Four
Princess Emeline
Two Years Later
T he palace is a flurry of excitement as it’s Saint Cuthbert’s feast day. The king hasn’t spared an expense when lavishly decorating the great hall and covering the tables in an assortment of foods. How things have changed in two years, and that change is thanks to Skarth.
Before his arrival, Northumbria was on her knees. But he did what I knew he could—he saved the kingdom from downfall.
My father saw his worth and exploited that for his gain. He learned about the way of the Northmen—their warfare and how they had an array of weapons to fight with, not merely swords. He used this knowledge to overthrow an army of five hundred warriors who attacked Bernicia.
Once word was sent that the Northmen were close, Skarth prepared the Saxons for battle. What they had been taught over the months was going to be tried on the battlefield, and my father didn’t realize how valuable Skarth really was until he saw him in battle.
Their shield wall tactic, which was made up of warriors, five ranks deep, was met with confusion from the Northmen as they had never seen Saxons attack this way. They were then quick to ascertain that a traitor was amongst them.
The victory was bloody and brutal, and word spread that Skarth the Godless was now fighting with the enemy. This instilled the fear of God into them, as Skarth’s reputation was notorious not only among the Saxons but the Northmen as well.
Since that attack, Wessex and Mercia have asked my father’s army to come to battle on many occasions. And each and every time, they’ve defeated the Northmen. Skarth’s bravery is not acknowledged even though everyone knows my father’s army is unconquerable because of him.
My father reaps all the glory and has no shame in basking in another man’s victories.
The lands now flourish once again, and Wessex and Mercia have resumed trading with Northumbria. They see our power and prefer to be allies and not enemies because the Northmen continue to attack. No matter that they are defeated, more and more come.
Skarth said they’ll never stop coming, as it’s better to die a warrior than to hide like a coward.
For two years, both Skarth and I kept our promise—he was to train me, and I was to seek out information on his family.
The parchments were most useful, and after relaying what I found, Skarth sought out all possible avenues, but each and every time, he was too late. His reputation has spread—the Northman helping the Saxon king—but some Saxons don’t agree with my father’s tactics, and Skarth has not always been welcomed with open arms.
This makes finding his family even harder.
Each day, I see his frustrations grow, as I believe he thought he wouldn’t be in the king’s service for so long. But he won’t leave without his family, and keeping ties with the Saxons is the only way to find them.
He needs to side with the enemy, but the truth is, he’s now the enemy to both the Saxons and the Northmen.
“Oh, forgive me, my lady,” Raedwulf says as he stands on my toes—again.
We are dancing, dressed in our finest garments because Northumbria is favorable once more.
The guards eat wild boar and drink ale. They are in jubilant spirits because peace has settled over the land. We all know it’s temporary, but they enjoy it because we don’t know what tomorrow holds.
I am now fourteen years old, and although I feel like a woman, I am not.
I’m still in Northumbria and not in Wessex, married to Aethelwulf, because I still have not had my monthly courses. I wonder if God has answered my prayers, after all—he did send me Skarth. I prayed for a miracle, and in return, Skarth walked into my world.
He is now twenty years old, and although he has many suitors, he remains unattached.
Father refuses to give Skarth land outside of the palace, so his lodgings are in a small cottage in the village. He hates it, as it’s a great dishonor that he is still seen as less than a cottar after everything he’s done for Northumbria.
But he has nowhere to go.
The truth be told, I’d miss him if he left. I do miss him and worry terribly when he’s gone. We’ve shared a connection since the day we met, and that connection just continues to grow; for me, it does more than he.
No matter how many dances I have with Raedwulf, he will never be the man I want to dance with. And soon, I have an engagement with that man in question.
“Are you all right? You’re flustered.”
Embarrassed, I lower my chin, afraid he’ll be able to read the cause of my sudden blush. “Yes, my lord, I am just heated, that is all. I am going to get some fresh air.”
Before he can offer to escort me, I make haste and avoid the crowds of rowdy men as they clink their cups together, spilling ale all over themselves and the floor. They are boorish and loud, and I often think they are nothing but hypocrites for calling the Northmen heathens.
Not looking where I’m going is my error as I bump straight into someone I’ve been avoiding all night—Aethelred.
He clutches onto my arms to stop me from falling, but I’d rather fall than have his hands on me. I don’t make a scene as I subtly recoil from his touch. Nothing but condescension is reflected in his eyes as his arrogance only grows.
Like my father, he sees Skarth’s victory as his own, and because of this, he believes himself to be untouchable.
He doesn’t acknowledge he is the warrior my father is finally proud of because of Skarth’s training. He simply basks in the glory, enforcing to the good people of Northumbria that when our father dies, he will be a worthy king.
It sickens me.
“Where are you rushing off to, sweet lambkin?” he whispers, leaning in close.
He is doing this to intimidate me because that’s what men like him do—they amass respect through fear, not because they earned it.
“I’m tired,” I reply, refusing to show him my fear. “I am going to retire for the evening.”
“And miss all the fun?” he mocks, drinking his fine wine from a gold chalice. “Raedwulf is wasting his time on you. I’ve told him you’re cursed.”
I clench my fists, focusing on remaining calm in battle, just how Skarth taught me.
“Then best you leave me be. I wouldn’t want to sour your luck.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it,” he snarls, eyes narrowed. “The battles I have won, I’ve done so with bravery and strength.”
If he expects me to bow at his feet, then he’ll be waiting a long time.
Aethelred has grown into a man, and his boyish looks are no more. His dark hair is long, which complements the groomed beard he sports. He’s tall and has the form of a warrior. Therefore, he’s never lacking female company.
Father has hinted he’d like Aethelred to find a bride, but my brother won’t settle for one. Why would he when he has the entire kingdom at his beck and call? All but one…
That night, two years ago, when he left permanent scars on my body, has been scorched onto my very soul. Thankfully, he’s never visited my chambers since, but I see the way he watches me as he isn’t the only one who has grown.
My brown hair is quite long and is left down. It’s usually twisted into elaborate plaits on the sides to allow my face to be seen. I prefer less flamboyant garments. The dress I wear this evening is one of my favorites.
Dark burgundy in color, the dress has gold trim on the long hem, and the collar dips tastefully to display my gold crucifix. I like to complement any dress with a bodice.
The one I wear is green, which wraps around my shoulders and ties at the front.
Most women my age wear prettier dresses, but I feel most comfortable in something less ostentatious. I also prefer bare feet to the hideous shoes my father insists I wear. He’s often told me that no future queen should be seen barefooted, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable sporting shoes or being a queen.
Truth be told, this attire allows me to fight with ease because when Skarth and I meet, it’s in secret. No one can know of our meetings. My father would have our heads if he knew what we did late at night.
It’s because of Skarth that I can walk alone and not be afraid anymore. I can fight as well as any man—maybe even better because I feel most alive with a sword in hand. However, lately, I’m beginning to wonder if the cause of my vigor is from the training or from being with Skarth.
I am developing feelings for him, ones which I do not fully understand. My heart skips a beat when he is near, and when we part, the longing sets in until I see him again. I dare not tell anyone of my feelings because no matter that he’s accepted into our kingdom, he is still a Northman—a Northman which I like more than I should.
The prospect of seeing him soon has the butterflies returning, but I play it coy as Aethelred will have me followed if he suspects anything is skewed.
Thankfully, Bellaflor, the daughter of a wealthy merchant, hooks her arm through Aethelred’s, hinting she wants a moment alone. No doubt he has bedded her, as word across the kingdom is that my brother is quite the philanderer.
He can be charming when he wants to be, but it’s all for his personal gain.
I excuse myself with a curtsey and exit the great hall, thankful to be away from court and the prying eyes of those who act as the king’s spies. The villagers are drunk on meat and ale, enjoying the king’s generosity, so it’s easy to slip away.
No one pays any attention to me, as I’ve learned to blend into the background. Once outside, I quicken my step and make my way toward the stables, where Skarth will be waiting for me. This is where he teaches me. This is our own private rapture.
The shadows allow for men and women to engage in indecent acts, ones which they wouldn’t dare commit in the light. The festivities are just an excuse for the people to engage in the depraved—me included because when I approach the stables and see Skarth with a villager I do not know, I do something which I normally would never do.
Instead of announcing my arrival, I hide behind the wall and watch their encounter unfold between the cracks in the wood. The wall sconces allow enough light for me to see.
It’s apparent from her body language that she desires Skarth, and a wave of jealousy overcomes me.
I wait for him to push her away, but he doesn’t. He simply stands still as she steps forward and runs a finger along the scar under his right eye.
Skarth too has grown since we first met. He was always big, but now, his body is the shape of an unstoppable warrior. His hair is quite long, and I see that he still has the thin plait I knotted in his hair. He told me of his people, of how they prepared for battle. How they paint their faces to intimidate the enemy.
The ink on the side of his head is called an Aegishjalmr . It is to protect warriors in battle and ensure victory. Some draw it in blood on their foreheads before battle, but Skarth had it permanently imprinted into his flesh as he said it gives him strength every day.
The Northmen do not use the language we do, but rather, they use runes. They use these runes to change the course of fate. It’s nothing but paganism, but I can’t deny I find their beliefs utterly fascinating.
During our training, I’ve done some schooling of my own, educating Skarth in the way of the Christians. He is so curious about everything, which is what makes him a smart warrior. To know your enemy, you must understand them, and I know one day, Skarth will use this knowledge to outsmart the king.
But it appears all smartness is lost when it comes to a pretty girl.
She strokes over the Aegishjalmr , taking her time to admire the warrior. I am certain he will push her away at any moment as he doesn’t like to be touched, but I am mistaken.
He wraps his hand around her waist and draws her closer as she silently begs he give her what she wants, and when he does, she moans in bliss. It appears he robs her of air as he seals his mouth over hers. But she doesn’t mind. She allows him to dominate her in a way I’ve never seen before.
Fisting her loose hair, he savagely kisses her, allowing no reprieve as he cups her breast in his palm. She rubs her front against his, and when I see her hand slip between them, I use my own hand to cover the gasp which escapes me. I’m not naive to what happens between a man and a woman when they lie together, but this is something I do not know.
Skarth grunts, clearly enjoying her touching him so intimately, and when she drops to her knees in front of him, that enjoyment turns into something more.
She peers up at him as she unfastens his trousers, and when they slip down his legs, time stands still. I’ve never seen a manhood before, so when Skarth’s considerable cock springs free, I lean in, desperate for a closer look.
It is thick, large. It is also very erect. How does he walk with such a weight between his legs? I thought I would be disgusted when I saw my first one, but I am not. Something shifts down low, and I whimper, rubbing my thighs together, hoping to defuse the burn I feel.
I am just as mesmerized as the woman and watch as she grips him, moving her hand up and down, up and down.
My cheeks blister, and I turn away, disgusted in myself for watching something so wicked, but when I hear a hollowed noise, my curiosity gets the better of me.
Gripping the crucifix around my throat, I turn back around slowly, and what I bear witness to leaves me utterly breathless.
The woman has taken Skarth’s cock into her mouth. Her head bobs up and down as he guides her with a hand on the back of her head. She pulls back, gagging, and just when I think she is about to stop, she continues sucking him deeply.
Pure lust is reflected in his eyes as he watches her, and a warmth spreads between my thighs. He is feral and unrestrained, and the sight has every part of me clenching in need. I don’t know what that need is, but I like it.
I like it so much that I pretend to be the woman on her knees before Skarth.
I pretend it is I who suckles him deeply, tasting his rich scent that always lingers when he is near me. His fragrance isn’t of herbs or perfumes. His scent is that of the earth—a masculine, warm fragrance that makes my mouth water.
Skarth is composed as she pleasures him, taking from her as she increases the tempo of her movements. Whimpers escape her, and when she slips a hand beneath her skirts, my eyes widen as her hands are possessed by that of the devil.
Again, this is foreign to me, as I have no idea what she does to herself. But from the sounds spilling from her, I assume it’s not bad. It seems she is enjoying herself.
Skarth wraps her long hair around his fist and pumps his hips. She grips his thigh to hold on as his actions are not gentle. Her hand between her thighs is working just as desperately as her mouth, and when a cry leaves her, Skarth drives into her mouth once, twice, before a sated groan slips past his parted lips.
He tosses his head back as he pumps his hips, his long hair cascading down his back. The feral sight of him has a wetness pooling between my legs and a heat washing over me. Am I unwell? I don’t understand what this feeling is.
Once they’re both decent, the woman comes to a stand, wiping her mouth of the liquid trickling from her lips. What is it?
On instinct, I run my pointer finger along my own lip, wishing I was her, wanting to taste what she does.
She bashfully lowers her eyes, but Skarth uses a finger to lift her chin. What happens now?
“Thank you, Cecily,” he says hoarsely. “I will see you sometime soon?”
She nods, and her response douses my warmth. Does he plan to court her?
Illogical tears spring to life, ones which I don’t understand. But I am caught in a whirlwind because I do not understand anything at the moment.
“Yes, Skarth, I would like that.”
Skarth nods with a smile.
As she turns to leave, I duck low, ensuring to remain hidden. The moment she steps out into the night, the urge to pull out her long blonde hair tackles me, and I chastise myself for thinking such a thought.
When she’s gone, I continue watching Skarth as observing him unguarded is a rare sight. He arranges the weapons, clearly waiting for my arrival, which suddenly angers me. How can he behave so aloof when he acted in such a way with a woman I am certain he just met?
Anger courses through me as I come to a stand and enter the stables, pretending I didn’t just see him act in such a lewd way. When he hears me, he turns, but soon stops, appearing to examine me from head to foot.
I suddenly feel uncomfortable because something behind his eyes is untamed. It’s gone a moment later.
“My lady,” he says, smiling as if he’s happy to see me.
But I’m not fooled.
Grunting, I walk toward the weapons and peruse over them. I suddenly want to slap his cheek. How dare he taint our place with visions I will never forget?
“Is everything all right, hugrekki ?”
“Yes,” I reply sharply. “Will you finally tell me what that means?”
Although Skarth has been forthcoming with most things, he still won’t tell me what that name means. It never bothered me in the past, but now it does.
“No,” he counters, and I can feel those blue eyes watching me. “I don’t think all is well.”
“I do not care what you think. I’m here to fight,” I state, and fight I shall when I reach for the battle-ax.
Skarth has trained me to use many weapons, but the ax is still one I haven’t mastered as well as I want. Tonight seems like a perfect time to change that.
Reaching for both axes, I turn and toss one at him, knowing he’ll catch it.
He does but arches a dark brow, confused by my behavior. I don’t give him time to ponder it because I charge for him, forcing him to defend.
Our blades crash together, but I jump back and try to strike him from the left. He blocks my advances, spinning and attacking from my right. I sidestep his strike and swing hard, hoping to knock him off balance.
He reads my approach, however, and ducks low, driving the ax’s handle into my stomach, leaving me winded.
“My lady?” he queries, but I don’t give him time to question me as I rush forward, ax raised. We engage in battle, him blocking me as I practice the actions he taught me.
He doesn’t allow me to connect, dodging every attack, which merely adds to my irritation. I raise the ax above my head and swing out, but Skarth grips my wrist, forcing me to drop the weapon. He doesn’t let go of my wrist, however.
“Fight me!” I order, struggling against him. It’s in vain because he only grips me tighter.
“I will not fight you when you’re like this. Have you learned nothing?” he angrily snarls, eyeing me furiously. “Leading with your emotions will get you killed. You need to focus. Use the anger to outsmart your enemy, not give them an advantage.”
He’s right. I know I’m being irrational, but I can’t help it. Seeing another woman touch him has roused this demon inside me.
“Again,” he demands, and when he releases me, I lunge for the fallen ax, primed on playing dirty.
Skarth is ready for my actions and dives for me, sending us both tumbling to the ground. I attempt to throw him off, but he pins me down, using his body weight to stop me from fleeing. He wrenches my arms above my head, securing them in one wrist as I thrash wildly.
“Let me go!” I cry, wriggling madly.
“I will,” he lightly says, tightening his hold on me, “when you calm down.”
“I am calm!”
An annoying smirk touches his full lips, and I remember them kissing Cecily passionately. The thought enrages me further.
“You heathen, unhand me!” I can’t stop the filth that spills from me.
“Heathen?” He chuckles, using little to no effort to keep me restrained as I fight with all my might. “I’ve not heard you call me that in a long while. It’s music to my ears.”
“Fie upon thee!” I curse, which merely humors Skarth further.
I am very aware of his body pressed to mine, and I demand myself not to respond. But without control, my nipples harden, and the warmth I felt earlier returns.
His unique earthy scent is amplified being this close to him. All I want to do is lean up and bury my nose into the crook of his neck. He smells delectable. He feels even better. The candlelight illuminates him in an ungodly way.
God punish me, but I stare at him openly when I should avert my eyes. His thick stubble emphasizes his sharp jaw, and his pink lips only seem fuller. His eyes are akin to the bluest seas, mixed with a storm lingering on the horizon.
His face, though almost always covered with mud, is perfection—it is as sharp and chiseled as is his hard, muscular body.
I know he isn’t even trying to keep me detained as I continue to fight him. He yawns, in fact, when I writhe wildly.
Why am I responding this way? I don’t understand. Why do I burn for him so?
When memories of his manhood assault me, memories of watching Cecily please him, I can’t stop the whimper that escapes me. Skarth hears it, and suddenly, things between us change.
He looks at me with those vivid eyes, attempting to decode what I’m thinking. He examines my flushed cheeks and peers at the way my chest is heaving so. My heart is beating so frantically, I’m certain he can hear it. But when he notices my nipples pressed against the material of my clothing, his confusion turns to dismay.
At this moment, I realize he will never look at me like he did with Cecily. He will never see me as anything but the king’s daughter, nothing but a Saxon, while he’s a Northman.
Tears spring to life as he crawls off me with haste.
There is an uncomfortable silence between us as I lie on the dirty stable floor, wishing it would swallow me whole.
“Have I hurt you?” he asks with nothing but kindness, mistaking my tears for physical pain. Yes, he has hurt me—he has hurt my heart.
Embarrassed, I sit up quickly, but a pain suddenly stabs me in the stomach. Groaning, I clutch my middle, and then I feel something wet slither down my legs.
He remains kneeled by my feet, waiting for me to speak, waiting for me to tell him it’ll be okay. But it never will be okay again.
“Let me help you.” He offers me his hand, but I slap it away, not wanting his help.
“Do not touch me,” I order cruelly, sounding like my father.
Skarth nods and comes to a stand. He reads this for what it is. Even though we are friends, we are not equals. Here, on Saxon soil, he will always be an outsider.
The moment I get to my feet, the wetness gushes from me, and I push Skarth, desperate to get inside.
He doesn’t stop me, but with my back turned, he whispers, “I’m sorry for whatever it is I did.”
I don’t reply. I can’t because I am the one who should be apologizing, not him.
However, now I must go to my chambers before anyone sees me.
I run from the stables, each step I take confirming my worst fears. When I enter through the back door of the kitchen, I don’t explain why I’m here, not that they would ask. They simply go about their chores, ensuring the king’s table is never bare.
When I enter the hall, the burning candles illuminate the red droplets trickling onto my shoes. I run past the guards, who don’t ask questions, and the moment I enter my chambers, I slam the door shut. Turning my back, I lift my skirt with trembling fingers and what I see has me choking back a sob.
My white undergarments are now stained a bright red. The blood trickles down my thighs, confirming what I knew to be true.
Peering up at the crucifix above my bed, I ask Him if this is my punishment for watching Skarth when I should have averted my eyes. Is this my punishment for…falling in love with a Northman?
Because I am. I do. I love Skarth the Godless. I think I always have.
“My lady, the guards said you—”
With haste, I drop my skirt, but it’s too late. My father’s personal attendant has seen. She is loyal to the king in every way that there is, which is why she’s out the door before I can stop her.
I’m about to give chase, but my mother enters, and when she sees me, I burst into tears.
“Oh, my sweeting,” she coos, rushing over to hug me. I allow her to comfort me because once the king hears of this news, my mother’s embrace will be a distant memory.
I am now a woman, and it won’t be long until I am to perform all roles expected of a woman. “Please, Mother.” I sob, holding her tightly. “Please forbid the marriage.”
“I cannot, Emeline. You know this.” There is nothing but regret in her voice.
“I don’t want to marry a man I do not love. A man who is twice my age.”
“You will grow to love him,” she assures me, but love shouldn’t be forced. “It’s expected of you. You are the king’s daughter.”
“I am more than that,” I cry, squeezing my eyes shut. “I am my own person.”
She doesn’t say anything because even though she agrees with me, nothing she can do will change destiny. I am to marry Aethelwulf of Wessex. I’ve heard rumors that Aethelwulf loves another, but King Egbert sees our union to be far more valuable. I wonder why that may be. What plans does Wessex have for Northumbria?
Heavy armor can be heard, which alerts us of my father’s approach.
My mother quickly pulls me out at arm’s length and wipes away my tears. My door opens, and my father, my brother, and Lord Edward appear.
“Lord King.” My mother bows in servitude while I simply nod.
“Is it true?” my father says, waltzing into the room. “Is there another cause for celebration this nightfall?”
“Yes, it is true, Lord King,” my mother replies, speaking for me as she knows I’m at my breaking point. “Emeline is now a woman.”
“Oh, Lord King, this is wonderful news,” Lord Edward says, rubbing his portly hands together. “We must send word to Wessex.”
His excitement is the last straw, and I snap. “Why are you in here, Lord Edward? In my private chambers? You are the king’s adviser, not mine. Do you plan on advising him on a woman’s monthly courses? I did not realize you were experienced in such a field.”
Lord Edward pales and looks at the king, rendered speechless by my insolence. Aethelred chuckles, but soon mutes his humor when the king exhales angrily.
“I will excuse your impudence just this once, Emeline, for you are overwhelmed. But this marriage will take place as it will solidify the union between Northumbria and Wessex.
“King Egbert’s defeat of Mercia has made him a very powerful man. With Kent, Surrey, Sussex, and Essex submitting to Wessex, we need this ally. You are doing a great duty to your kingdom.”
I am sick to death of hearing this. I am sick to death of being told what to do.
“If you want this marriage so much, marry Aethelwulf yourself. Or better still, maybe Aethelred can. He’d make a pretty bride.”
The room falls utterly still as no one, no one , has ever spoken to the Lord King this way. I know the consequences as this will not go unpunished.
“Lord King, no, I beseech thee,” my mother begs, as she too realizes what this means for me. But no plea is going to save me.
My father stares me dead in the eyes as he commands, “Guards, taketh her to the dungeons.”
The men just outside my door jump to command while I smile. Little does he know that place doesn’t scare me anymore. I’ve been inside hell and survived.
My mother drops to her knees in front of my father, interlacing her hands. “Eanred, no, she is just a girl.”
“Mother, do not beg for me,” I order calmly as the guards flank me on both sides. “And do not drop to your knees for any man…even the king himself.”
Lord Edward gasps, crossing himself. “Treason!” he cries, the whites of his eyes showing.
Aethelred’s mouth is agape, as he is surprised I would provoke the king further.
“I am your king, child. I demand respect!” he roars, stepping forward and slapping me across the cheek.
My head snaps to the left, and I instantly taste blood. But I don’t wipe it away. Turning toward him slowly, I allow him to see what he’s done as it trickles down my chin.
“You will never have my respect, Father .”
“We will see about that,” he challenges, refusing to surrender. “A month in the dungeons should change your mind.”
“Please, Lord King, no!” my mother cries, tugging at his robes. Seeing her weak and begging for clemency fortifies the fact that I will never bow to any man ever again.
“Make it two,” I say, standing tall as the guards seize my arms. “Whether in the dungeons or married to Aethelwulf, I’m a prisoner either way. And given the choice, I choose the dungeons for at least I will die a free woman, not enslaved to some man.”
“Lord King, I fear her soul has been taken by the devil. You must call on Father Lucan. We must pray for her soul,” Lord Edward says, stepping back, afraid for his soul, it appears.
The king nods in agreement. “Bring her prayer book. That is all.”
My mother’s sobs follow me as I’m escorted from my chambers, and even though I am being led to my prison cell, I’ve never felt more free than I do right now.