Chapter 9 Queen Emeline
Nine
Queen Emeline
I have prayed for this moment for so many moons. To have my Viking asleep beside me. But never in my wildest dreams did I envision the division between us to be this grand. He may as well be back in his motherland because the man I once loved is no more.
We have both changed; that is apparent. But I always believed our love was strong enough for it to survive the test of time.
How wrong was I?
The sacrifices made now seem utterly pointless.
I’ve lost the man I love.
My children are missing.
My kingdom is under attack.
My throne is challenged.
I know it will not be long before I am hunted.
Perhaps I already am.
“Your thoughts are heavy. What plagues you?”
His voice still arouses me, regardless of our divide.
Peering down, I fight the urge to brush the long fallen hair from Skarth’s brow. He still wears the two silver hoops in his nose, but he has added more ink to his tall, muscular frame. I cannot believe he is here.
“I hate the unknown, and there is much clandestine to everything. Our boys—”
I can’t finish the sentence without breaking into tears.
Skarth sits up and tenderly wraps his arm around my shoulders. “The harsh truth of it is that they are more valuable alive than they are…unalive.”
The thought is like a dagger through the heart.
“Never forget the Dane blood which runs through their veins. And with Loki’s abilities, he knows we come. He will ensure their safety. The gods are on his side.”
I lower my chin, ashamed of the approaching tears.
But Skarth lifts it with a finger, coaxing me to look at him. “And never forget who their mother is. You raised fighters, Emeline. They are going to be all right.”
Nodding, I pull it together because there is no time for tears. “How do we find them? I fear my kingdom is no longer loyal. They no longer listen to me. I am just a stranger in this land as you are.”
Skarth runs his thumb along my bottom lip, those eyes alight, filling me with warmth and desire. “The only way we will find them is to—”
“Surrender,” says a voice emerging from the trees.
Ulf has granted us privacy, which I am most surprised about. There’s no point in being coy about my reunion with Skarth, but Ulf’s inquisitive eyes notice that our reunion wasn’t an entirely happy one.
Skarth removes his finger, and I instantly miss his touch. He comes to a stand and faces off with Ulf. The animosity between the two is still strong, but as always, it’s better the devil you know.
“He is right.”
“I’m sorry, I did not hear you,” Ulf says, cupping his ear.
Skarth ignores his quip, not in the mood for Ulf’s sarcasm. “What allies do we have?”
It pains me that they can be counted on one hand. “Catherine and a Dane named Aric.”
Skarth raises a brow but doesn’t ask any questions.
“Alruna, a Dane who said you helped save her from the brutality of the Christians.”
“I do not remember names nor faces, as there are many.” Skarth goes quiet, as if an idea has come to mind. “There are many who are still imprisoned. What if…what if instead of surrendering, we allow the Christians to think they captured us?
“They take us to Aethelbald.”
“And then?” Ulf asks, arms folded.
“Then we remind our people of the words Odin swore to live by.” It feels as if the morning sky is suddenly alive as Skarth exclaims, “Victory or Valhalla!”
Ulf thumps a fist over his heart. “Victory or Valhalla!”
“The men and women who Aethelbald captures are our army because fighting for us is the better option than being a slave to the Saxons.”
“You speak from experience?” I ask, and Skarth nods.
“You must choose your battles wisely, and I fear that Aethelbald will be as cruel to you as his father and grandfather once were.”
Memories of what Aethelwulf and Egbert did to me never fade. But it feels as though those memories are reborn because Skarth is right. Aethelbald will do everything in his power to inflict immeasurable pain upon me.
But nothing is comparable to losing my sons. So I am ready.
“He will likely force you to give up your kingdom and torture us, amongst other things, in return for our children. It will not be easy, and I suspect it will last for many moons.”
“I am prepared to sacrifice it all,” I say without doubt. “Ulf, I understand—”
But he cuts me off. “We see this to the end. All of us, for this bastard also threatens my future if your kingdom were to be overthrown. Aedan will return from Ireland soon. He will find us. For now, however, we endure the wrath of this skítugr útragi. And hope we don’t die in the process.”
Ulf isn’t one to mince words, for he is right.
“What of Sigrith?” I ask, and Ulf’s face instantly changes.
It seems she still captures his heart.
“I have not seen nor heard from her,” Skarth confesses, his sadness apparent.
Ulf’s silence, however, alludes to something else.
“Her silence is because of you?”
Ulf runs his fingers through his beard as if attempting to find the right words. “You know the fire which possesses your sister.”
Skarth shakes his head. “I also know she has no sense when it comes to you. Perhaps we can send word to find her?”
That is a marvelous idea.
“Who of our people hunts us?” Skarth asks and is greeted by laughter from Ulf.
“I think the better question is who does not hunt us. Our enemies are vast. Inga, Bodil, and the many Danes whose families we killed. The Danes who have turned their backs on our gods and now worship a false god who wears a woman’s frock. No offense,” he adds, but I brush it off.
Skarth sighs.
Our circumstances are dire. But we have no other choice but to go on.
“We cannot trust anyone then,” he says, looking back and forth between us.
“Ulf, now is the time for you to leave if you’re having second thoughts because the likelihood of us getting out of this alive is slim to none.
You owe us nothing. This doesn’t have to be your war.
You can find Sigrith and reunite with Aedan.
Come find us when you have an army behind you. ”
Skarth is right. But I know that Ulf will not leave me. His loyalty to me will not allow it. And Skarth knows it too.
“She isn’t yours to protect,” he bluntly states, not at all caring that I am standing within earshot.
“And it seems she is not yours either,” Ulf smartly counters.
A twitch beneath Skarth’s eye hints at what brews. Before I can get a word in edgewise, Skarth punches Ulf in the nose, and blood instantly pours from it. Ulf wipes it with the back of his hand, a crazed smirk spreading from cheek to cheek.
“Oh, I see you have finally found your balls. I thought perhaps they were lost in your old age.”
“Fuck you.”
I jump out of the way as they charge at each other, punching and kicking, intent on nothing but death for the other.
“Enough!” I scream, watching the flurry of fists and curses in Norse. “You are behaving like Neanderthals!”
“You forget that is what we are, ástin mín. If memory serves me well, you did not mind my Neanderthal mouth and hands all over your—”
He never finishes his sentence because Skarth punches him in the face so hard, he staggers back three steps, dazed. But Skarth doesn’t allow him a reprieve and drives the butt of his sword straight into his manhood, winding Ulf.
“If your disgusting cock goes anywhere near her, I will—”
“Oh, it’s been all over her!” Ulf wheezes, hands over his injured genitals.
“You lying sod!” I cry out because that is not, in fact, the truth. “It has not been all over.”
“Just touched the sides then,” he corrects with a grin.
Skarth doesn’t appreciate his cheek and kicks him in the stomach. Ulf is wounded, but it appears Skarth is intent on killing him as he swings his sword, primed to slice off Ulf’s head.
Just as I latch onto Skarth’s arm to stop him, a sharp sting penetrates my bicep. I pay no attention to it and continue fighting with Skarth, but when he looks at me, turning a ghastly shade of white, I realize something is very wrong.
“Emeline—” he says gently, eyes darting between me and my arm. “I need you to breathe for me.”
“Do not tell me what to do,” I retort, furious that he believes he can pacify this situation after behaving like a barbarian. “I can breathe just fine.”
But I soon realize I cannot.
The wind gets ripped from my lungs when I see that the pain I felt was due to the arrow embedded in my bicep. But the arrow is the least of our concerns. The fact that English soldiers swarm us takes precedence over a bloody arrow.
“It seems our plan has been put into fruition quicker than we thought,” Ulf says, turning in a circle to see that we are, in fact, surrounded.
He’s right. It seems our ruse wasn’t necessary.
This is what we wanted.
But it still feels like defeat.
“Your inability to keep quiet has gotten us into trouble—again,” Skarth says to Ulf, standing in front of me, sword extended outward.
“Perhaps it was your pungent smell that led them to us,” Ulf counters, standing beside him and mimicking him as he protects me.
My two Vikings don’t kill one another for me.
However, gone are the days when I ever retreated behind two men. Touched by their chivalry, I step out from their protection and face the English soldier who aims his sword at my throat.
“I am Queen Emeline. Lower your weapon without delay.”
The soldier, of course, does nothing of the sort. “You are not my queen. You are a traitor to your country. The whole of England is looking for you. It’s time you got what you deserved.”
“I will reward you dearly for your loyalty.” I know it’s a useless tactic, but they would be suspicious if I gave up without a fight.
“You are far more valuable than anything you can offer. Lord Aethelbald is scouring the countryside looking for you. I can’t believe I’ll be the one who will deliver you to him.”
“You can try,” Skarth says, ready for battle.
Memories of us fighting side by side warm my heart because I never doubted his love for me. I knew he would die for me.
And I for him.