“Yes. To the king. My man, Odger, will be outside the door as soon as I get him. He will be waiting to bring you to him.”
“Okay.”
Wolf waited. Was that it? She would go without quarrel? He wanted to growl with frustration. Why did she have to be so—he tried to find the correct word but only one reigned over them all. Perfect.
He shifted his gaze to Hild to keep from staring like a lovesick boy.
“I must go,” he said softly.
“Wolf?” She stopped his departure with her fingertips along his wrist. Her touch was light, like being touched by rose petals. “Come back. I don’t want to be here without you.”
Her eyes were like the skies at twilight on these cold December days.
“I will,” he replied, and before he knew what he was doing, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was a soft peck. It lasted for an instant, for the usually fearless warrior was afraid of whatever was happening between them and of possibly ruining it. He left the room quickly.
Chapter Thirteen
Fin had comeupon the Saxons while they slept. He had thought them careless to leave the fire burning. It had given away their position. He’d looked around the camp hoping to find Camelee and the child. There had been about twenty men, but no sign of her. He’d stood over a man snoring while on his back and cut the man’s throat. There hadn’t been a sound. He killed six more before the others woke up and began to fight him. When they had, he’d killed four more. He could have killed even more but three of them had come from behind and smashed him in the head with something almost as hard as his skull. He awoke hours or days later. He’d lost track of time after being beaten unconscious so many times.
His wrists were bound behind his back. He was given nothing to eat and a few drops of water and then tied to a horse. If he didn’t stay on his feet, he would be dragged. He stayed up. He was beaten almost senseless by the remaining ten men over and over again, until he could hardly walk. But he did. He didn’t know how. But he did. Wolf would find a way to keep going. So would he. He would kill these men just as he killed their friends.
When they stopped for the night, he heard them speaking. He knew their language, thanks to Wolf. They considered him a savage, a mindless barbarian. But they feared him. He’d killed half their group by himself.
Then one of them mentioned that he was Wolf Kristiansen’s brother, Fin. Wolf’s brother, his family, his weakness.
So they beat him again and then sliced him with the same knives and promised to deliver him over to their generals, Aethelwold and Leofric. Cuts, just deep enough to be painful, but nothing serious. They were saving him to give to their leaders. But first they would make him pay for all their comrades he and his brother had killed.
“I am not finished,” Fin promised through swollen lips and a bloody mouth.
The leader, a man who had lived out of the twenty—for now, chuckled and kicked him in the face.
There went his nose again. Bastards. They were going to pay for this.
They left him alone to soak in his blood and plan their demise.
It began in the morning when he called out his need to relieve himself. One of the men was sent to take him inside the trees, away from the camp.
“You have to take it out of the fold in my pants, hold it, and aim,” Fin advised the Saxon accompanying him.
“Take what out of where?” the soldier asked, dumb.
“My cock. You—”
“No! No! You can forget it!”
“Make haste!” Fin cried out. “Give me my hands and I will do it myself. Or take out my cock and hold it steady.”
“What do I care if you piss your breeches?”
“I have to shyte, too,” Fin let him know. “I do not think you want that stench around the camp. Your men will abandon you.”
With a taut jaw and a strangled oath, the Saxon spun him around and untied the ropes securing his wrists.
On the other side of him, a merciless light shot through Fin eyes, and he smiled. He turned around, and fighting a wave of dizziness, he snatched one of the knives on the Saxon’s belt. He flipped it in his hand before his enemy had time to swing his sword and plunged the blade into the soldier’s guts, cutting him wide open. Nine men left. He reached down and took the Saxon’s sword. Now he was armed.
He was going to have to move quickly. He wasn’t sure he could. He was certain a few of his ribs were broken, for he knew the feeling well. It pained him to breathe. He was cut and bruised everywhere on his body. If he turned too quickly, it made him lightheaded and unbalanced. His belly felt a little ill, too. But he was fighting to save his life. He couldn’t be slow. He was going to lose the element of surprise after he killed the first man.
Just inside the tree line, he watched the men move about. Three to the left, four on the right, two on the other side of the camp. He would have preferred the least number to be closest and the four men be farthest away, but it was better to get the most difficult over with first.
