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“Brecc.” Her voice broke, and she pressed her face into his chest and sobbed. Deep, wrenching sobs that tore at his heart.

“It’s over, Aisley.”

“You are here, and you are whole.” Her tears were flowing freely. “I am so grateful.” Her shoulders shook. “Taber . . . he . . . he gave everything for me.”

Brecc looked to Rheged. He had pulled Aisley’s cloak out from underneath the head of the young man who had attacked Rangvald and was spreading the fabric over him. Taber. Memory of Aisley’s account of her flight from Wiltshire returned. The stablehand whose clothes she’d worn, who had saddled a horse for her in the early hours of the morning to facilitate her escape.

“Is that who it was?”

“He fought for the king.” Another sob escaped her. “And he fought for me.”

Brecc smoothed the strands of hair that had come loose from her plait away from her face. “He chose the noblest of causes, and we shall see that he is given a burial fit for a hero.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and swollen. “You would do that for him?”

“Without question. He saved you—not once but twice. I am forever in his debt.”

She wiped the moisture from her face. “He would like that.” Still wrapped in Brecc’s arms, she looked over at Taber’s shrouded body and then seemed to recall their situation. “Forgive me.” She pulled back. “Odda was here. I know you must join the king.”

“I shall go when my work here is finished.”

“Your work here?”

He looked around the grove. “These men have offered their lives for the king. When they are ready, I shall help them onto the carts that carried the weapons. Edington is no more than eight furlongs from here. King Alfred would wish them taken to the royal estate located there to recuperate.”

“Your assistance with loading the carts would be welcome.” Rheged joined them. “But once they are ready, Lufian and I are well enough to drive.” He set one hand on Brecc’s shoulder. “After all that has transpired today, I am glad to see you, my friend. Although, if you had given any thought to the welfare of my heart, you would have timed your arrival a fraction earlier.”

“Believe me when I say yours was not the only heart to suffer.” Brecc ran an unsteady hand across his face. Only now that the danger had been averted was the reality of Aisley’s perilous situation truly sinking in. If he had survived the battle only to lose her to Rangvald . . . He cut off the thought. Rangvald was gone. He would never threaten Aisley again.

Placing his hand on the small of her back, he guided her away from Rangvald’s body. “Come,” he said. “Show me and Rheged what we must do to help these men.”

“In case you have forgotten, I am one of these men,” Rheged said.

“Indeed. But you are standing on two feet and supposedly capable of driving a cart. If I am going to entrust the safety of the woman I love to you, you’d best show that you can at least lift a pouch of healing herbs or a roll of bandages.”

CHAPTER 33

THE SIEGE OF GUTHRUM’S FORTRESS at Chippenham was in its fourteenth day. Brecc sat before the campfire eating pottage, thinking of Aisley and their departure from Bratton Camp. He had ridden with the two wagons and the wounded men until they’d reached the royal estate in Edington. Leaving her there in the care of Rheged and Lufian, both wounded themselves, had been difficult, but knowing that any Vikings who had survived the battle had relocated to Chippenham had helped. He sighed and scraped the last of his food from his bowl. Surely this waiting could not go on much longer.

He rose to rinse his bowl in a barrel of water, grateful that the townspeople had responded to King Alfred and his men’s return by supplying them with sufficient food to keep them fed and in good spirits for a long sojourn. Brecc doubted the same could be said for the Vikings. They had returned to Chippenham vastly depleted in numbers and with many wounded. Their winter stores would be running low at this time of year, and with the Saxons blocking all means of entering or exiting the fortress, their chances for survival were slim.

King Alfred exited the closest tent and looked around. “Our numbers are few this morning.”

Brecc bowed. “I believe it is an illusion, Sire. Our numbers are great, but most men are not so slow to eat as I and have relieved the night guards of their duties. Those who watched during the night are already abed.”

“Just so.” He looked toward the fortress. “Still no word.”

“No, Sire.”

The king frowned. “Guthrum is a proud man, but he has lost too much to recover this time. He knows it. It is merely a matter of time before he is willing to admit it.”

“I pray for all our sakes that he chooses to end the siege soon.”

“As do I.” The king studied Brecc a little too carefully. “Is there another reason—other than wishing to sleep in a more comfortable bed and don a fresh tunic—that you are particularly anxious to have this portion of the conflict behind us?”

“There is, Sire.” Brecc had been reluctant to broach the subject when the monarch’s thoughts were understandably consumed with weightier matters, but the king had offered him a direct invitation to share what was on his mind. “When the siege is over, I wish to take Aisley to wife.”

“I see. And how does the young lady feel about that?”