very walls and the people that filled the rooms oozed safety and community. 

While it was likely that societal rules still applied here, you pondered which rules exactly, surely not the same rules of the society your aunt clung to so vehemently. The ones where women wore dresses and men wore suits, where propriety was following the exact societal pressures to the letter. Women married men and had babies, and most certainly didn’t go about the countryside kissing other ladies. 

After Oswald had shown you around the quieter rooms with their art, the pair of you entered the main ballroom you were quickly overcome by all the sights, colors, and smells. 

A small ensemble of performers played jovial music from a raised platform in a far corner, filling the space with sound. Here people danced and laughed, chatted, and clapped along with the music. Everyone dressed in their finery faces obscured by masks of all kinds. 

The heat of the bodies all around you made you glad of the open doors along the exterior walls, they bid glances out to the manicured gardens and the cool stone columns that lined the veranda. 

You motioned for Oswald to halt and picked a place near enough to the doors that a gentle night breeze could cool your heated skin. He obliged and led you towards the nearest unoccupied high table. Thankful for the reprieve you placed your handbag down on the table. It was becoming difficult to hold up both your masquerade mask and the weight of the handbag with only one hand.

Now with the space between you and your companion, you felt free to let your eyes wander about the room. For a moment they lingered on a tall blonde woman dressed in blacks and blues and stayed there. You took account of her stylish men's suit, another lady gentleman. Her own mask was styled to look like a raven decorated with black feathers and silver detailing. The embroidery of her suit jacket was styled like that of the ancient Viking wood carvings and ravens. Oswald must’ve caught your glance because he leaned in so you could hear him over the din.

“My friend Eivor,” he said, and you recalled the name with a nod. “The woman wearing the cat mask with her is Valka, an old friend of her’s recently came from Norway.”

You nodded observing the pair, Valka was dressed elegantly yet almost simply in black, and her hair was wrapped in a black scarf making the natural ashen color of her mask stand out against the black silk. Soon a middling-height red-headed woman dressed in cobalt blue joined them from the dance that just concluded. 

Oswald tapped the table lightly, “I’ll be right back, what do you say to a capillaire? Or perhaps a rose water?”

“Just a rose water would be fine thank you,” You nodded and waved him off letting your eyes continue to scan the crowd. 

You spotted at least two other women dressed in gentlemen's clothes upon his departure and began to wonder if Oswald was really right about the country being filled with lady gentlemen. Maybe you operated in the completely wrong circles after all. Flushing you began to wonder how many ladies were in attendance that like you, held sapphic tendencies. 

How many people had fled the ball before even entering the otherworldly manor house at the sight of the bare-breasted maidens alone? Or was the mention of the Duke’s name and her reputation alone enough to scare people away.

You noticed a tall lady gentleman weaving through the crowd, her dark hair pulled back, her own masquerade mask the visage of a horse. She approached the blonde, Eivor, and her companions and began speaking to them in a bright and affable way. From the musical lilt of her voice, you recognized her from the picnic as Birna Knudsen, the equerry of the estate. 

That was two of the lady gentlemen Oswald had mentioned accounted for, you bit your knuckle as you glanced around the room curiously. Where would a Duke be in a place of such affluence and lush?

Oswald returned just as you had begun to admire the beautiful frescoes that adorned the ceilings. 

“One rose water for the lady,” He said as he passed you the fine coupe glass. 

“Thank you,” you took a sip and couldn’t help but sigh, the cool liquid helped to chill you. “I hadn’t realized how hot I was feeling.”

Oswald nodded as he sipped his own drink, “I hope you won’t find it an impertinence but I was thinking about joining the revelry…”

You shook your head quickly, “No please, go enjoy your evening.”

“Well, if you're so eager to be rid of me,” he teased but smiled. “Come and find me should you need anything (Y/N).”

With that, he was gone and you were left alone with your glass of rose water and a puzzle to unpick.

After a bit more time people-watching in the main ballroom, you picked up your handbag and decided to explore the open rooms of the manor at your own pace. In one room you found a pianoforte which was being played by a younger girl, who would surely have been very good if not for her singing. In another room, two men sat whispering and chuckling to themselves their hands clasped together affectionately. Neither seemed to notice or care about your presence or any other person in the room for that matter, one of the gentlemen leaned in close, cupping the other's face, and planted a sweet loving kiss upon his nose. 

You felt flush upon seeing such a private moment of affection and fled the room. Embarrassment fluttered in your chest as you ducked out onto a balcony, blushing you leaned up against a wall. You could not begin to comprehend how you felt, the moment of intimacy burned in your mind. The idea of being so open with the one you love, in such a public space as a ball, regardless of gender. 

You sighed and stepped away from the wall and walked along the edge of the overhang, letting the cool mist from the rain that bounced off the stone cool your flush skin. From your handbag, you pulled the handkerchief, its worn threads soothing your piqued nerves.

How strange, you found yourself thinking, that such a small thing could provide such comfort. You closed your eyes and sighed leaning up against one of the Grecian columns letting the soft plip-plop of raindrops on stone, cooled evening air, and the sweet perfume of evening primroses wash over you.

In your thoughts you were there again, the lady gentleman’s hands, gently caressing your injured wrist, her brassy voice tranquil and kind. You could still smell the grass, and feel the warmth of the afternoon sun, yet around the edges, the memory was beginning to fade.

The sound of footsteps brutally yanked you from the echo of your encounter. You stood up straight and turned to face the person who interrupted your reverie.

There stood a lady gentleman, her rich brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and some strands hung loose about her neck and chin, her face was uncovered by a mask allowing you to examine her strong features more thoroughly. She had a strong jaw and a quizzical brow, her stormy gray eyes caught the candlelight and shone like fresh foam on the sea. She was dressed elegantly in a black waistcoat lined with shimmering yellow silk, and her vest was embroidered with all manner of florals and the sign of a snake on the lapel. In her hand, she held your mask, you must've dropped it in your haste.

“Miss, I believe you dropped this,” She approached slowly, her honey-rich voice dripped with concern and something, like confusion. And yet you knew exactly who it was, in all your waking dreams you would know her voice.

She paused steps away from you, quickly examining your form. In the most tender voice, that almost cracked on every syllable, “Dove… is that you…?”

[ashandquiet]

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 4: The Duke's Ball

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: Our heroine arrives at the home of the Duke and explores the splendorous halls of her manor.  I hope you all enjoy this update! I would love to know what you imagine your ballgown to look like, please visit my ask box and let me know there!

Read it on Ao3

You spent the next week buried in letters from Oswald, the rate of your correspondence had your aunt whispering about how you were surely in love, and how marriage couldn’t be far off. Yet that could not be further from the truth.

If she could’ve seen the true nature of your letters she would have been severely disappointed by the mention of Oswald’s other amour, Valdis, and that you were set to help him woo her and gain approval from her elder brothers; whose names you had come to learn were Brothir and Broder. They had fled from a gentleman in Denmark who was completely set on possessing Valdis even if that meant against her will. Due to these circumstances, the brothers were very apprehensive when it came to other alternate matches for their younger sister. 

So while you busied yourself with ways that Oswald could entreat himself upon Vadis’s brothers, your new friend had set about procuring all the names and likenesses that he could of the lady gentlemen about the countryside. 

In his most recent letter, Oswald assured you that at least three would be in attendance at the ball hosted by Soma Guthrumsdóttir. This list included the lady gentleman from the picnic, Birna Knudsen the daughter of some wealthy Scandinavian merchants, and the equerry to the Duke’s estate. Eivor Varinsdóttir, a friend of Oswald’s and apparently the Duke as well, was the orphaned child of a land-holding man in Norway who was adopted by another wealthy man. She and her brother had come to England to establish their own fortunes here.  And of course, there would be the fabled Duke of Cambridgeshire herself, Soma Guthrumsdóttir, as she was the host. Yet you doubted your chances of even meeting her.

While it was customary for the guests to introduce themselves at a normal ball, a masquerade was quite different. All you had to look for was the presence of women dressed as men with masquerade masks.

As you pondered the worn threads of the handkerchief while sitting at the old mahogany writing desk, you couldn’t help but feel a slight tinge of bitterness. 

Perhaps if you had been born wealthy or of better station you would have the luxury afforded to the women within the Duke’s inner circle. A life full of adventure and opportunity, and the freedom of financial choice. After all, it all came down to the money, it was not having it that put your future in jeopardy. Should your mother’s older brother have been more generous perhaps you wouldn’t have been forced into considering marriage as an economic proposition instead of one of amorous devotion. 

Perhaps all the books you have read have completely spoiled you, and true love didn't exist after all. 

You envied your new friend and his fortune in being a man, and his lady love for her vehemently protective older brothers blocking any idea of marriage.

You tried to shake the nasty feeling as you stood and paced about your room. Counting your blessings helped a bit to shirk the cruel sentiments away, you had made a friend, and he was willing to play at being your pretend suitor so that you could avoid matches at least till the end of the season. You had a mystery to unravel and a lady gentleman to chase, no matter how hopeless it seemed at times. And your uncle had just paid for a new dress to be constructed for you at the beginning of the summer, perhaps at the behest of your aunt and her insistence that your simple fashions would do little to win you the hand of a young man. 

But nonetheless, it had arrived from the dressmakers at just the right time. The elegant piece hung from the top of your boudoir now, with all its splendorous beading and embroidery. Its matching masquerade mask was fashioned with feathers and set upon a sculpted rod, with a loop for the wrist fashioned with a string of pearls. Truly the most opulent garment and accessories you had ever seen.

A pack of fortunate blessings indeed.

Regardless of the events to come at the ball, you resigned yourself to make the most of the evening.

ꕥ

On the evening of the ball, it was raining. 

You had stayed quiet while the maids helped you dress and affix your hair into a fashionable style with adjournments that complimented your dress in just the right way. They whispered and giggled about the joys of a ball and what a sensible event a masquerade could be for a burgeoning courtship. 

Apparently, all ears in the household were aware of the supposed romantic attachment between you and Mr. Egerton. You made a note to inform Oswald tonight that you would be limiting your letters to once a week before rumors could spiral completely out of hand. 

With your wrist freshly dressed with new bandages to cover the bruising and decorated with a pearl bracelet since gloves were out of the question due to limited mobility in your fingers, the maids stepped back to admire their handiwork and excused themselves back to other tasks.

“Are you alright miss?” One of the younger girls asked as the other two slipped out of the room with baskets of linens and your tray from afternoon tea.

You glanced over at her and offered a polite smile, “Yes, I’m alright, thank you.”

“If your wrist troubles you miss I could fetch some ice?”

“No it's quite alright thank you,” you hoped desperately you looked dismissive and that she’d leave. 

With a final nod, she collected her basket of things and shuffled out of the room leaving you alone with your thoughts at last. You rose from the vanity stool to stand by the large window of your bedroom. 

You rested your temple against the chilled glass watching as delicate droplets of summer rain hit the glass. Your thoughts were an incoherent mess, and your head was beginning to ache. Within a few hours, you would arrive at the home of the Duke of Cambridgeshire. 

There you would have to scour what you could of the faces of party guests all dressed in finery and hidden behind masquerade masks. All while at least appearing cordial to the young men in attendance. Perhaps, you could “lose” your dance card in the gardens, and then any attempt to secure a dance with you could be rebuked. For it would be positively impolite to promise dances to anyone if you couldn’t keep track of who had asked for dances.

Or you could “forget” to place them in your handbag altogether. Where would you positively have the space? You turned your attention to the handbag stuffing the handkerchief inside with a vail of peppermint smelling salts should you need them. You briskly made your way down the main staircase and into the foyer where your aunt and uncle waited for the carriage to be brought around front.

Ever the demure gentleman your uncle was dressed plainly in a simple suit, clutching his simple silk mask. Your aunt, however, was dressed extravagantly in a bright lilac brocade, a gauzy gossamer shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with her hair done up full of adornments. Her own masquerade mask much like your own was worn around her wrist on a bracelet, the gaudy thing looked heavy, all decorated with gold and feathers. 

She was so busy fussing over your uncle’s plain appearance, that when she finally caught sight of you she startled.

“Oh- my dear niece don’t you look just lovely! If you haven’t captured the heart of Mr. Egerton already you surely will tonight!” She swept her arms in large motions, making a full circle around you.

“Didn’t the dressmakers do the most wonderful job, dear husband?” She asked your uncle, though you weren’t sure she really expected him to answer.

“You look lovely Miss (Y/N),” your uncle nodded politely to you and walked towards the doors at the sound of the carriage wheels crunching on the wet stone pathway. “Now come on ladies, we don’t want to be late for the masquerade.”

You followed his lead and stepped out into the late afternoon air, despite the rain it was mildly warm out, and the smell of petrichor permeated the air with an almost iron quality. A butler held an umbrella over your head as you made your way to the carriage door, carefully lifting the skirts of your ballgown so they weren't ruined by the water that pooled in the rocks. On the horizon, you could see stretches of pink through the light spots in the clouds as the sun set just beyond the cover of rain.

As you took your seat you released a long breath and gazed out the window. Oswald had agreed to find you once you arrived, ask for a dance to keep your aunt satiated, and then after you would slip away and begin your investigation. All you had to do was survive this carriage ride. 

The whole of the carriage ride from your uncle's estate to the home of the Duke your aunt tittered about the humidity inside the carriage, the length of the ride, and the abysmal subject of the perversion of a woman to think she can take the title of a man. While you couldn’t help but wish that the sound of the rain on the carriage roof was loud enough to drown out her idle prattle, your uncle repeatedly rebuked her attempts to stir contempt toward your host.

“If you cannot bring yourself to be civil towards our host, I will have this carriage turned around at once,” your uncle stated plainly as he fiddled with the silk of his masquerade mask for the umpteenth time. “She has kindly extended an invitation to us, I do not understand where you have gained such a predisposition to dislike the Duke, but if you must. Please save the rest of us the misery of hearing you commiserate about it.”

Your aunt sputtered clutching at her gloves, “M-my love, but haven’t you heard she- she lays with women.”

“Must you really recycle that old rumor? Are you afraid she’ll steal all the young ladies of the countryside away from you?” Your uncle gave her a pointed look that suggested she say no more on the subject. 

“What would it matter if she did?” You asked softly as you fiddled with the wrap around your injured wrist.

“What would it matter-” Your aunt’s statement was cut short by a knock on the roof by the carriage driver. 

The sudden disturbance caused all heads to turn towards the windows, there in the shimmering night, lay a magnificent manor house. 

Even in the rain, the front was lit up with tiny glittering fires that shone off the cream-colored stone. Two mirrored staircases led from the oblong drive to an elevated terrace decorated with the boisterous blooms of hollyhock and delicate primroses, a Grecian colonnade held up a balcony lined with wisteria. Meticulously groomed hedges protected red-blooming crepe myrtle trees that hung heavy with blooms framed the front of the elegant home.

Identical glass doors lay open sending the raucous sounds of music and partygoers across the drive and waterlily-filled fountain, wherein the center three bare-breasted Grecian maidens poured water from painstakingly carved amphoras down into the pool that traveled the length of the drive. 

“It's… breathtaking…,” you whispered moving ever closer to the window feeling as if you looked away from the dream before you it would disappear.

“It certainly is, the old Duke did have a flair for the dramatic,” your uncle affirmed as the carriage rolled to a stop between the two staircases.

“I doubt the naked maidens were his addition,” your aunt quipped as servants dressed in deep Aegean blue vests approached with umbrellas.

Your uncle turned towards her sharply, “If you must make comments perhaps we should return home. (Y/N), would you like to stay?”

For all her previous bluster your aunt fell silent as all eyes turned to you. Now it was your decision. Stay and look for the truth, or go.

Mustering your courage you smiled politely, “I can ask Mr. Egerton to bring me home in his carriage come the parties end.”

“Then it’s settled,” your uncle nodded to the servant who drew open the doors and you climbed out of the dark humid carriage and into the dewy night air.

“Be polite!” Was the last cry from the woman you left behind as you climbed the stone staircase and raised your masquerade mask to your eyes. 

Finally, your hunt for the lady gentleman would begin.

ꕥ

Oswald met you in the main foyer, his own mask lifted so you could see his face, the mask pushed upwards mussed his blonde curls.

“Miss (Y/N), you’re here! And unchaperoned?” His voice was chipper yet cautious as he looked around for your aunt and uncle curiously.

“Due to, unforeseen… prejudice, I am attending unaccompanied yes, perhaps, it would be alright if I were to join you in your carriage for the ride back to Norfolk at the end of the night?” You asked moving your own mask aside so you could speak better. 

“But of course! I couldn’t leave such a friend stranded,” he smiled and offered you his arm. “Come with me, I’ll supply you with a tour.”

The interior was just as splendorous with wide-open common spaces and glamorous furnishing. Once you looked up to see the visage of a goddess draped in gold painted upon the ceiling, her long golden hair spilling around her like the rays of the sun, her face tranquil and her hands outstretched. 

Seasonal florals draped window sills and the edges of stairs, with spiraling candles decorating open spaces, illuminating the guests in a warm golden hue. The smell of orange flower cordial mixed with that of fresh fruit and decadent cheeses on table tops. Waiters stood in doorways and common areas with trays of ratsfia and punch, others with water and ices.

As Oswald guided you around the wide sprawling rooms decorated with paintings and sculptures, opulent rugs, and elegant drapery you became acutely aware that you were amongst a different sort of company here. Something about the energy that radiated from the very walls and the people that filled the rooms oozed safety and community. 

While it was likely that societal rules still applied here, you pondered which rules exactly, surely not the same rules of the society your aunt clung to so vehemently. The ones where women wore dresses and men wore suits, where propriety was following the exact societal pressures to the letter. Women married men and had babies, and most certainly didn’t go about the countryside kissing other ladies. 

After Oswald had shown you around the quieter rooms with their art, the pair of you entered the main ballroom you were quickly overcome by all the sights, colors, and smells. 

A small ensemble of performers played jovial music from a raised platform in a far corner, filling the space with sound. Here people danced and laughed, chatted, and clapped along with the music. Everyone dressed in their finery faces obscured by masks of all kinds. 

The heat of the bodies all around you made you glad of the open doors along the exterior walls, they bid glances out to the manicured gardens and the cool stone columns that lined the veranda. 

You motioned for Oswald to halt and picked a place near enough to the doors that a gentle night breeze could cool your heated skin. He obliged and led you towards the nearest unoccupied high table. Thankful for the reprieve you placed your handbag down on the table. It was becoming difficult to hold up both your masquerade mask and the weight of the handbag with only one hand.

Now with the space between you and your companion, you felt free to let your eyes wander about the room. For a moment they lingered on a tall blonde woman dressed in blacks and blues and stayed there. You took account of her stylish men's suit, another lady gentleman. Her own mask was styled to look like a raven decorated with black feathers and silver detailing. The embroidery of her suit jacket was styled like that of the ancient Viking wood carvings and ravens. Oswald must’ve caught your glance because he leaned in so you could hear him over the din.

“My friend Eivor,” he said, and you recalled the name with a nod. “The woman wearing the cat mask with her is Valka, an old friend of her’s recently came from Norway.”

You nodded observing the pair, Valka was dressed elegantly yet almost simply in black, and her hair was wrapped in a black scarf making the natural ashen color of her mask stand out against the black silk. Soon a middling-height red-headed woman dressed in cobalt blue joined them from the dance that just concluded. 

Oswald tapped the table lightly, “I’ll be right back, what do you say to a capillaire? Or perhaps a rose water?”

“Just a rose water would be fine thank you,” You nodded and waved him off letting your eyes continue to scan the crowd. 

You spotted at least two other women dressed in gentlemen's clothes upon his departure and began to wonder if Oswald was really right about the country being filled with lady gentlemen. Maybe you operated in the completely wrong circles after all. Flushing you began to wonder how many ladies were in attendance that like you, held sapphic tendencies. 

How many people had fled the ball before even entering the otherworldly manor house at the sight of the bare-breasted maidens alone? Or was the mention of the Duke’s name and her reputation alone enough to scare people away.

You noticed a tall lady gentleman weaving through the crowd, her dark hair pulled back, her own masquerade mask the visage of a horse. She approached the blonde, Eivor, and her companions and began speaking to them in a bright and affable way. From the musical lilt of her voice, you recognized her from the picnic as Birna Knudsen, the equerry of the estate. 

That was two of the lady gentlemen Oswald had mentioned accounted for, you bit your knuckle as you glanced around the room curiously. Where would a Duke be in a place of such affluence and lush?

Oswald returned just as you had begun to admire the beautiful frescoes that adorned the ceilings. 

“One rose water for the lady,” He said as he passed you the fine coupe glass. 

“Thank you,” you took a sip and couldn’t help but sigh, the cool liquid helped to chill you. “I hadn’t realized how hot I was feeling.”

Oswald nodded as he sipped his own drink, “I hope you won’t find it an impertinence but I was thinking about joining the revelry…”

You shook your head quickly, “No please, go enjoy your evening.”

“Well, if you're so eager to be rid of me,” he teased but smiled. “Come and find me should you need anything (Y/N).”

With that, he was gone and you were left alone with your glass of rose water and a puzzle to unpick.

After a bit more time people-watching in the main ballroom, you picked up your handbag and decided to explore the open rooms of the manor at your own pace. In one room you found a pianoforte which was being played by a younger girl, who would surely have been very good if not for her singing. In another room, two men sat whispering and chuckling to themselves their hands clasped together affectionately. Neither seemed to notice or care about your presence or any other person in the room for that matter, one of the gentlemen leaned in close, cupping the other's face, and planted a sweet loving kiss upon his nose. 

You felt flush upon seeing such a private moment of affection and fled the room. Embarrassment fluttered in your chest as you ducked out onto a balcony, blushing you leaned up against a wall. You could not begin to comprehend how you felt, the moment of intimacy burned in your mind. The idea of being so open with the one you love, in such a public space as a ball, regardless of gender. 

You sighed and stepped away from the wall and walked along the edge of the overhang, letting the cool mist from the rain that bounced off the stone cool your flush skin. From your handbag, you pulled the handkerchief, its worn threads soothing your piqued nerves.

How strange, you found yourself thinking, that such a small thing could provide such comfort. You closed your eyes and sighed leaning up against one of the Grecian columns letting the soft plip-plop of raindrops on stone, cooled evening air, and the sweet perfume of evening primroses wash over you.

In your thoughts you were there again, the lady gentleman’s hands, gently caressing your injured wrist, her brassy voice tranquil and kind. You could still smell the grass, and feel the warmth of the afternoon sun, yet around the edges, the memory was beginning to fade.

The sound of footsteps brutally yanked you from the echo of your encounter. You stood up straight and turned to face the person who interrupted your reverie.

There stood a lady gentleman, her rich brown hair pulled back into a loose bun and some strands hung loose about her neck and chin, her face was uncovered by a mask allowing you to examine her strong features more thoroughly. She had a strong jaw and a quizzical brow, her stormy gray eyes caught the candlelight and shone like fresh foam on the sea. She was dressed elegantly in a black waistcoat lined with shimmering yellow silk, and her vest was embroidered with all manner of florals and the sign of a snake on the lapel. In her hand, she held your mask, you must've dropped it in your haste.

“Miss, I believe you dropped this,” She approached slowly, her honey-rich voice dripped with concern and something, like confusion. And yet you knew exactly who it was, in all your waking dreams you would know her voice.

She paused steps away from you, quickly examining your form. In the most tender voice, that almost cracked on every syllable, “Dove… is that you…?”

[ashandquiet]

i promise its comin! its comin, i'm bringing soup.

Me keeping all you Regency Soma fans gripping the edges of your seats with the coming update for My Most Unswerving Devotion:

[ashandquiet]

Me keeping all you Regency Soma fans gripping the edges of your seats with the coming update for My Most Unswerving Devotion:

[ashandquiet]

A watercolor scene practice I did as a companion piece for my fic: My Most Unswerving Devotion On my writing blog.

Its been a bit since I’ve done any watercolor landscapes so I’m trying to some practice again, I was a little ambitious with the horse chestnut tree

[ashandquiet]

I’ve been listening to a lot of cowboy western music lately, and I can’t get the idea of cowboy/ranger Abby off hunting down outlaws (and on a personal revenge quest) out of my noggin. Bonus points to anyone that finds the firefly tags

[ashandquiet]

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 3: Picnicking and Parties

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: In which our titular heroine joins a picnicking party and gains new friends, information and intrigue abound. Thank you for your patience, I hope I haven't been away too long. :)

Read it on Ao3

The morning before the dreaded picnic, you snuck out in a simple smock of a dress and overcoat at first light. Having woken up incredibly early in a cold sweat an ever-present feeling of unease churning in your stomach.  

You felt sure a walk would clear your head, though you were more than aware of what today meant for you. You would be expected to put on airs and behave the part of a lady most enticed by the prospect of marriage. As if it was something you wanted, to be married to a man. It sickened you, felt like the crushing weight of destiny lay before you, akin to an out-of-control carriage barreling headwards into a collision. You, the unwilling passenger with an indifferent driver and dubious footman. Barrelling ever onwards with locked doors that blocked out your cries for help. 

Feeling quite woozy in the head and sick to your stomach you stopped on the path and sat down in a patch of soft-looking grass. You couldn’t even seem to bring yourself to care that it was still wet with morning dew. 

The brisk morning air washed over you, and your thoughts slipped back through yesterday’s events, and it was as if every fiber of your being could still feel the deft yet temperate hands of the lady gentleman. 

Upon returning to the magnificent manor house after your disastrous encounter in the fields, there was much fuss over your injured wrist and grass-stained dress. You had recounted your tale as clearly as you could in your flustered amorous stupor to your fussing aunt and her maids; yet when it came to the topic of the owner of the handkerchief tied round your wrist, you froze up. You had heard how they gossiped about the Lady Gentlemen that resided in the country, of Soma Guthrumsdóttir and her companions. If they gossiped so fervently about a Duke surely, anything less than that would be such a foul creature of scorn in their eyes. 

So you had lied and stated that it was simply just a gentleman like any other, and when they pressed for a name, well there was no reason to lie, you simply forgot to ask. They dithered on about the joys of a mystery urging you to divulge any details of your supposed rescuer's appearance which you fruitfully ignored. 

 Once your wrist was treated for the soreness and bruising with chilled water and bound in place with bandages, with your head bowed in quiet shame you excused yourself for the evening. 

While heads were turned you glanced at the lace-trimmed handkerchief that lay discarded on the side table.

Acting quickly you snatched it up and disappeared up the stairs to your room. There you had spent the rest of the evening in silent pity, occasionally glancing headlong at the handkerchief that you had neatly folded and placed on the window sill. It was embroidered with primroses of a pale yellow, and in one corner, stitched with a slate blue thread there were the ornate letters “ SG ”. 

You held it now, the delicate fabric worn and so clearly well-loved was soft in your hand. A faint scent of perfume lingered in its threads, delicate like fresh lilacs and something smoky and herbal. Your head swirled with thoughts about the owner's preferred fragrances, and how she would adorn herself and her clothing with them. The embroidered letters brought you a moment of solace, having such a delicate, intimate object with you seemed to provide every comfort in the world. 

Ever so carefully you tucked it away and rose back to your feet, the object's comforting presence enough to urge you forward into the day, fate’s cruel hand shaken from your spirits for just a while.

Returning to the manor house you dressed, with some assistance, in a simple country frock and tied a long white ribbon in your hair, swatting away the hands of the maids who attempted to even out the ribbons' tails. You even refused to acknowledge the looks from your aunt as you strode past her with a book in hand. 

“You truly mustn't dress so plainly dearest, you’ll want to make a good impression!” She cried in vain as you walked out to the carriage, barely lifting your dress from the ground. 

 “Oh come come, my Love,” your uncle laughed heartily as he followed behind you beckoning for his wife. “It's a glorious summer day, let us enjoy the picnic, she has no need to be weighed down by frills.” 

Your uncle smiled and offered a kind wink in your direction as you climbed aboard the carriage. 

With a sidelong glance at your injured wrist he chuckled, “Perhaps, she should dress plainly to prevent another tumble.”

You huffed lightly sitting, laying the novel on your lap, and resting your injured wrist on its leather cover. You refused to glance your aunt’s way as she boarded the carriage and sat across from you. 

“My dearest niece, how can you expect to find time to read when there are such friends to be met today,” She chortled, glancing from the book to your face. 

“Perhaps dear Aunt, I have no intentions of meeting friends today, when there is such knowledge and friends to be met in a book,” You replied and glanced out over the front gardens. 

Your aunt bristled and shook her head indignantly, surely preparing to snap back about an attitude most unbecoming of a lady, but uncle swooped to your rescue. He sat and commanded his driver to go, grabbing his wife’s hand in a shushing motion. 

“It is a beautiful day in July, let us enjoy it how we please, and if our niece would like to spend it with a book, then that shall be her day,” He said in a firm and commanding tone, yet his spirits were light and he smiled happily to himself as if pleased with his proclamation. 

The carriage ride was a jolting one, winding down from the manor into the parsonage beyond the grand estate. The picnic was to be held in the shade of a beautiful apple orchard belonging to the parish that your uncle presided over. When united with the larger group he chatted gayly with the men of the party about how he was glad to have leased it so long to a family of tenant farmers known as the Grants. 

His prattling seemed like nothing but noise to you, but all the men nodded and chided along in agreement and admiration. Yet the chatter of the ladies as they talked of fortunes and matches made for ladies of the gentry, seemed even more foreign to you still. 

You strode away from the group to better grasp your surroundings, looking for a comfortable place to sit just close enough to avoid scoldings, but far enough for a moment of blissful peace. 

A low-hanging apple tree dense with young fruit seemed to call to you, its drooping bower a welcoming shield from the sun. Just as you were about to make your escape, there was a great commotion from the group. Turning around, you took stock of the situation. A young man, who looked to be no older than five and twenty sat atop a dusty-looking yellow horse that danced about on its hooves. He was dressed plainly in an olive green tailcoat, and he held his riding hat in his hand as a much older man attempted to catch the reins of the young horse.

“Hold the bloody bastard still Oswald!” The older man growled, his accent was Scandinavian in origin. Perhaps he was the younger man’s steward. 

“I’m trying-” the young man, Oswald said as yanked the reins firm to his body. Patting the horse’s neck with his hand and drawing circles into its sweated fur. “Easy Diamond- Woah… there-there boy, that’s a good horse…” 

With the yellow horse calmed he was able to dismount. While handing the reins to his steward he replaced his hat on his mess of golden curls. You watched him intently as he strode over to the rest of the picnicking party. Not so much confidently as ungainly, perhaps wobbly from the ride. The women inclined their heads to him and he gave each a polite nod and a “Hello”, the men greeted him with smiles and pats on the back. 

Just as you were sure the conversation would turn to his deft riding skill and congratulations on taming such a riled-up horse, your aunt called out; “Oh (Y/N), come here dearest! Where did that girl go?”

For a moment you debated running, you glanced at the path between the trees, where the orchard gave way to meadows, and meadows to hills and streams. But the thought of obligation and strong wrestling feeling of guilt drew you back. Running would accomplish nothing, tarnish your name, and destroy whatever small holding in society you may have now. So you turned round and made your way over to the party at your own snail's pace.

“Oh, there she is!” Your aunt cried and made her way to your side grabbing your arm firmly, if not too roughly. “Now come come dearest niece you must meet Mr. Egerton, for he has ridden all this way to meet you .”

You bristled at the way she crooned out the last word, seeming to drip with ever the slightest it of disdain. You watched as Mr. Oswald Egerton turned his full attention to you, scrutinizing your every step, his neutral expression turned to what you hoped was a kind smile. He had the kind of eyes that seemed to expose his every thought and feeling. You dreaded the introduction but you knew, he was your intended suitor. He was on the shorter side, nothing about him was too handsome, and he appeared to be perfectly safe, if not a little plain. He gave a polite bow in your direction, and you couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit smug that even in your poor fashions you had still managed to out-dress a gentleman.

“My niece, Miss (Y/N) (S/N),” Your aunt introduced you, and you gave a polite smile and nod. You hoped the smile didn’t look too forced.

“A pleasure to meet you Miss (S/N),” Oswald smiled kindly.

“Likewise sir,” You chided crossing your arms behind your back to hide your book and injured wrist.

There was an awkward silence that was quickly broken by one of the men, “Mr. Egerton, say how is your estate at Elmenham? I hope your tenant farmers are doing quite well.”

“Oh yes, quite well indeed,” Oswald nodded. “Everyone is doing quite well this season. But I can’t say the success is all mine, Finnr has been working himself to the bone keeping everything in order.”

The steward, Finnr waved his hand towards the younger man in a motion of dismissal with a grunt as he plucked an apple from the branch of a tree. He was a much older and gruff-looking man dressed in almost out-of-date fashions of the 1780s, his hair greyed and long. His facial hair was almost too long to be considered proper for a man of society, but perhaps the Scandinavian fashion was different. 

You found yourself pondering the details of the lands across the sea, you had read somewhere about how Sweden once had a girl king who had refused to marry. Much like the lady gentlemen that now populated the country. Perhaps soon the whole of society would be populated with them, women holding positions of power and dressing like gentlemen, marrying women. You blushed at the thought, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach returning. 

“Um, Hello…?” an apprehensive voice tore you from your thoughts and you jumped slightly. Oswald was standing to your left a small awkward smile on his face that morphed into one of concern.

“Are you quite alright Miss (S/N)?” He asked kindly.  

You shook your head to dismiss your thoughts of women in waistcoats and breeches, “Yes I’m alright sir I appreciate your concern,” you tried not to sound indifferent to him, as he had been kind thus far.

He offered his hand palm up, “If you would be so willing, would you join me for a walk about the orchards?”

His smile was inelegant, brows knit with unease, and his hand trembled. You regarded it for a moment and spared a glance to your aunt and the other ladies. They stared hungrily at your hands like wolves regarding a sickly lamb. Minds likely swirling with tales of success to gloat about for hours, to talk of nothing but fortunes and houses, your potential bride clothes, and where you'd buy them.  Feeling the weight of consequence you nodded with an inaudible sigh and offered the coltish gentleman your arm. 

Oswald took your arm in his and you began to feel ill, it wasn’t that he was terrible to look at but the thought of any prolonged amount of time with the man sickened you. 

He did not tug you forward so much as he suggested a slow and delicate gait, and you followed his lead to appease the party of older women who cooed about the match made between you two. Together you walked paces out of earshot of the ladies and he withdrew his arm from yours with a polite yet awkward smile. You paused but happily accepted the respite from his touch.

“Um,” he began. “You see, it is not that I wish to lead you on, or to let you down per se, but I am- have had, my eye on another young lady for some time.”

You paused and looked at him, “You have? Then why… why would you entertain the idea of coming to the picnic?” 

Oswald’s face reddened and he fixed his collar walking ahead two paces, “Well you see, it is that the young lady was in an unwilling entanglement back in Denmark, before her brothers and she came to England at the behest of their cousin. And our amour is quite secret…”

You followed him resting your injured hand against your back, turning ideas over in your head, “So because it is secret, you must keep up appearances?”

He grinned sheepishly back at you, “Precisely, I planned to formally propose but I doubt her brothers would grant a blessing of the marriage. So to maintain appearances I entertain the whims of my patron until I can secure a firm answer. I had hoped, when I noticed your apprehension that perhaps you weren’t enthusiastic about the match as well…?”

You fought to hold in a snort of laughter, “No,” barely containing your smile you shook your head. “I had no interest in this match. No interest in any match that is.”

“Thank heavens,” Oswald let out a visible sigh, his shoulders relaxing and he touched his chest as if calming his heart. “I mean no offense of course Miss (S/N).”

You waved your hand at him lightly, “I take no offense, sir, you're quite alright.”

He smiled, “Perhaps we can be friends, I could help you avoid potential matches, and perchance, you could help me woo my lady?”

You strode ahead of him to gaze at the clover buds blooming in the grass. He made a good offer, friendship in exchange for matrimony. He was a young gentleman with an estate, and he likely had resources, resources enough to help you find the lady gentleman.

“I would like that, perhaps,” You tried turning towards him. “In exchange for helping you woo your paramour, you could help me with something.”

“Well of course! What can I do for you Miss (S/N)?” 

“I need your help finding a particular gentleman,” You said pulling the handkerchief from your pocket with a smile. 

ꕥ

You regaled Oswald as you walked about the orchard with the story of the lady gentleman and your romp in the fields that caused your injury. He made no attempt to interrupt your tale listening heartily his brows knit together quizzicakly. When you finished your tale you offered the handkerchief his way so he could examine the details of the embroidery. 

“Well this is quite the conundrum,” Oswald puzzled brushing a thumb over the lettering before handing the handkerchief back your way. “The countryside is quite literally crawling with these Lady Gentlemen.”

You bristled feeling indignant, “You all keep saying that, as if they are mice. I have yet to see more than one. If the countryside was crawling with them you would think I would see more.”

Oswald laughed an awkward boyish laugh, “Perhaps you are right, but there are a noteworthy few. Most likely you have encountered a friend of the Duke of Cambridgeshire, her estate is near here, no more than a two-hours ride on horseback. I will see what I can learn for you (Y/N).”

You took back the handkerchief tucking it away in your dress pocket, nodding thanks. Perhaps if Oswald was successful in his promise, you could learn the name of your elusive savior who ceased to escape your thoughts. 

“So,” Oswald drew out awkwardly. “You enjoy the writings of Sappho?”

You turned to him flushed with embarrassment and indignation, you had yet to voice this to anyone but the fatted and lazy tabby tom cat that patrolled the kitchens who seemed to only care that you were a human, and humans bring food from the heavens to fatten his belly further. And a cat, could not go about spouting to others about how you would rather divine kisses from the lips of another woman. Yet you supposed if he trusted you with his secret perhaps you could allow him this one of yours.

“And if I do?” You countered a bit more snippily than you originally intended which caused you to wince.

Oswald raised a hand in a show of submission, “Not to worry, your secret is safe with me. I am a friend of a lady who also prefers the company of other women, though I doubt she is the woman you encountered, she’s blonde. And I wouldn’t always count her among gentlemen, or women for that matter, but she is a friend of a great many other lady gentlemen.”

You couldn’t help yourself from smiling, “Is it possible that she might know who it is that helped me then? Your friend?”

“Oh, Eivor? Yes, I will write to her as soon as I return to Elmenham,” Oswald smiled and offered you his arm again. “Shall we return to the picnicking party?”

“If we don’t soon I fear they’ll have too many scandalous ideas swirling about their heads to even function,” You quipped taking his arm. 

Oswald laughed and led you back through the orchard to the picnic. When you neared the party you were surprised to see a tall black horse had joined Oswald and Finnr’s horses that grazed lazily about in the orchard grasses. Another individual had joined the picnicking party and was heartily regaling the group. 

As you approached you could see that the person was a lady gentleman. You felt your heart quicken at the possibility of it being your savior. But when she turned to face you and Oswald you could see that wasn’t her, this one was tall, her voice jolly and light, and she had a joyous smile that reached from ear to ear. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun and she was dressed smartly in an all-black gentleman’s suit, similar to the other lady gentleman you had encountered yesterday. 

You came to stand near your uncle letting go of Oswald’s arm and avoiding your aunt's gaze.

“... we would happily receive you all in a week's time for a masquerade ball,” the Lady Gentleman finished speaking and beamed her eyes landing on you in particular. You could tell she was being sly as her eyes flicked from your face and down your body making you blush hotly. 

She smiled and winked before waving, “I bid you all good day!”

The group exploded into whispers and exclamations of joy, the prospect of a private ball was all enticing, yet you had arrived too late to receive the name of your hosts. 

“Uncle,” you tapped his arm lightly to draw his attention. “Who will be hosting?”

Your uncle folded his hands neatly against his lap and smiled, “Why Soma Guthrumsdóttir, the Duke of Cambridgeshire.”

[ashandquiet]

Hey, hope you're doing well!

Sorry if someone already asked you this, but I was just curious if you would be continuing your 'My Most Unswerving Devotion' fanfic? Thought it was quite well written but completely understand if you're focusing on other fandoms.

Thanks :)

I do plan on finishing it! I however do work a full time job as well as several extra jobs as a farm hand! It’s just a matter of finding the time to put into writing, I’m hoping to have chapter 3 out before October :)

[ashandquiet]

RAAAAAAA VIKING ABBY AND READER

(idk if you do x reader stuff i just saw your requests for asks lmao)

⁀➷ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑾𝑶𝑳𝑭-𝑲𝑰𝑺𝑺𝑬𝑫 ˚₊‧⁺˖

𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨!𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘺 𝘹 𝘷𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

ೀ › 𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: OMG anon I've been thinking about viking!abby so many times before! And thank you so much for being officially my first request! hope you like it and sorry if there's any errors hehe. (Also I took the last name for Abby because of Eivor the main character of Assassin's Creed Valhalla, and the style of female Eivor is how I envision viking!abby) ♡

ೀ › 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Reader is female, suggestive content so minors do not interact, fluff and lightly mention of battles and scars. Let me know if there's anything else! ♡

(Special thanks to @andromeda-abides and @little-star-bun who helped me proofread this fic ♡)

There she was. Accompanied by the imposing howl of wolves, ax in hand. Crimson droplets adorned her shield and clothes while her slightly chapped lips quivered with irrepressible courage. She fought like no man known could. The way her ax moved smoothly like the wind itself was hypnotic and filled with such grace, passion and anger.

Her golden hair trapped in tiny and big braids, some strands danced freely adorned with silver rings that made it look like the golden light of the sun combined with the mysterious silver stars from the midnight sky.

And in that exact moment you knew that your heart belonged to her, for eternity.

The stories people told didn't do her justice. Especially the first time you saw her fight. The first time your eyes and hers connected with deep love and devotion between the clashing of axes and bodies that now sleeped eternally waiting for the Valkyries.

Like a ravenous wolf she ended every enemy in sight; she was a living myth. Some even believed that she was perhaps the unknown daughter of Odin himself, given that her strength was comparable to the All-father himself.

But only you could see the truth behind those tough looks and that pretty scar that adorned one side of her face, a scar of forgotten battles that helped her to build the respect she had now. You could see the woman who had fears and weakness like all humans, but there was nothing more beautiful to you.

"Freyja, Lady of the North, empower me. Give me strength, withhold my fear, embolden my spirit... Give me courage" she whispered, the familiar view of her kneeled in front of the wooden statue of the Goddess only meant that another battle was waiting beyond the threshold of your shared home.

The prayers to the Goddess Freyja and Odin were the only things that accompanied Abby to her battles, the battles to defend the honor of her people and most importantly to defend the land where you lived in peace with her.

"They are back, they are safe!" one of the children shouted while running to the entry of the village. Soon enough you heard the cries of the families that awaited for their beloved ones.

Your feet moved with such speed, eager eyes searching for Abby that was greeting the many children around her that were impatient to know the adventures she had this time.

"Okay, okay. I'll tell you all that we saw before dinner!" she answered to the children who ran and laughed around her.

Her beautiful eyes met yours making you feel goosebumps like the first time you exchanged looks with her.

A tender smile found a place in her face. She fought for days and she was beyond tired but seeing you was the best part of coming back home.

"Abby, you're back! Oh you can't imagine how much I missed you. Are you alright? Are you injured?" your voice breaking like the thin ice that covers the rivers in the winter, filled with emotion.

Trembling hands caressed Abby's face, making sure she was really there and not something created by your mind. But no, she was there with you.

"Of course I'm back, like I always do" she responded with a now toothy smile and continued "Shh, shh. I'm alright my love, I'm here with you… Finally" her lips soon found yours with deep need and desire, her familiar pine scent filled your senses while the heated kiss said better than any words could.

"Let me help clean you up before dinner, you need to rest my love" you whispered once the kiss ended, her forehead pressed slightly to yours while her big and calloused hands holded your face with tenderness.

A surprised gasp left your mouth as soon as you were now being carried away by Abby, your waist resting against one of her broad shoulders like it was nothing.

Shortly after between laughs she put you down, the door already opened because of the urge to see her a couple of minutes ago "Well, thank you for the ride" you teased as a smirk appeared on Abby's face.

She sat on one of the two wooden chairs, humming when you began to peel off each one of her clothes leaving her upper body bare "You don't have to thank me, I like carrying pretty girls" her cocky attitude always made you smile endlessly, Abby carried herself with lot of self confidence and you couldn't blame her, she was powerful and beautiful. And she knew it.

"Oh, so you carry every pretty girl that crosses your view?" you questioned, eyebrow arched slightly. Your question made her chuckle "Well, not exactly. Just one pretty girl caught my sight… and my heart" she revealed, her voice and gestures exaggerated making her look like a teenager in love and you couldn't help but roll your eyes and smile at her.

"You're such a tease, Abby Wolf-Kissed" her legs opened to leave place to yours, your hands undoing her tight braids making her blonde locks fall beyond her shoulders and covering her chest slightly "But I love you that way" you continued, this time in a gentle and loving whisper due to the closeness. The dim and warm light of the lantern illuminated the scars spaced across Abby's body, your fingertips traced along them and you remembered how some of them were cleaned and treated by you.

She looks up at you, feeling safe under your gaze and touch "I thank the gods for letting me see you again. And I thank you for doing my duties while I'm away" her hands found home on your waist trying to have you closer.

"You don't need to thank me, Abby. I enjoy taking care of our people like you always do, I thank the gods as well for bringing you back to me… Safe'' her eyes sparkled beautifully and just by looking at them you could feel all the love behind those icy orbs.

Her hands caressed your waist going down slightly to your thighs, missing the feeling of your warm body against the skin of her rough hands. Your cheeks warmed up at the familiar feeling of her hands roaming your body with such confidence, your body molding like clay under her hands making your current task of cleaning her body something so hard to do.

Her eyes never left your face as you tried to soak a piece of cloth to clean hers. The black painting around her eyes now slightly faded and easily to clean, the dirt going away allowing you to see those pretty freckles spaced across her nose and cheeks "You're so beautiful" you whispered again now cleaning her neck and shoulders, the air thick enough that Abby could cut it with her ax.

She smiled, her cheeks getting warm as soon as she heard your compliment. Even though she was tough and strong you could make her so shy with just a compliment "Not as beautiful as you, my love" she answered in a whisper, the muscles of her toned arms flexing each time you passed the wet cloth on her warm and freckled skin.

Her gentle, slightly calloused hand cupped your cheek, searching for those beautiful eyes of yours. Searching for those pretty lips she craved so badly until she couldn't control herself anymore and stole a kiss from them. The passion glowed through both your pores and each gentle touch said a small "I love you" onto the other's skin.

The only thing in your mind was her and only her, all of her. Her smell, her hair, her lips, her body, how warm she was, everything.

"I have something for you" she breathed between the heated kisses. "Close your eyes for me, please" her velvety voice making your head fuzzy (obviously not for the heated make out session you had a couple of seconds ago).

And so you did, you closed your eyes and sighed nervously. Her gifts and surprises were always exciting but this time everything felt even more intimate, more serious.

Gently Abby put a gold ring out of one of the tiny pockets in her belt.

"Open your eyes now, my love" she whispered, leaving a gentle kiss on the tip of your nose while putting the precious ring on the palm of your hand. Her heartbeat fast, eager to see your reaction.

Your eyes opened slowly seeing her red cheeks and a shy smile, she took your hand and took the ring again putting it slowly on your ring finger, eyes not leaving yours.

The ring was shaped like a little flower with gemstones for the petals, each one shining beautifully almost like Abby's eyes. "Oh Abby this is so beautiful, you–" she cut you off with a gentle kiss on your lips "My love… Would you marry me?" each side of her hands on your face as she said that, her voice making you enter to the Valhalla almost instantly.

"Of course I want to Abby! I would be so glad to be your wife. I'd love to" you answered with tears of happiness running down your cheeks. Her smile grew bigger from the pride of finally having you as her precious wife. Her strong arms lifted you with ease and she laughed with joy while she spinned you around the house.

Both of your hearts felt the same thing as the first time you saw each other. With unconditional love and devotion, though she wasn't a seer, she definitely saw that you were for her and only her; your destinies were sewn together by Fregga herself.

Thank you for reading! Any like reblog or comment are really appreciated, have a good day/night and don´t forget to drink water! love ya! ♡

[ashandquiet]

Little Abby sketch I did in notability, with a little drabble in my handwriting :>

[ashandquiet]

With the show coming out soon I’ve been building playlists. Featuring songs with fitting themes, lyrics with meaning, and songs I just think Ellie would enjoy, and I add songs as I listen!

[ashandquiet]

With the show coming out soon I’ve been building playlists. Featuring songs with fitting themes, lyrics with meaning, and songs I just think Abby would enjoy, and I add as I listen!

[ashandquiet]

Cowslip and Raindrops

Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: After being cooped up for months, you are able to run free and wild in the meadows. A mild boar attack leads to you being saved by a gallant lady Jarlskona, and a romantic attachment blooms in the meadows of Mercia.

Warnings: Mostly fluff, a little angst, mentions of Christianity, mentions of murder

Read it on AO3

  Since the arrival of spring in the shire, beautiful little blooms had begun popping up all over the fields in exuberant displays of life after the harsh winter. Even the trees had begun bursting with bloom signaling a bountiful summer harvest of fruits. As spring progressed around the sprawling estate that had been a prison most of the winter months, you ached to be free of the musty roman brick and cold stone. Your lady had begun her seclusion in the early autumn, and as spring stretched its tender wispy fingers of greens and bright colors, she neared her time of delivery. 

You had been busy at work since dawn stitching extensions into your Mistress’s smocks, for all her dresses had little give around the swell of her stomach. The midwife said the baby was strong and perhaps it would be a boy, and the other lady’s maids oohed and awed at the prospect of a little lordling. Yet as you worked, you couldn’t help but be distracted by the beckoning of the season and all its bountiful glories. The anticipation of the babe’s arrival seemed to have skipped you altogether. All you could think of was the wispy wildflowers blooming in the fields beyond the manor. As your thoughts became clouded by the promise of the outdoors, there was a cough behind you, pulling you from your stupor and causing you to jab the needle into your finger. You gasped looking at the bead of crimson pooling and stuck the digit into your mouth quickly to stop the bleeding, you turned to see who had interrupted your sweet vision. There stood the head maid, her head tilted slightly as if examining your work. 

“Agnes, I didn’t hear you come down,” you offered meekly, looking at the small red welt on the skin of your hand. It’s not that you feared her, Agnes was known for her calm demeanor but she was also known for her vehement hatred of idleness; daydreaming was the exact kind of behavior that would have you emptying chamber pots for the next fortnight.

“Y/N,” Agnes gave your work a long glance. “You’ve accomplished much, our lady sends her thanks.” 

She picked up the bulk of your work, letting her gaze linger on the garment laying in your lap. The stitches had become noticeably looser and more haphazard, they glared as a bold indicator of when spring had begun distracting you. You braced yourself for the inevitable, but Agnes just sighed and gave you a cordial smile. 

“Perhaps, it's time you took a break? I know being cooped up in this old building for so long has begun to weigh on my own mind,” Agnes suggested shifting the weight of the dresses in her arms. 

You balked for a second then looked towards the window then at the unfinished work in your lap, you glanced back at the older woman. Under her headdress, her sorrel eyes had become heavy and her once-tanned skin pale and lifeless. It was as if the air of the large house had begun to suck the life from her. You had noticed it in all the women that occupied the house, most blaming it on the arduous winter. 

You hesitated, “After I finish this dress you mean…?” 

Agnes shook her head, “Idle hands make for tawdry work, it's best if you get some rest. Perhaps you could bring some spring blossoms to brighten the birthing chamber, and our lady could use them to alleviate the stress of her vigil.”

You brightened at the idea and moved your work off your lap, “Of course, I would love to bring her some joy.” 

Agnes nodded and started up the stairs to the lady’s rooms. You watched her leave before making haste to your quarters that you shared with the other lowly ladies’ maids. Retrieving your lightest cloak and a small knife from your personal belongings to ease the work of cutting flower stems, you rushed to the doors that led to the outer gardens. The guards paid you little heed as you traipsed outside for the first time in far too long. 

Immediately you felt lighter, the air outside was clean smelling, and the warm rays of afternoon sun kissed the cold skin of your face and hands. Even the chill breeze of spring did little to weigh your spirits down. 

Gathering your skirts you rushed for the hole in the wall that you had gazed at through the window for far too long thinking up romantic stories of escapes and daring rescues from knights. It was just large enough for a person to ease through with a little difficulty. 

You knew you could ask to be let through the main estate gate, but that meant talking to the guards that leered at you like a piece of meat. As the seasons wore on you knew they grew more and more desperate for a release of flesh, and several of the other girls had deigned themselves upon them. The thought made you ill at ease, perhaps soon you could be rid of this place. As soon as the Lady had the babe that is. It would be better to raise a baby away from the old stone building come spring and summer. 

Climbing through the wall, your veil snagged on a briar and was pulled from your head letting your hair free. With a fruitful laugh, you snatched it from the vine not caring for the scratches that its thorns left on the back of your hand. You glanced at the piece of fabric and decided that it didn’t matter who saw your hair outside the walls anyway. So you tucked away into a pocket of your dress jumping down into the thick lush grass that grew outside the wall.  

Venturing out of the wall's shade the season's bounty beckons you like a siren's song urging you into meadows and across fields, away from the oppressive Roman estate and into the countryside. 

Once free of the walls your mind began to wander back to a simpler time. In the time before rules and rigidity you had run wild and free around the moors, a creature of the world wild and begone. Your mother had been a midwife, dealing in all the cares of women from pregnancy to affairs of the heart, illnesses, and even doing away with unwanted children. She cared for women and loved women, and the Christians killed her for it. They would likely sneer and call her a witch now, as the priest that had passed you to the Abess had. 

They had cleaned you up, torn you away from everything that made you precious in the eyes of your mother, forced you into a lady’s role and now you served as a lady in waiting for a lord’s wife. “A very moral example of a good Christ-serving woman.”

You snorted at the thought, they’d never understand how much like a caged wolf you were inside. Still wild, still craving the caress of the forest in your bones, The rush of the rivers in your veins, and the songs of the land deep in your heart. 

For now, you conceded, you would have to settle for the little bits of freedom you could. And if picking flowers gives you that freedom so be it. 

~~~

The patch of spring bloom you had settled in seemed to stretch onwards forever, the primroses bloomed so fiercely here. Further down the rise, you found patches of cowslip and sweet violets, the fragrance filling your nose as you picked the flowers delicately from their stems. You watched as the bees buzzed about hard at work and the distant rustling of birds in the tree line made your heart swell with joy beyond imagining. You had watched a mother doe and her two young fawns cut through the meadow from a distance. The twins were both gangly small things, probably born within the week. And if the mother had noticed your presence she hadn’t been too badly bothered by it. You watched them pick their way across the open expanse and then looking towards the trees, you noticed a bright patch of light, highlighting an Elecampane plant at the beginning of its spring growth. 

Remembering the herbalist knowledge passed to you from your mother, you knew that its early spring root would be a perfect allergy reliever, and as some of your fellow ladies maids had begun to sniffle with seasonal allergies this was the perfect opportunity, something you simply could not pass up. 

If you hadn’t been so distracted by the spring growth in front of you, all your senses diverted by the bountiful sounds, colors, and smells you would have noticed the large boar rooting about in the shaded undergrowth, his long tusks ripping up dirt in search of treasures. You also might have noticed how dangerously close the elecampane was to his rooting patch. Yet you hadn’t, your senses dulled from the time away from the wild countryside. It wasn’t until you began tilling the damp dark soil around the plant's base, that you got the sinking feeling that you were not alone. Cautiously you raised your head and listened, there in the woodland just ahead of you, you became aware of the short heaving breaths just inches from your head. Trying not to panic you shirked away from the sound. But it was too late!

He burst forth from the dark bracken with a guttural squeal that sent the hairs on the back of your neck up. His powerful hooves tore up the elecampane plant as he launched himself at you with a vicious snarl. 

You screamed stumbling backwards fumbling for the short knife you had tucked into your dress, but in the chaos, it was flung from your reach. You kicked up at the large boar reaching desperately for the knife, its metal blade glinting in the afternoon light. His large tusks cut through the skirt of your dress, tearing the flesh of your leg and you screeched in pain. He lunged back towards you, his tusk now coated in blood from the cut he made; your blood. 

You felt a desperate panic fill your chest, you could not die here, could not be felled by a boar. 

You gained purchase on the blade and slashed at his long snout managing a short slice to his nose. He reared back in pain, releasing a blood-curdling squeal into the afternoon air. 

From the thicket another boar burst, this one seemed to tower over the first, thick swamp grass hung from its back and it heaved hot air as it charged toward you. You scattered to your feet attempting to run but your legs were forced down by the weight of the first boar slamming into you full force. 

As you hit the ground the air was knocked out of you and the knife was sent flying. A vicious high pitched ringing filled your ears and you knew you were done for. 

There was a muffled clamor and then a yell, a shriek of pain followed by a squeal that was cut off violently; and then there was silence save for the ringing that persisted in your ears. You didn’t dare move, you just listened. There was some delegating and then the sound of a weapon being sheathed; the ringing stopped. 

The world came into focus as a gentle hand cupped your shoulder, and then a voice crooned, “Are you alright Dove?” 

Lowering your hands from your head you peeked up at the figure backed by light. They were glowing, and you struggled to make out their features. They crouched and helped you sit, gently drawing your injured leg out from under your now ripped and blood-soaked skirt. From this angle you could better make out their features, it was a woman who had saved you. A Dane woman at that. 

“O-Oh I’m quite alright,” you stuttered out as you watched her examine your leg.

She looked up and gave you a soft smirk, the mirth behind her storm cloud-colored eyes said what you knew was the truth; no you weren’t alright, and she knew that. And you were truly in no place to refuse her help, seeing as she had just saved you from those boars. 

“What did you think a little knife like this could do to a boar that size Sweetling,” she asked as she passed you back the knife that had fallen when you hit the ground the second time. 

“I wasn’t meaning to hunt boars!” You retorted feeling your face go hot. She poured a little water over the cut and dried it with her cloak and then bound it tightly with a bandage.

“That’s not too tight now is it?” Her voice was gentle as she retracted her hands from your leg, some part of you screamed at the absence of her touch. But you shook your head. 

“If you weren’t meaning to hunt boars what were you doing Sweetling?” 

“I was picking flowers, and I…,” you trailed off looking back at the ruined elecampane plant. 

She followed your gaze and gave a knowing sigh. The boars were gone, likely carried off by her men. You had heard her delegating to someone, was she someone important? She wasn’t dressed like the bandits that pervaded the countryside, and she had an air of decorum and importance. She offered you a hand and you took it, rising to her feet she tugged you up with her. You wobbled a bit and she supported your waist with her other hand. The skin under your dress where she touched tingled with longing. You gazed up at her, finding yourself admiring her strong features, high cheekbones, and warm eyes. Her hair was a dark chestnut brown, pulled away from her face but with a slight wave, the color made her grey eyes seem lighter, and there was a wisdom about her. Some scars marred her perfect face, yet they did not detract from her handsome appearance. You found yourself wanting all at once to know how she got them and to kiss them. She must’ve noticed your staring because she raised a quizzical arched brow. You looked away. 

“Perhaps,” She said softly, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “I could help you find another plant like the one they ripped up?”

You blushed at the suggestion and nodded, finding yourself eager to spend more time with your mysterious Dane rescuer. 

She helped you search along the treeline for more elecampane well until the sun began to set, in the end, you only managed to find one fully grown plant that you felt well enough to harvest. You were shocked when she stopped you from digging up the plant yourself. 

“A lady such as yourself should never have to dig,” she purred out, making you flush. A cord began to form around your heart. 

“I’m no lady,” you whispered back, showing the crescent moons of dirt beneath your nails and the scars from years of hard work. She only shook her head and took your hands in hers. 

“You may not be a lady in rank, but you are a lady to me…” She smiled and gently caressed the backs of your hands with her thumbs.

Your skin once again burned at her touch and you could feel your thoughts slip away into dangerous territory. She watched your face, eyes going soft, and then dropped your hands softly. She used the butt of her axe to carve away at the dirt and then pulled the plant up by its stalk shaking the roots of dirt. She presented it to you with a smile and you nodded approvingly. 

She then stood and helped you pick your way across the meadow back to where you had abandoned your harvest of primrose, cowslip, and violets, all the while carrying the harvested plant for you. You paused before bending to pick up the bundle of flowers. Once you left this meadow you might never see her again, perhaps it was better that way, you knew that the Danes lived violent lives… Or was that just a lie that the church and ruling class wanted you to believe. This woman was tender, gentle, and kind and all the while she had saved your life. You gazed up at her and she was smiling, so much softness and kindness behind her gaze. 

“I…,” you trailed off feeling shy. “I never got your name…”

She cupped your cheek softly with her clean hand, her thumb brushing gently along your cheekbone. You watched her eyes feeling flush under her touch, and the cord around your heart tightened. She was looking for something, and desperately you hoped she saw that something in you.  

“My name is Soma, Jarlskona of Grantebridgescire…,” Soma said softly. “And may I have your name?”

You felt yourself stiffen, you had heard of the Danes and their Jarls, she ruled a clan of Danes and you, well you were nothing but a lowly orphan turned ladies maid. Here she had traipsed about a meadow with you all afternoon, even stooped to dig in the dirt. And here she was now, holding a plant for you, her hand on your face, and her gaze expectant, waiting. You had a feeling that she would wait for your answer forever if she had to. 

“Y/N…” you suddenly felt very small, yet she was still giving you her attention, she didn’t shirk away, she just smiled and rubbed her thumb again. 

Her hand slowly left your face to take your free hand, which lifted to her lips and kissed the back softly.  Soma gazed at you with mirth in her eyes, “Hello, Y/N… may we meet again…” 

She gently laid the elecampane atop the rest of your harvest and stepped to the side, but not before giving your hand the gentlest of squeeze. You wanted to melt, you wanted to go with her, fall at her feet and beg her not to leave you. But you didn’t; instead, you just smiled and nodded and began to walk away. 

You felt foolish, silly, and a bit like a girl again. You had duties now, and so did she… but couldn’t you prioritize your happiness just this once you reasoned. 

So you spun around, Soma had just started to turn herself but she stopped and gave you a small smile.

“Soma! When can I see you again?” You called out across the meadow, her smile broadened.

“In two days’ time,” She called back, you could hear the smile in her voice. “In this meadow Sweetling.”

You smiled, her last statement wasn’t a question, it was an order and it made you feel weak in the knees. Bringing the flowers close to your chest, you gave a hearty nod and a small bow. Soma only grinned and gave a small wave, but that was all you needed, your heart still soared with happiness. 

“You should go before it gets too dark, Dove, I promise that I will be here,” she said motioning to the sun. 

You nodded, turned, and began the trek back to the looming estate, hoping to beat the sunset.

~~~

The days seemed to drag on longer than ever now, you anticipated every minute of every hour, time ever approaching when you would see Soma again. 

What would you talk about, what would you do? The thoughts of Soma swam in your head as you worked. You had thrown yourself into every possible chore, just to stay in Agnes’s good graces. From the moment you made it back into the building you had been bombarded with questions, like; what had taken so long, how had you managed to pick so many, how far had you gone, and what in God's name had happened to your dress.

All the other questions were easy, but for the last, you had to lie, you knew if you were to regale the tale of the boars and the dashing Jarlskona who had saved you, you would never be allowed out again. They had views about Danes here. So you had made up some lie about falling in a ditch, snagging your dress on a particularly sharp branch, it worked well enough as everyone seemed to believe you. They had taken the flowers away to the birth chamber and you had gone to your room to rest. 

That night your head had swam with thoughts of Soma, your body remembering everywhere she had touched you. The way your skin seemed to pulse at the memory made you flush. Something coiled in your belly and you pushed it down. Your ears begged to hear her croon at you again, you yearned for her secret words just for you.

Sweetling…

Dove…

Overall it had been a very restless night. 

On the second day it was raining, a torrential downpour in the morning that had kept everyone inside clinging to warmth from the fires. You had set about laying down pots to catch the water that fell through cracks in the old mortar and tile roof. Every glimpse you caught of the rain weighed your spirits down. Surely Soma wouldn’t venture out to see you in this weather, which made you worry.  If this weather wore on through the season would she forget about you? Your stomach tied itself in knots as you tried desperately not to think of it, yet it chewed on your mind like a dog with a bone. 

And yet, the weather wasn’t the only thing bringing your spirits down. It had become abundantly clear that your mistress intended to leave the countryside altogether after the birth. The reprieve from the musty old villa that you had craved just days ago was in sight, yet now you wanted so badly to stay. Soma was within reach here, the countryside lively and full of promise. It reminded you so much of your girlhood freedom that you couldn’t desperately bring yourself to leave now. Yet duty compelled you; should you run, where would you go?

Perhaps Soma would give you a home amongst her clan, but you knew you had none of the skills that it seemed the Danes valued. Your expertise in herbs and knowledge of tinctures could be useful, but what if they saw no use in that skill? You dreaded the thought of being unwanted by her. You had known her only a short while but you yearned for her approval and praise. Craved being wanted by her in both body and soul so much you almost ached. You shook your head to dispel your thoughts, you still had some time yet to formulate a plan and there was no use in puzzling over it now. 

Resting your head against the cool stone window frame you closed your eyes and decided to take a quick rest. 

Come afternoon the skies had lightened along with your spirits, and the downpour turned to a drizzle. The meadows beyond were streaked with light that cut through the rain clouds. There in the light, the flowers had started to shed the water that weighed them down, and animals emerged from their shelter from the storm. You glanced from where you sat at the window, searching the large room for Agnes. She had gone up to the mistress' room ages ago, telling you all to busy yourselves with personal time. The others were all occupied with small tasks, embroidery, and mending hose, and two of the girls were busy playing a game of draughts. She hadn’t said not to go outside, and surely she couldn’t be that mad if you went out.

You glanced back out the window, who could tell how long it would be clear out you reasoned, now was your chance permission or not.

Making haste you ran to grab your cloak and snuck out into the garden. The garden was clear of guards so you ran straight to the hole in the wall, removed your veil, and ran to the meadow.

You didn’t care about your wet dress and shoes, or the way the wet grass tried to snag and pull the bandage from your leg. All that mattered was seeing if she would truly be there. 

When you reached the meadow your dress was soaked through, and your hair was plastered to your face from the drizzle. You looked around desperately hoping this wasn’t all a waste; then there she was. Sitting under a tall oak just at the edge of the meadow, Soma’s head was bowed, and her hands were busy with a long object that appeared to be wrapped in leather. She was just as handsome as you remembered, and she looked much drier than you. 

You balled up your skirt and picked your way through the long grass. You wanted to run to her, and throw yourself in her arms, yet your nerves kept you at bay. How would she react to you, how long had she been waiting, why wasn’t she looking up. Your stomach was doing flips, you felt hot despite the chill in the air. You were sure that the water that pooled on your skin and eyelashes could have become steam with how hot your body felt at this moment. All this just from seeing her, you felt foolish.

She looked up, all of her features brightening at the sight of you, her smile stretched across her whole face. It made you shudder with happiness, that smile was for you. 

She stood and held her hand out to you, ‘It's dry under here Sweetling.” 

You took her hand eagerly, they were a welcome balm against the cold air that nipped at your poor fingers. She caressed the underside of your wrist gently with two fingers as she pulled you towards her. Your stomach filled with a deep ebbing warmth, you wanted to cling to her, lay yourself bare at her feet, subject to her every whim and desire. 

Soma purred softly brushing wet hair from your face, “Thank you for coming to meet me, even with the rain.”

You swallowed blushing and nodded coyly.

“Don’t be shy Dove, have a seat,” Soma cooed and gestured to the rug she had laid out on the ground. You marveled at it for a moment, such an intricately woven textile surely cost a fortune, yet she brought it out on a rainy day to cover the ground. You glanced up at the Jarlskona and she simply raised a brow waiting for you. 

You sat quickly fixing your skirts and surveyed the scene. Soma’s horse grazed lazily in a patch of cowslip and clover just on the edge of the tree line. On the rug rested Soma’s shield, it was a heavy-looking thing, made of both metal and wood, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the thought of how muscular her arms must be. Soma sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off her body.

“I was worried you had forgotten,” Soma teased gently, her voice full of mirth. “I’m glad you didn’t…”

You shivered at the added statement and watched as she turned towards you. Up close you could see the object she was holding was a dagger. The handle was made from what appeared to be deer antler and its sheath was the color of fresh hide stamped with the twisting sigils of the Danes. You had seen them carved into the hulls of their long boats that traveled the rivers of Mercia. 

“I brought this for you, should you encounter any more boars this will surely do more damage than that sorry knife you wielded the other day,” she said, holding out the dagger for you to take from her hands. 

“I couldn’t-,” You attempted to refuse, it was a beautiful gift, but what would the others say if they saw you with such a powerful instrument? 

“Nonsense, even a lady should have the tools to properly protect herself,” Soma laid it in your lap. “It’s just a small gift Dove…”

You gazed down at the dagger in your lap. You couldn’t help but notice that the handle was perfectly sized for your hand, and carved in a way that it would not cause you any discomfort. You glanced up at Soma and she nodded encouragingly as if saying, “Go on, pick it up.”

It had a surprising heft to it, but the weight balanced perfectly even with it still in its sheath. Both comfortable and weighty in your hand, you wondered how to wield it properly. Soma pulled the sheath off so you could see the blade. It glinted in the light and along the spine of the blade, runes were inlaid in the metal. You rotated it in your hands looking up at her. She was watching you, a soft kind smile gracing her features that made your heart flutter.  She had put a lot of thought into this gift, a small gift she had said. What did Soma consider a large gift?

She held out the sheath to you, “There’s a strap to attach it to your belt, so you never have to fumble with your pockets.”

You marveled up at her and smiled accepting the sheath back, “Thank you… It's a beautiful dagger.”

“We call it a seax,” Soma said, as she watched you slide the blade safely away. “They see much use on and off the battlefield.”

She paused for a moment, “I could teach you ways to defend yourself with it if you’d like, but I do enjoy saving you, Dove…”

You looked up at her eyes wide, your face was flush, you wanted to say; I love when you save me as well . 

All you managed was a squeak that made Soma grin. She ghosted her fingertips over your hand sending a shiver up your spine. You tried to speak but your tongue had tied itself in knots and all that came was an audible gasp. Withdrawing her hand she sat back putting a distance between you again. You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding. Was this all some kind of test? Every movement she made dripped with confidence, she ebbed with raw magnetic power, and oh Gods how you wanted to taste it. 

Soma pulled you from your thoughts, “Have you eaten today Sweetling?”

You shook your head, you hadn’t felt well enough to eat what was offered to you this morning. Soma’s brows knit together concerned and she reached behind herself and pulled a small basket forwards, flipping the lid off. Inside was a small jug, which you learned was filled with mead brewed by a craftsman from her clan, a crescent of rich cheese, and two perfectly golden bread rolls. You felt your mouth water, since your lady had begun her seclusion the food afforded to the ladies’ maids had been meager at best, dwindling into a poor pottage and tough meat after the arduous winter. Soma must’ve noticed your stare because she held out one of the bread rolls with an affectionate smile. You took it eagerly and reveled at the smell of the fresh grains. 

You sat in a comfortable silence enjoying each other's company, the food she had brought, and passing the bottle of mead between the two of you for quite some time. The afternoon brightened and the bees began to flit between flowers, the smell of the earth after rain made your heart sing and you released a contented sigh.

Soma glanced at you and smiled, “How is your leg Dove?”

You looked at her with surprise, she genuinely cared to remember your injury, when all the others had simply forgotten about it. It hadn’t been causing you much pain but the bruise that had formed around the wound was a ghastly-looking thing. Lifting your skirt you moved to show her, and she let out an audible hiss at the size of the bruise.

“Have you had an opportunity to rest, Sweetling? It's dreadful to look at…,” Soma’s voice was gentle. “Have you kept the wound clean?”

You nodded, “There's not much time to rest it I’m afraid… My mistress should be having her babe any day.”

You left out how busy you'd be after the baby was born, or how you’d likely be leaving the countryside altogether. Soma gently grazed her hand over the wound and looked up toward your face.

“Then you’ll rest now…” She said softly with a kind smile.

You fell into a secure silence again, periodically glancing at your company just to make sure she was still there. 

“After her seclusion, where will you go?” Soma asked, breaking the silence, she was gazing out over the meadow. You felt your stomach drop. You hadn’t expected her to ask. 

There was a hard lump in your throat, and you couldn't bring yourself to look at her as you spoke, “Away from the countryside… I know that much, likely back to the home of my lady���s husband. It's far from here, we were sent away for the season because of skirmishes with Danes…”

You trailed off staring down at the knife in your lap, would this be the only piece of your time with Soma that remained when you were gone? 

“I thought maybe I would stay, but I can’t protect myself, and I can’t hunt. I could live the way my mother had before me, trading and tending to the sick, but how long would it be before the Christians came to kill me just like they killed her,” It pained you to say it aloud. 

You glanced over at Soma, her strong brows were knit together with a frown stretching across her features. Her eyes were stormy, the unease apparent in her body language. You gently laid your hand atop her hand in a comforting gesture, and she softened. There wasn’t much you could do, you could only hope she felt the same as you. Yet perhaps together you could better come up with a solution. You closed your eyes for a moment just relishing this moment together even if it would be your last. There was a shuffling next to you after a long moment, and you peeked your eyes open. Soma had moved both her hands to cup yours, tenderly she raised them to her lips. 

“Come with me, back to Grantebridge,” she whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. 

You froze your eyes flitting around her face looking for a twitch, any telltale sign that she was having a go at you. She only gazed back at you, her eyes full of tenderness and affection.

“I can’t fight, I’m not skilled at anything that would benefit a clan,” You attempted to reason, but she only shook her head and cupped your cheek.

“You won’t have to Dove, don’t you worry about any of that. Please let me carry this burden for you,” Soma spoke softly, her thumb brushing along your cheek soothingly. “Come to Grantebridge, you’ll fit perfectly with my clan… with me…”

“You will have every desire in your heart Dove, should you decide to make Grantebridge your home. We have bountiful meadows just beyond the walls, and the city is a heart of trade, you’ll never be bored, my clan throws the most exciting parties…” Soma continued holding your free hand in hers while she caressed gentle circles against your cheek with her thumb. “Let me fulfill your every desire…”

Your heart skipped a beat, eyes stinging with tears. She wanted you after all, even with your faults. Her face was full of reverence and love as she waited for your answer, she was as patient as the rivers were wild. 

“Truly…?” You stammered, biting back a sob. 

Soma’s eyes went soft and she brushed a tear off your cheek gently, “Yes, truly, let me treat you as my lady, my queen…”

You nodded blindly, Soma gently cupped your face in her hands and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, letting her lips linger against your skin. She chuckled softly and pulled you in for a sweet hug. You clung to her embrace, heart racing and warmth blooming in your chest. She rubbed your back soothingly, her hands strong and steady keeping you from floating away. 

You laughed softly wiping your nose, “T-then you’ll be able to teach me how to use the seax afterall…”

Soma looked at you a grin scrunching her features and she laughed, “As you wish my Dove.”

[ashandquiet]

My Most Unswerving Devotion

Chapter 2. Musings of a Duke

Regency! Soma Jarlskona x F!Reader

Summary: Since coming to Norfolk to stay with your family, the conversations have all revolved around matrimony. Just when your aunt has found a match for you much to your chagrin, quite by accident you fall for the wealthy Duke of Cambridgeshire; Soma Guthrumsdóttir. Can circumstance truly keep you apart?

A/N: This chapter is from the perspective of Soma, I hope you enjoy the bits of story building and I apologize for the long wait on chapter 2.

Read it on AO3

Soma had always been level-headed and sane.

Or at least she was sure she had been, a few bouts of rage, but that was due to anyone under duress, it wasn’t until this afternoon she found herself acting a fool.

Soma always followed a schedule, a strictly tailored schedule at that. She would rise just before dawn, dress, and take her breakfast in her study. It was there that her housekeeper and butler would relay the affairs of the servants of the manor, the places in need of address, and she would delegate resources as necessary. Then after having read the household ledger, Soma would take a short walk in the manor gardens to take in the fresh morning air. By the time she arrived back inside, Birna would finally be awake and sitting down for breakfast in the breakfast dining room, so Soma would sit with her and tea while Birna regaled her with the affairs of the servants, but with more sordid details as always. After breakfast, Birna would ride out to town to cover any affairs of Soma’s that did not require the Duke’s immediate attention and Soma would go check on land tenants.

After the morning's chores had been carried out, it was then that at her leisure Soma would take her gelding Alvis out to run the lengths of the land. It was here in the fields that she truly felt the strains and pressure of her inherited title lift from her shoulders. All the judgment and strain put on her by society could wash away, but in the end, it was just a wash. She did just as Guthrum had taught her, put on airs, and be intelligent and cunning. Never let them see how they affect you. 

He had taken her in when she was just an unkempt street child scurrying about Stockholm with a small gaggle of other orphans, stealing and scraping to stay alive. It was after the death of her poor mother and father had left her alone and abandoned, and she had been running about the port struggling to keep up with the much older children who ran the gang like wolves. The tall bearded man dressed in finery had stepped in her way causing her to fall and his outstretched hand had effectively changed the course of her life forever. 

Before leaving Sweden he had put her to work, mostly as a little spy because she could fit into places, and hear and see things that the others of his entourage couldn’t. Guthrum then grew fond of Soma quickly and wasted no time inviting her back to England with him, and Soma saw no need to protest, she was fed, warmly clothed, and most of all happy.

Soma was given the best possible education available, learning to read and write quickly, and excelling at arithmetic and humanitarian studies. She learned to be a great leader, as well as a listener under Guthrum’s influence and tutelage. It was there she was introduced to the younger Ragnarsson brothers Ivarr and Ubba, and she learned how to fight, shoot, hunt, and the art of swordplay, seeing the two brothers as adopted older brothers of her own. As she grew and became accustomed to her life in England it became plain to Soma that Guthrum never once attempted to raise Soma as a lady, knowing that he would never have a male heir; Soma was raised as a son, and eventual heir to Guthrum’s, land, title, and holdings.

Much to society's chagrin, Soma was never offered as a marriage prospect, even though she was named as Guthrum’s only heir and beneficiary. While in her teen years there were rumors that she would eventually marry Ubba Ragnarsson, while others argued that she was particularly monstrous and no man would be able to tame her feral nature. Many made little attempt to woo her, but she snubbed them in favor of horses, books, and swordplay. 

The study of law had entranced her, so at the behest of Guthrum, a law education was arranged. Under the guise of a man, she attended university and rose to be a scholar in her own right. It was there at university with its dances, shops, and libraries, that she befriended Birna, her most stout-hearted and amorous companion, a daughter of merchants who similarly to Guthrum’s circle had come to England from Scandinavia and gained such prosperous wealth that they stayed to provide a life for their daughter. 

Birna threw Soma into a life she had never before experienced outside the scholarly and dutiful confines of her being. The joys of drink, dancing, and social calls, as well as indulging in the finer luxuries that she had denied herself. She purchased her first townhouse and it was there that Soma and Birna threw small soirees, and Birna mocked Soma for her obsession and love of rugs and interior finery. 

She met and entertained women, and had a few brief affairs, most ending with the other party marrying or being sent away by family. However letters were always exchanged but as letters stopped arriving Soma would burn the lavender and locks of hair and resume her solitary lifestyle, caring for her friends and the makeshift family she had found in the city.

As her life beyond Cambridgeshire stretched in an expanse before her, opportunities of employment and adventure beckoning, in the country, Guthrum grew sick. Knowing he was not long for this world the Duke summoned his adopted child back to his side. Dutifully Soma came and remained with him until the day he died. She knew her days of freedom were over, obligation was her constant companion as she assumed the responsibilities of Dukedom. At the recommendation of Birna, she hired an old acquaintance of theirs, Lif as a secretary and brought Birna on as an equerry to the estate. 

Together the three of them formed an insurmountable team in making the land of Cambridgeshire prosperous and one of great renown throughout England.

However, the rumor mill never stopped churning, but what was there for petty country folk to talk about more than the affairs of Soma Guthrumsdóttir?

On these particular days after a morning full of settling disputes and arranging for gifts and aid to be sent to families within her territory, Soma found herself in most need of a ride. While her head swam with thoughts of land rights, tenant arrangements, and the lending of estates, Soma rode well off into the fields of Norfolk just for a moment's reprise from it all. 

It was there, near a blooming horse-chestnut tree that she had nearly collided with what she could only describe as an angel came to earth, the sound of her voice still shook Soma to her bones as she urged Alvis homeward.

She had removed her gloves to feel the bones and muscles in the woman’s wrist and at the light skin contact, she felt as though she were on fire. The way that she could feel the woman’s eyes burn as she watched her, the soft gasp she made when Soma had twisted her wrist in a painful direction, it all made Soma’s skin prickle at the thought of her. Soma couldn’t help herself; she had crooned and given her a pet name of all things. One meeting and all she could think about was how it would feel to touch skin to skin. To talk to her as if they had always known each other. 

Soma let out a frustrated noise as she neared the manor, she knew Birna would never let her hear the end of it if she came in looking like a lovestruck, amorous fool. The romantic sensibilities of her joyful friend would run away with her. How would she ever tell Birna she never even got the woman’s name? She was a damned fool, and all she could do was hope that Birna was off making some poor girl, or boy flush with compliments.

But Soma wasn’t lucky, and Birna was there sitting outside the stable on a bench pretending to read a book while watching the stable boy work with the horse.

“There you are Soma, you great wandering lordy you,” Birna called in her usual chipper tone as Soma rode up to the stable and dismounted. Soma flashed her a weary look and led Alvis into the stable, politely declining the offer from the stableboy to take the horse from her.

Birna got serious, “What happened.”

Soma shook her head with a sigh, finding herself rushing to get the cinches undone from Alvis, Birna would begin her further questioning soon and Soma could not bring herself to say what a fool she had been. 

“Was there an incident at one of the farms? Did a cow give birth and it was partially gruesome to have seen with your lordly eyes? Was someone's child struck by a goat and you were given the child to hold while the goat was put to death? Are we having mutton?”

“No, no incidents of mention,” Soma grunted, struggling with one particular loop, her friend’s well-intentioned questions making her more irritable by the minute.

“Let me help, you’re gumming it up,” Birna stepped between Soma and Alvis taking over the chore of tacking down Soma’s bay horse. She treaded slightly out of Birna’s way to watch her undo the cinch, yet she found herself gazing at her hands, again. 

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, Soma.”

“I’m alright I just need some time to myself, thank you Birna,” Soma felt grave as she nodded to her friend to take her to leave.

Stepping out from under the stable cover Soma ran her hands over her face, she was suffocating. Her throat was tight and she felt as though she would begin perspiring through her waistcoat, her hands clammy within the confines of the gloves, Soma stripped them off and tossed them to the ground. 

Somehow she had let herself act such a fool that she had forgotten to ask for the lady’s name, or an address, calling card, anything. She had even neglected to tell the lady her name, of course, Soma had wrapped her wrist with a handkerchief from her pocket that was embroidered with “SG”, her initials, but how on earth would it even find its way back to her? The most mortifying and frustrating realization of all hit like a boulder being thrown into water; How would she ever know if the beautiful creature she had met this day, also preferred the company of women .

Feeling helpless, which she hated the most, she started walking towards the manor to lock herself in the safety of her private rooms, where she could brood and mourn this terrible turn in private. It wasn’t the first time she had experienced such heartbreak and she felt as though it wouldn’t be the last. She knew herself and her heart, yet she always seemed to fall into the trap of self-imposed distress regarding affairs of the heart.

Taking care of the tie in her cravat she tossed it to the ground and made her way into the manor, taking long quick strides to her study not caring for the muddy footprints that she left in her wake. 

She has always desired women, both emotionally and carnally. The gentlest touch of another woman filled her with heavenly joy, in the passion-filled faucet of her heart she held the most sublime desires imaginable. It was her every aim in life to give a woman, whom she loved so deeply it cut like a knife, every possible thing and more. Soma had fallen like this before, and she knew that if she did not stop her heart from getting away with her she could end up broken, her heart exposed to the empty expanse of the world in the end just as before.

Soma let out an enraged noise throwing her hands in the air, she could feel the boiling rage rising within her at the thought of losing composure yet again. She was being choked, by manners and the very opposing forces within herself. Almost flailing to pull herself from it, she tore off her waistcoat throwing it across the empty room, not even having made it to her study yet. She panted staring at the offending garment. It wasn’t enough she still felt as though her clothes were constricting themselves around her. Soma then fumbled with the buttons on her vest and flung it in another direction, then the cufflinks, she yanked off her boots and collapsed onto her rear. Her eyes began to burn with emotion and she could feel her throat tighten. Soma undid the first few buttons of her collar and then drooped backward onto her back to stare upwards. Soma covered her face with her hands and suffered a strained sigh.

There was a shuffle of feet that came to an abrupt stop in the doorway, Soma turned her head to glance at the doorway where Birna stood looking a bit befuddled. Soma’s friend held the discarded cravat and suede gloves.

“Well aren’t you pitiful,” Birna chided as a maid rushed to take the items from her.

Soma sighed feeling quite pitiful indeed.