“You have my word that I will spare your life.”
“No!” screams a woman who comes stumbling from the hut, naked with blood trickling down her thighs. “He must die!”
I understand her pain, for she wants her attackers to pay. “Bjóðja sætt.”
She clenches her teeth but understands that his time will come.
“Tell me, and you will be our prisoner. It is that. Or death.”
I know what his choice is because he is nothing but a coward. “We follow Lord Aethelbald of Wessex. He is the rightful ruler of Wessex. But it was stolen from him. His legacy, his name, his life, stolen thanks to the whore Queen Eme?—”
He never gets to utter her name because I cut off his head with an infuriated roar in one swift swing. But it’s not enough. I slice off his arms. His legs. I stab his torso until nothing is left but a bloody, mangled heap of flesh.
Suddenly, the deaths of these Saxons seem too easy, and I run to each corpse, hacking into their bodies with a rage I’ve never felt before. I take the head of each corpse, severing it from their necks and holding them by their hair.
The Christians cherish their church altars, so I decide to erect one especially for them. This altar, however, consists of the mutilated corpses of their men. I place the heads on top of the heaped pile and drop to my knees, peering into the skies.
“An offering, Odin!” I scream without penitence. “All I ask is that you keep her safe until I return.”
Emeline is in more danger than I thought.
I must ride to Northumbria, and I must ride there now.
However, I fear I will not leave Northumbria with my head…as Emeline will take it for what I have done.
Seven
Queen Emeline
We are days away from arriving in Wessex.
The farther away I venture from Northumbria, the freer I feel. Seems rather ironic, considering my kingdom is the reason I have sacrificed everything for. But it feels as if things are becoming clearer, and all I see is my future with my children and the love of my life.
But the man who rides beside me, what of him?
I can’t deny the attraction is still strong, but the love I feel for him is different from what I feel for Skarth. But it’s still there. Love is love, I suppose. I just don’t know how to deal with those feelings because I’ve not felt them for a very long time.
“What’s got your cheeks so flushed, sweet princess?”
Ulf’s satirical question snaps me from my thoughts, and I focus on the task at hand. “I do not wish to stop, but I need to eat.”
A tired and hungry warrior makes errors, and I fear I’ve already made too many of those. I wonder how Sune and Loki are. Are they warm? Fed?
I miss them so very much, and I will kill every man who had a hand in their kidnapping. It almost feels as though I have detached from the truth because I fear I will break down if I think of the situation my sons are in.
“Yes, it would be wise. With Wessex within reach, we should rest for the night, then ride uninterrupted until we arrive.”
Ulf is right.
We are so close now.
When I don’t argue, a chuckle leaves him.
“What?” I question, confused.
“Nothing,” he replies, but that is clearly a lie. “I just expected an argument.”
And there it is.
