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He shook his head, his expression grim. “Not since this morning.” And then he was gone, moving through the trees at a run.

He may be too wounded to reach the woodland. He may be dead already. The haunting thoughts circled her head. Her heart ached, but she refused to give up hope. He had promised he would come. Swiping at her traitorous tears, she gathered her discarded cloak, wadded it into a makeshift pillow, and carefully slid it beneath Taber’s head.

She sensed movement at her right one heartbeat before a thick arm came around her, pulling her to her feet and knocking the wind out of her lungs as her back was pressed up against a mail byrnie. Gasping for air, she clawed at the arm that pinned her.

“Well now.” The accented voice sent tremors of horror crawling down her skin even as a blade pricked at her throat. “I come to trees for horse and find a wife.”

One of the injured men cursed, and a bird called.

“No!” She could manage nothing more than a raspy whisper, but it was enough to break the chilling silence that had descended on the grove.

“I say yes.” Rangvald yanked her backward and spun her around so they were facing the cluster of helpless, wounded men. “And these fools. You see. They say yes.”

Aisley’s desperate gaze fell on the thegns. Rheged’s uninjured arm lay across his torso as if he’d been reaching for his knife when Rangvald seized her. He did not look at Aisley. His eyes were on the chieftain, a look of frustration and animosity burning in their depths. Lufian’s hand was on the handle of his knife, but he appeared frozen, his jaw tight and his face pale. Their unspoken message was clear. They could do nothing while a knife was at her throat.

Brecc pressed himself against the trunk of the oak tree and forced himself to think past the terror of seeing Aisley in Rangvald’s clutches. Praise the heavens for Rheged’s warning whistle. After three months of depending on those bird calls to stay alive during raids and ambushes, Brecc’s response to the sound had been both instinctive and instant. He had stopped in his tracks when he’d been a mere handful of paces from entering the grove, and he’d deviated from his initial approach so that he might view the clearing before he entered it.

Tearing his gaze off Rangvald and Aisley, he counted the injured. There were eight men seated with their backs to trees or the boulder, including Rheged and Lufian. Eleven lay on the ground, at least half of them with closed eyes. Not one of them was capable of rapid movement. He would need to take on Rangvald alone. But he couldn’t do it while the brute held Aisley. He needed a distraction.

With his attention on Rheged, he imitated a blackbird’s call. The widening of Rheged’s eyes was so subtle it would have been unnoticeable had Brecc not been watching for it. Rheged glanced at Lufian. His acknowledging nod was equally slight. The men knew he was there.

“Drop your blade, Rangvald,” Rheged said. “She is unarmed.”

The Viking chieftain laughed. It was a cruel, mirthless sound. “Fools.” He pushed her forward.

“No!” she cried, planting her feet even as his knife hovered dangerously close to her neck. “I would rather die than go with you!”

Brecc tensed. Now. He needed something now.

Lufian struggled to his feet and extended the knife in his hand. “Let her go, and we shall each drop our weapons. You can walk out of here, take a horse, and join Guthrum.”

“Your weapons.” Rangvald spat. “They are nothing. You are weak. And fools.” Contempt dripped from his voice. “I go with a horse and the woman.”

He pushed Aisley forward again. She stumbled, and Brecc could wait no longer. He stepped out from behind the tree, knife in hand. “You should have taken Lufian’s offer, Rangvald.”

The Viking pivoted, slamming Aisley up against his body as he moved. She gasped, but Brecc dared not look at her. His eyes were on Rangvald and the blade in his hand.

“So!” Rangvald sneered. “There is one. One Saxon not bleeding.” His eyes narrowed, and the fingers around his knife shifted a fraction. “Yet.”

“Let her go, Rangvald.” Brecc circled past the two men lying at his feet. He needed to get closer. “It’s your only chance for escape.”

Rangvald mirrored his move, dragging Aisley backward as he edged toward the treeline. Brecc stepped over a large rock, his foot landing on a twig. It snapped. There was an echoing crack in the trees somewhere to his left. He froze. Someone was approaching. But was it friend or foe?

“You hear it, Saxon?” Rangvald taunted. “Another comes. I think a Viking.”

Whoever it was had stopped. No sound or movement came from the woods or the wounded. The air was still. It was as though the very trees surrounding them were listening.

Rangvald darted a glance at the entrance to the grove, and Brecc took another step toward him. How many of the chieftain’s men had followed him into the woods in search of a mount? Was he truly expecting an ally, or was there another Saxon warrior nearby?

“You are trapped, Rangvald,” Brecc said.

“Lies.” He flicked his wrist. His blade flashed, slicing through the top of Aisley’s tunic. “I go with my prize. You not stop me.”

“I will not go with you!” Aisley writhed, attempting to break free.

Rangvald shifted his weight to pin her more tightly against him. And in that moment, the young man lying at his feet rose up on one elbow, and with his other arm, he plunged his dagger into the Viking’s calf.

Rangvald roared with rage. Releasing his hold on Aisley, he pulled his ax from his belt and hurled it at the prone man a heartbeat before Brecc’s knife entered the Viking’s chest. For one long moment, Rangvald turned his shocked, soulless eyes on Brecc, and then his knees buckled, and he fell to the ground. Aisley screamed. Another twig snapped, and Brecc spun around. A deer darted out from between the trees. At the sight of the men, the creature bolted back into the woods. Rheged and Lufian were now both on their feet, weapons in hand. Leaving Rangvald to them, Brecc sprinted across the remaining distance to Aisley and scooped her into his arms.