Chapter 4
Four
Queen Emeline
Lord Louis is unhappy with the newest addition to our alliance. But he knows better than to question my decision.
We’ve ridden for what feels like days, but Aric has taken us into parts of England that I have never ventured into before. It almost feels like we’re setting foot on foreign soil.
Aric is rather fetching, and it’s apparent Catherine has taken note, as he has of her, which is why I ride between them. I know firsthand what it's like to love a Viking. I will not bestow the same fate on my daughter.
“Emeline, it will rain soon,” Aric says, peering into the darkened skies.
“It is Queen Emeline,” one of the guards spits.
Aric bursts into humored laughter. “She is not my Queen. No offense, milady.”
“None taken. However, you’ve adopted the Saxon tongue?” I say, referring to the way he addressed me.
“I was taught that is the way to speak to a Christian woman. Am I mistaken?” he asks, appearing genuinely curious.
“You were indeed taught correct. Who tutored you?”
A look of sadness overcomes him. “A Christian woman. Her name was Helene.”
He need not speak further as it is clear what happened to Helene.
Bloodshed has spoiled this land regardless of the agreement we have in place. I wonder if all of this was in vain.
“We camp here,” Aric says, pointing at a small cave.
Nostalgia tackles me because it was a cave like this that I lay in with Skarth. Even though that was a lifetime ago, the memories of flesh upon flesh assault me, leaving me with a longing so deep that my anger only grows.
How could he leave so easily? Does he not feel the pain I do?
We ride toward the cave as the moon disappears behind the clouds. Lord Louis orders his men to guard the horses and entrance as we enter. It’s small, but I’ve slept in far worse places before.
Aric removes his fur jacket and attempts to place it on Catherine’s shoulders. I, however, step forward.
“She does not need your coat,” I say, standing firm. “For you shall build us a fire to keep warm.”
He towers over me in height as well as stature. But he nods and quickly leaves.
I turn to look at Catherine, who appears a little annoyed, but she doesn’t say a word. I knew this time would come, regardless of her expressing her desire to remain unmarried. I do not condemn her being attached; I just do not wish for her to live the life of a Viking bride.
I want to save all my children from the pain I endured in this lifetime.
She sulks as she sits against the wall, drawing her knees toward her chest. Lord Louis meets my eyes and nods, agreeing with my decision, as he can see this is fated for disaster if we do not intervene.
“Can we really trust this heathen?” he whispers, angered.
“No, we cannot. But I have not come this far to not take chances. We have shelter to wait out the storm, but what of my sons, Louis? I will do anything to protect my children.”
I make a point of looking at Catherine because it includes all my children. She lowers her chin.
“You are right, milady. Forgive me. I worry, that is all. What if this is a trap?”
“Then we fight…just how we always do.”
He sighs heavily, gently touching my arm as a father would their child. “You hold the weight of the world on your young shoulders. I wish for this to end. You cannot fight every battle and expect to win.”
I appreciate his concern, but it is not needed. “Watch me.”
Aric returns with arms filled with items to build us a fire. I only wish he could strike us up a fire large enough to signal to Skarth that we’re coming.
* * *
“You smell like sweetened honey. And you taste like it as well.”
I wake with a start, sweating profusely, and it has nothing to do with the crackling fire we sleep around.
Skarth’s voice once soothed me, but hearing it in my dreams is now nothing short of a nightmare.
Catherine snuggles into Aric, who holds her protectively. She really is my daughter—headstrong and doesn’t listen to orders. I don’t wake them, but come morning, I will not be so lenient.
I quietly creep through the cave, as I need fresh air. Once outside, I inhale slowly as the cool air is like a lover’s kiss across my heated cheeks. The guards are asleep on the ground. I cannot blame them. We are all exhausted, as this journey has been grueling.
I am light-footed, ensuring to keep to the shadows as I walk down the steep embankment toward the river. It’s rather dark, but the moon comes out of hiding, reflecting off the water’s edge.
It’s beautiful.
I crouch low and scoop up a handful of water, taking a long drink. I then brush the water through my hair and wash my face. I feel remotely better.
Peering into the moonlit water, I wonder if, by staring hard enough, all the answers I seek will miraculously appear.
“You are nothing but a fool,” I scold myself, angrily skimming the water with my hand.
Feeling sorry for myself won’t solve anything, so I stand, but not before the hair at the back of my neck prickles in awareness. However, it’s too late. I let my guard down for one second, and now, I must pay for my mishap.
“What do we have ’ere?” says a man who smells of ale and piss. He has a deformed upper lip.
I remain calm as I turn around to face him. But when I do, that turns to panic.
This is or, rather, this was one of my men. He wears a tattered and unclean uniform bearing Northumbria’s coat of arms. His eyes are hollow. His cheeks are caked with mud and other filth. I doubt he is still in service, given how destitute he appears.
And so do the other five men who appear out of the darkness.
“What’s this, then?” he says, gripping the Mjolnir between his dirty fingers. “A Dane dressed as a Saxon.”
They don’t recognize me as their queen, and that is a good thing because I know without a doubt that they would use me as chattel…but not before using me for their despicable perversions.
I must trick them into believing I am no one, which is why I curse in Norse.
“She’s one of them,” says another man in disgust. “She’s no use to us other than her Pagan cunt.”
I will cut out his tongue for such vulgarity.
I cannot fight them, as I am outnumbered, and I don’t know if more are waiting in the woods.
I also do not want to draw attention to the fact that I am not alone.
If I make a noise, I fear Catherine’s life will be in jeopardy.
I will not gamble with her safety that way, as a maiden is far more desirable than a maid.
I need to get away from here, and then I can cut off each one of these arsehole’s heads. But now, I must pretend to fight so they can win and carry me away.
I attempt to run, but one man stops me. I then proceed to go a different way. And another man does the same thing. All six men soon surround me. Greed, lust, and hatred reflect in their eyes.
I am not afraid. I have survived far worse.
It would be expected for a Dane to fight, so I take great pleasure in breaking one of these vile creatures’ noses. But it’s the first and only punch I deliver because the men are on me, incapacitating me immediately.
I’m shoved between them, their laughing faces all I see as the world begins to spin. When one of them grips my waist and attempts to kiss me, I headbutt him in the face. I attempt to run, but my arm is wrenched behind my back.
When I don’t surrender, they do as I expected, they subdue me with their fists, and the world is consumed whole.
* * *
I wake to the familiar sensation of my wrists bound. It’s happened countless times; all done for my captor’s gain.
As I take in my dire surroundings, I see that we’re in an abandoned church. All that is holy has been desecrated by these vile men who are hollering loudly, clearly proud of their conquest of capturing me.
I tug at the rope around my wrists, but it’s done up tight.
I’m surprised I’m still clothed, but when one of the men notices I’m awake, I know this luxury is soon to be taken away.
“The Dane wakes,” he says, nudging another man in the ribs.
The men turn, their eyes reflecting hunger, and not for food. The man with the deformed lip wipes the fallen ale from his chin with the back of his hand.
“So she does. Do you speak?”
I eye him something wicked.
“She understands us,” he says to the men. “She just chooses not to speak.”
“Perhaps we need to loosen her tongue, then. I have just the thing.” One man who is as short as a goat clutches his disgusting prick.
The men laugh, humored by his crudeness.
“Dane or not, you broads are useful for one thing—tending to men who are your superior. And we need a lot of tending to.”
Again, laughter spills from their repulsive lips.
I discreetly examine my surroundings and the weapons that are within reach. They all have swords, which I intend to use the moment I’m free. Men like these often underestimate women, which is always their downfall.
But this works in my favor because I tend to exploit their stupidity.
“Untie her,” a man with teeth as rotten as an apple orders.
There is no leader here—they’re all a band of misfits who came together because they are filth.
The short man reaches for the dagger in his belt and smirks as he walks behind me. He commences cutting through the rope at my wrists.
“I really hope you run,” he whispers into my ear, before licking the side of my neck.
Like all predators, the chase is half the fun.
The rope snaps, but the man ensures I won’t be running any time soon as he holds my wrists. I struggle, but he clutches me tightly. “I think we see what a Dane cunt looks like,” he suggests to his friends.
“Aye, I think you’re right.”
The man at my back smells my hair, his arousal pressing into me.
I need to think fast and offer them something they want more than filling their carnal lusts.
Revenge.
“I can take you to Queen Emeline,” I say, revealing my Saxon roots.
The room soon falls silent.
“I was once her lady-in-waiting, but she discarded me when I opposed her ruling to share this land with the heathens.”