This decision has been easier to make because Ulf rides with me.
Aedan has gone back to Ireland to gather the men who will fight for me. I need all the troops I can get because this war will be brutal and bloody.
My mind and body are both plagued by what comes. So many lives are to be lost in a war I never wanted. I ruled to put an end to war, but men cannot rest unless there is bloodshed.
Ulf and I ride to visit the Northmen settlements to warn them of what’s ahead and to find Skarth. Ulf has vowed he does not know. But no one does. It’s as if Skarth has just disappeared.
My thoughts wander to Sigrith, Skarth’s sister. She was one of the best warriors I ever had the honor of fighting alongside as well as against, and I wonder where she is. She and Ulf had deep feelings for one another, but both are too wild to be tied down.
We approach a small Viking settlement. I know this because of the runes carved into the wooden arch. Christians would cross themselves and beg for salvation for such blasphemy, but I am forever curious to learn more.
Ulf notices me looking at the foreign writings. “They are to offer protection to the people,” he explains, his Norse accent strong.
I nod, always the student when it comes to the ways of the Northmen.
“Do your children know who they are?” he asks as we ride into the village.
“Yes. I wish for them to know of their heritage and hope they embrace both sides.” I remain strong when speaking of them because my sons are strong. I know they are all right.
Ulf nods but doesn’t say a word.
I have lain with both him and Skarth, so I wonder if he questions who Loki’s father is. Truth be told, it could be either man. It’s hardly proper, but proper is something I shall never be.
My cheeks heat when I recall engaging in the intimate act with both men. I never felt more loved than I did when both my Vikings consumed me whole. Those thoughts are to be put on hold, however, when the Northmen emerge from their homes to examine the strangers who ride through their land.
Thankfully, Ulf knows them.
He is welcome.
I, however, am not.
Some Danes have accepted that we need to coexist to survive. Others are not so happy about it and only do so because they must. They would incite a coup if they had the numbers. We cohabit because we must.
“Ulf the Bloody,” says a beautiful woman with long blond hair. It is braided into two plaits, which is how most warrior women wear their hair. “You being here means trouble looms.”
There is no malice to her words, and the way she openly looks at him has me barely containing an eye roll.
When her eyes land on me, her admiration turns to indignation. “And that trouble is in the way of the Queen. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Her words stink of irony, but I dismount my horse as I wish to be on ground level when we speak. “I will be frank as I will not insult you good people with pretenses. I need to find Skarth the Godless.”
Silence.
Ulf chuckles as he ties our horses to a post. “Skarth always had a way with people.”
I don’t understand it.
Is he feared?
Or is he hated?
I no longer know.
The woman spits once in disgust. “You waste your time here.”
“Please, Bodil,” Ulf says. “It will help rid us sooner if you comply.”
Bodil strolls toward Ulf with nothing but confidence in her gait. “You know that I do not obey.”
