Three
Princess Emeline
I wake to find my chamber door unlocked, not that it matters because I barely have the energy to move. But I don’t want to arouse suspicion, so once I dress on my own—I sent Lella away, not wanting her to see my wounds—I go about my daily routine like normal.
With my prayer book in my lap, I pray to the Lord, but after yesterday, I can’t help but feel betrayed. What did I do to deserve such injustice? Being born a woman is what.
Cutting my prayer short, I decide to sit in the gardens as it’s my most favorite place to be.
Like a good princess, I sit quietly, admiring the greenery as I commence embroidering a veil my mother has insisted I wear once I meet Aethelwulf, which is why I refused to do it. But now, however, I wonder if the meeting will ever take place as I am now damaged.
My back aches, but I withstand the pain as it’s a reminder of my insolence.
I’ve tried to be strong, but I’m beaten, and I’ve accepted defeat. There is no place for women in this world. Those who wish to defy end up beaten, almost raped, and threatened to be sodomized by her own flesh and blood.
Tears threaten to spill, but I sniff them back. I won’t allow them to pollute this happy place.
That is soon to change, however, when I hear Aethelred laughing with his childhood friend, Raedwulf. The moment I see them approaching, I spring to my feet—ignoring the pain in my back—not wishing to be anywhere near my brother or my father, who follows closely.
“Good morrow,” Raedwulf says with a kind smile. His father is a part of the Witan and a close confidant to the king.
I curtsey and attempt to make a quick escape. “God spede you.”
Sadly, the king’s presence doesn’t allow it.
“Daughter,” he says with a broad smile. “How fare thee?”
My eyes snap to Aethelred, who folds his arms across his chest, daring me to divulge to the king how I am. I cannot do that, and he knows it.
“I fare thee well, thank you, Lord King.”
“Will you not stay?” he asks me, which stuns me as he’s not asked this of me before.
“Of course, Father. If this pleases you, then I shall.”
He nods happily and cups my cheek, again confounding me. “You are kind, just like your mother. And Aethelred has the brawn and brains as I.”
I wait for him to speak because I have no idea what he’s talking about, but my questions are soon answered when I see Lord Robert lead a prisoner into the gardens. However, he is no longer behind bars.
Skarth is dressed in a linen shirt and trousers, his feet bare. A prisoner wouldn’t be dressed as my father wouldn’t waste garments on someone who is about to be executed, so this means…
“Oh, sweet child. There is no need to be afraid,” my father coos, believing my silence is because I am frightened. “The Northman won’t hurt you. He’s here on the advice of your brother. We will exploit him and his knowledge for our gain.
“He is a Northman. Therefore, he thinks like a Northman. I’ve promised to spare his life, and in return, he will be my loyal subject to do with what I please. He’s now in my service.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my mouth from gaping open.
This glorious plan was mine, and yes, this is what I wanted—for Aethelred to relay the proposal to Father. But after he punished me so viciously, all for him to then accept praise, it suddenly feels like being whipped all over again.
“Sit, and let us see what the Northman can do.”
The sun catches the gold in Father’s crown, illuminating Skarth, who stands behind him, awaiting command. When we lock eyes, I instantly avert mine, afraid he can read what lays hidden beneath my tunic. I’ve opted for a black robe, as it feels fitting to complement what I’m feeling on the inside.
I do as Father says, flinching when I sit on the stone bench seat. It’s the smallest of movements, but it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Skarth.
“Continue looking at her, Northman, and I’ll have your eyes,” Aethelred warns, while Father laughs merrily.
Lord Robert waits for my father’s command, and Skarth’s shackles are unfastened with a simple nod. He flexes his hands, as this is probably the first time he’s been freed. Even shackled, he could kill a man with his bare hands.
Suddenly, the thought of Aethelred facing Skarth seems like a glorious plan.
Lord Robert passes Skarth the wooden sword. He turns his lip up at it but doesn’t say a word. Aethelred is unhappy to be fighting without real swords once again, but this is a test to see if Skarth will obey.
“Go on then, Northman. Let’s see if you leave these gardens with your life in hand.”
Lord Robert steps back, hand on his sword, which is not made of wood.
Skarth’s long hair is tied back, allowing me to observe the marking on the side of his head. My brother is dressed in his finest red embroidered cloak with the embellishments on display to ensure Skarth appreciates his royal status—like he could forget.
His leggings are white, and I relish the fact that they’ll be sullied once Skarth is finished with him.
Skarth begins to circle Aethelred, who matches him move for move. Both are waiting for the other to make the first move, but Aethelred soon grows tired and swings out, attempting to connect with Skarth.
Skarth is on the defense, reading Aethelred perfectly, and blocks the attack. He then advances for Aethelred with a burst of strikes, which Aethelred pathetically wards off. Father grumbles beside me.
They continue to spar, and anyone can see that Skarth is simply playing with Aethelred because Skarth isn’t even trying. Each time Aethelred attacks, he blocks him, only to deliver a succession of blows that knock him off balance.
Lord Edward appears, ruining the mood as he walks toward my father. “Forgive me, Lord King, but I must speak with you.”
“This cannot wait?” my father says, never taking his eyes off Aethelred. Maybe he believes if he stares hard enough, he shall see the son he’d be proud of.
“No, Lord King, I’m afraid it cannot.”
With a heavy sigh, my father stands. “You will not leave here until the Northman’s arse hits the ground, Aethelred.”
It’s an order, one which has Skarth smirking.
My father and Lord Edward rush off with heads together as Lord Edward details something that turns my father’s cheeks white. Whatever they speak of can’t be good. I fear for my kingdom as Wessex and Mercia grow stronger every day.
If alliances aren’t formed, I don’t know if Northumbria will survive.
The moment the king is gone, Aethelred advances for Skarth with a roar. In response, Skarth coolly flips the sword, driving the end into Aethelred’s stomach, winding him.
Both Raedwulf and I laugh, which infuriates my brother.
“Fetch me some ale,” he orders me. “I’m thirsty.”
We have servants for this, but Aethelred has done this to ridicule me. However, I know better than to argue and rise. Ignoring the pain in my back, I hobble toward the kitchen, which isn’t too far away. The servants are horrified that I’ve been sent to fetch ale and insist on taking it to Aethelred themselves.
I notice the produce in the kitchen is quite scarce but don’t say a word.
“We’re making your favorite,” the cook, Merek says, plucking a fowl.
“Sounds wonderful, Merek. I cannot wait.”
Once upon a time, we would be feasting on an array of foods, but not lately. I can’t help but feel I’m in part to blame for this.
Suddenly feeling unwell, I decide to go to my chambers and lie down as I can’t stand another moment being near Aethelred. Just as I step outside, someone grabs my arm and pulls me behind the wall so no one can see.
It’s Skarth.
“What’s the matter, Princess?” he says, eyeing me closely.
“Nothing, and please don’t call me princess,” I reply, exhaustion weighing me down.
But he doesn’t believe me.
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing that I didn’t deserve,” I reply, feeling the weight of the world press down on my shoulders. “I’m pleased you won’t be executed, but death may be preferable as being in my father’s service means he owns you.”
“I told you,” he states dangerously low, shaking his head. “No one owns me.”
“We are all owned in one way or another.” I go to leave, but Skarth grips my arm, stopping me.
No one would dare touch me this way. Well, apart from last night.
“You manhandle the king’s daughter?” I half tease. “You really do have a death wish, Northman.”
“I thought I wasn’t to call you princess?” He smirks while I shake my head.
Things soon turn serious as it was nice to forget for a fraction in time.
“Thank you for doing what you said you would. I won’t forget it.”
When I lower my eyes, a breath escapes him.
“It was Aethelred?” he asks, his anger rising.
Nodding slowly, I keep my eyes downcast. “I’m just a stupid girl, Skarth. No one would listen to me.”
I feel his hesitation, but he gives in, and with strong fingers, he lifts my chin. “You’re not stupid. And as for being a girl, the bravest warriors I’ve fought alongside have been women.”
“Maybe in your world, but in this world”—I circle my finger in the air—“all I am good for is bearing the sons of a man I’ve been betrothed to before I was born.”
Skarth frowns, his fingers still gripping my chin. “Who?”
“I am promised to Aethelwulf, the son of King Egbert of Wessex.”
Skarth’s frown soon transforms into a scowl. Something is wrong.
“You know of him?”
He nods dangerously slow. “Yes, it was during a battle in Wessex that King Egbert took my father’s head, blinded my brother, and imprisoned my mother and sister, selling them into slavery.”
I blink once, confronted with information that makes my stomach turn. “How did they capture you here in Northumbria then? I do not understand.”
“Because I think they are here, in Northumbria. I just don’t know where. I was captured because it was the only way.”
It takes me a moment, but I soon understand what he means. “You were captured with intent? Your plan was to come to the palace and find out any information you can. That’s why you agreed to be in my father’s service?”
“Yes. I am certain your father keeps a record of his conquests. I’ve seen the parchments Saxons keep, but I do not understand them.”
He’s right. In my father’s hall, he has hundreds of scrolls detailing the king’s victories. I am certain this would include the battle Skarth speaks of.
I should have known Skarth the Godless would never be captured.
“Your plan was nothing short of foolish. What if you’d died the moment you entered the palace walls?”
“Then I would be feasting in the hall of slain warriors with Odin,” he replies without fear.
“Odin is your god?”
“Yes, lady, unlike you, however, it’s gods .”
On instinct, I cross myself because he speaks blasphemy, but where was my God last night? The only savior I saw is the one standing in front of me, which is why I do something which will surely test Him.
“I will help you,” I say softly. “You cannot go into my father’s hall, but I can. I will see what I can find.”
Skarth steps back, appearing to need space between us. “You’d do that for me? A pagan? Nothing but a heathen who has no respect for your people or your God?”
If this is a test, then Skarth doesn’t know me at all. “Yes, I will because regardless of those things, I want to help.”
“I will be indebted to you for the rest of my life.”
Shaking my head, I want him to know my father may work that way, but I do not. “I thought you didn’t want to be indebted to anyone?”
“For this, I will make an exception.”
His words touch me in ways I don’t understand. “That’s not necessary. I do this because I want to. I am sorry for what King Egbert did to your family. My future father-in-law is a monster. I can only hope his son is not.
“Although, his son may seek out another bride after last—” I stop myself, but it’s too late.
“What happened last night? After you left me? Tell me.”
I am so tired of fighting, so I turn my back and gently pull away the top of my tunic so Skarth can see the top of my back. It’s only a sliver of flesh, but it’s enough.
“Aethelred did this to you?” he asks hoarsely, barely containing his anger even though he knows the answer. “ Bacraut .”
Nodding slowly, I allow a tear to fall. “Something ugly transpired last night, and I am afraid his carnal lust will condemn us both to hell.”
Skarth hisses, speaking in a language I don’t understand. He’s gone before I can stop him, his frantic footsteps slicing through the tall grass.
“Skarth!” I cry out, chasing after him. “Do not do whatever it is you mean to do! They will hang you.”
But Skarth doesn’t stop. He is a man possessed as he storms toward the gardens. I can barely keep up, and when he comes face-to-face with Aethelred, he picks up the wooden sword and slams it into his chest.
“You want to fight like a warrior?” he demands, his accent more predominant than ever. “Then let me show you how.”
Before Aethelred can stop him, Skarth is attacking him with nothing but his fists.
Lord Robert is chatting with one of my mother’s ladies, but soon stops when he witnesses Skarth’s rage. He attempts to withdraw his sword, but I shake my head subtly, hoping he will read my plea.
He does.
As long as Skarth doesn’t kill Aethelred, all will be well. His role is to teach Aethelred how to fight. He is merely doing what the king has asked.
Aethelred tries to stab Skarth, but he ducks and weaves and shoves Aethelred in the back. Something about watching Skarth fight is almost hypnotic. He isn’t trained like Saxons are. He fights with heart. Passion.
I am completely under his spell.
Aethelred attempts to knock Skarth’s feet out from under him, but Skarth jumps back and elbows Aethelred in the nose. I hear the crack before I see the blood.
The sight gives me nothing but great pleasure.
With a roar, Aethelred charges for Skarth, but in response, Skarth knocks Aethelred to the ground, winding him. Skarth barely holds back the urge to finish my brother.
The fight is over…for now.
Skarth offers Aethelred his hand in a display of good sportsmanship, but when Aethelred accepts, and Skarth bends low, whispering something into his ear, I realize nothing about this is civilized.
Aethelred glares at me, hinting that whatever Skarth said was a warning. I should feel disgraced a pagan would defend my honor, but I don’t.
Aethelred storms away, bloody and beaten, while Skarth turns to look at me and nods. He said he wasn’t indebted to anyone, but he lied because this bond between us runs both ways.
Lord Robert speaks to Raedwulf in confidence while I walk toward Skarth, seeing him in a new light. This Northman is vicious and cruel, yet he touches me with nothing but kindness.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his ear as I stand on tippy-toes.
“Are you ready?” he asks as I pull away.
“Ready for what?”
“To fight,” he clarifies. The defeat that overthrew me earlier is suddenly smashed to pieces. “I promised I would teach you.”
I’d forgotten about that promise because when I woke, the fight in me had died. But it’s returned, and it’s demanding bloodshed.
“Yes.”
Skarth looks around to ensure no one is listening as he bends low and says, “Good, because the next time he touches you, you either kill him…or I will.”
And just like that…our future is sealed with a bloodstained promise, one which will rule our lives in this lifetime and the next.