Eight
Skarth the Godless
I t pains me to leave Emeline unattended, but I cannot linger, for King Egbert will sense something is wrong. And I will not fail her—not again.
She never left my thoughts. She was with me, always. Had I known she was here, suffering at the hands of these Níeingrs , I would have come years ago.
She has grown—my fierce, brave hugrekki . But she is broken. Wessex has broken her, and for that, I promise, Wessex will pay.
I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I was cruel, but my actions were in kindness. I knew she was smitten—a Saxon caring for a Northman—but she was fourteen. She did not know of love, and neither did I. I refused to corrupt her that way. I respected her far too much for that.
But she is no longer a child. Gone is the meyla , and in her place is a woman I knew she was destined to become. She was always comely, but now, her beauty is unmatched. I yearn to touch her, to be near her, because when I do, everything quietens, and I can breathe.
When she was younger, I felt this too. But now, it is different. It has grown. I want her in the way I should not.
Cecily is a devoted wife. She is also brave and strong, but what I feel for Emeline is fated in bloodshed. When our paths crossed, I knew we would be connected eternally, which is why when Queen Eleanor informed me of Emeline’s situation, I left everything behind to come for her.
Cecily understood, but she does not know the woman Emeline has grown into. She does not know the feelings I harbor for her will condemn us both.
I am Skarth the Godless. I have killed countless men. But with one look, Princess Emeline has the ability to slaughter me where I stand, and for someone who never wished to be owned, she possesses me—mind, body, and—if I believed in it—soul.
And when she steps into the great hall, my obsession with her just grows.
She wears a blue dress that ties at the front, emphasizing her ample breasts. A darker blue shirt is worn underneath, covering her arms and is modest in the collar, exposing the silver cross she wears around her neck. The blue silk belt emphasizes her small waist, and I vow to fatten her up once we leave this vile place.
Even though her God has forsaken her, her faith is still strong.
Her long hair is loose, but when I see a silver bead strung in a thin plait, a sense of pride overcomes me, for she looks like my people. She looks like a Northman.
Her green eyes search the great hall, and when they land on me, she notices me staring, causing her cheeks to blister red. She smiles in response.
We can’t let anyone know what we have planned, so I nod discreetly.
King Egbert and his queen are speaking with the ealdormen, but I note the way he looks at Emeline when she enters. He is in love with her. Or whatever he believes love to be.
It takes every ounce of strength I have not to detach his head from his shoulders as he is the reason I am a Saxon slave. I am finished fighting for King Eanred. I haven’t been able to find my family. Therefore, I will try another way, and that way is not being enslaved to a Saxon.
My people see me as a traitor, so I know I will have to do this alone. But I promised my sister and mother that I would find them and avenge my father’s death, and I won’t go back on my word.
I knew what it meant when I left Northumbria. I knew that I too would be a fugitive. But Emeline is worth it. She risked her life for me, and I shall do the same for her. Tenfold.
King Eanred would know of my disappearance by now. Therefore, he would have sent his finest knights to find me. I have a three-day lead on them, so time is of the essence. We must leave soon.
Aethelwulf is by my side, and from the smell of him, he’s had too much ale. He is a pathetic excuse of a man. “Beautiful, is she not?”
He refers to Emeline.
I don’t reply because he is baiting me.
“She is quite wild, in more ways than one.”
I clench my fists by my sides.
“I may visit her chambers one final time this nightfall. After Father, of course.” He laughs loudly, sipping his ale as he examines Emeline indecently.
Emeline subtly shakes her head, begging I don’t give in to temptation and gouge out his eyeballs with my blade. But this cannot go unpunished.
“I believe you’d be no use to her, Lord Aethelwulf,” I casually state.
He focuses his eyes my way. Much better. “And why’s that… pagan ?” he slurs, sloshing ale down the front of his white shirt.
“Because I believe Lady Osburh is in possession of your bqllrs . In fact, I hear them rattling around in her pouch right this moment.”
Aethelwulf opens but closes his mouth when he realizes what I just implied. “What did you say to me, Northman?”
“I said—”
I don’t get a chance to finish because King Egbert appears. “Aethelwulf, Father Alwin would like to speak with you.”
Aethelwulf doesn’t break eye contact with me. He’s challenging me, and I will accept. If he draws his blade, I will draw mine, but I will not give him the chance to attack, for I will drive my sword straight through his throat.
“Aethelwulf,” King Egbert repeats, this time ensuring Aethelwulf listens.
He snickers but eventually leaves. This isn’t done.
“He is angry with me,” King Egbert explains. “He thinks I should not trust you.”
“You shouldn’t,” I counter, keeping my eyes on Emeline. “That’s the first rule of battle—do not trust anyone. Only yourself.”
He’s silent as he processes what I just shared. “Three of my guards will escort you back to Stonehill,” he says, which is no surprise.
“Thank you, Lord.” Sadly, those guards will not return.
“You too are in awe of her beauty, it seems?” He speaks of Emeline, and I want to tear out his tongue for it.
“I’m merely following orders, Lord,” I reply, turning to look at him.
It sickens me that he knows Emeline in a way he should not. He is old enough to be her father. He is not worthy of being anywhere near her. No man is. Not even me.
“Then why did you bargain for her?” he asks. I need to be careful how I answer because if he senses a lie, we won’t leave this palace alive.
“Curiosity?” I say like I too don’t understand it. “The king’s mistress must be something special. I want to know what.”
King Egbert laughs loudly. “You Northmen are inquisitive creatures. I admire that. Maybe we are not so different, after all.”
I try my best to smile because I am nothing like this vile snake.
An ealdorman appears, hinting he requests council with the king.
“Duty calls,” he says softly. “And she is something very special. But be careful…that sweet little cunt may be your downfall. I know that it is mine.”
He leaves me seething because he knows I won’t act. I want to rip out his spleen and feed it to him, which is what he wants. He wants a reaction. I need to be smart, just how I am in battle because this is war.
I search for Emeline, but she isn’t where I last saw her, and when I comb the room, I realize she is gone. Aethelwulf is also missing.
I’m aware eyes are on me, so I casually walk through the grand hall and exit coolly, but inside, I am going to explode. I need to find her, but I don’t know where to look. The palace is huge. She was in the royal chambers the last time I was here, but that chamber would now be reserved for Aethelwulf and his new wife.
My heart has never beaten this fast before. Even in battle, when faced with death, I don’t think I’ve ever been more afraid than I am right now.
A guard walks by, and I grab him by the throat, pinning him to the wall. “Where are Lady Emeline’s chambers?”
He doesn’t fight because I am one indignant Northman who will kill anyone who stands in my way. “That way.” He points down the hall, sagging to the floor when I release him.
I make haste, and when the hall takes a sharp left, I follow it anxiously. I’m about to bang on every door when I hear a muffled scream. I block everything out and focus on that sound, as I would in battle. When I hear it again, I run toward the last door and kick it open, unsheathing my sword.
Even though I knew I would find them in here, it doesn’t prepare me for the reality of seeing Emeline hurt—her face is bloody, her dress torn. She holds the only weapon she can find—her chamber pot. Aethelwulf is a few steps away, leather belt in hand.
He turns over his shoulder, revealing four bloody scratches along his cheek.
Emeline is beyond terrified, her hands quivering as she clutches the chamber pot like it is her lifeline. But she will never be afraid again.
Closing the door, I lean my back against it, daring Aethelwulf to make his move—who does he want more? Me or Emeline? Whoever he chooses, one thing is for certain—he won’t leave this room with his head intact.
With a roar, he drops the belt to unsheathe his sword. I anticipate his move and launch for him before he has a chance to advance. I elbow him in the face, where he staggers back, dropping his sword and cupping his broken nose.
Emeline jumps back, chamber pot still in hand as she watches on with wide eyes. Her back is pressed to the wall. Her terror is soon replaced with exhilaration because she knows what fate is destined for Aethelwulf.
“You’ll both be hung for this.” He spits out a mouthful of blood.
With a smirk, I cock my head to the side. “What makes you think you will leave this room alive?”
Aethelwulf soon realizes this is a fight to the death, a fight he knows he’ll lose. And like the coward that he is, he opens his mouth, ready to call out for help, but is stopped the moment I reach for my sword and drive it into his stomach.
He topples forward, clutching his middle as he gasps for breath. But he doesn’t deserve a reprieve—not after everything he’s done to Emeline. He has hurt and humiliated her. He has stolen the light from her eyes, and for that, I will steal his.
Gripping him by the hair, I yank his head backward. He is at my mercy. He glares at me, daring me to do my best.
“You filthy heathen,” he snarls, pathetically struggling against my hold. “God will punish thee.”
Lowering my face to his so we are inches apart, I growl, “Your God is not mine. So whatever punishment he wishes to bestow on me, I welcome, for hearing your cries is worth condemning my soul to your hell.”
He opens his mouth, but his time for talking is no more.
With utter fury animating me, I jab my thumb into his right eye socket, relishing in the feel of his eyeball disintegrating under my brutal touch. An anguished cry leaves him as he fights with all his might. But it’s too late for that.
His demise is mere seconds away.
I continue tunneling into his socket, blood and other matter slathering my flesh. I relish in the feel of it. I want more.
Once his eyeball loosens, I dig my thumb behind it, resulting in it popping free from the socket. Aethelwulf slaps at my hand, but the fight in him has simmered, and I know he’s on the cusp of passing out. Using my pointer finger and thumb, I yank out his eyeball, smirking at the sight.
I hold it in front of Aethelwulf for him to see—out of his good eye, that is.
The gaping hole where his eyeball used to be spurs me on further, and I toss the ruined eyeball onto the ground, it squelching under my boot as I stomp on it. With my grip still fastened in Aethelwulf’s snarled hair, I arch his neck back farther and lock eyes with Emeline. The chamber pot now limply rests by her side. Her mouth agape.
Only now do I realize what she just witnessed. She’s heard stories of me in battle, but this is the first time she’s seen the real me—the callous, bloodthirsty Northman who takes great pleasure in all things depraved.
She’s only ever looked at me with innocence, but I know that has now changed. I suddenly am ashamed, for this is who Skarth the Godless really is.
“Princess—” I start, but she shakes her head.
Whatever she wishes, I will do, as she holds me captive in more ways than one.
I wait with bated breath, unsure what she’s thinking. She examines the scene before her, her intuitive eyes processing what I just did and what I will do.
Does she regret saving my life all those years ago? Will she see me as nothing but an immoral heathen?
She steps forward, her pace measured, her gaze never wavering from mine.
“You are nothing but a heathen whore!” snarls Aethelwulf, squirming as he attempts to break free.
But Emeline doesn’t flinch.
She continues walking toward us in an almost daze. I fear I’ve broken her for good.
When she is mere inches away, she stops and cocks her head, appearing transfixed by a wounded Aethelwulf. My hold on him is tight, so I don’t fear for her safety, but when she reaches out with two fingers and circles them in Aethelwulf’s blood, I realize there is no need to fear for her well-being.
However, the same thing can’t be said about mine. I am completely under her spell.
Emeline is hugrekki . She doesn’t tremble in fear.
I’m the one who now watches on in awe as Emeline runs her thumb through the blood on her fingers, transfixed by the texture as well as the color, it appears. She brings two fingers to her face, where she runs them across the apple of her cheek, marking her skin in the enemy’s blood.
I’m suddenly parched, but no fluid can quench this thirst, for what I desire is far more precious than a simple swallow. Seeing Emeline painted this way does something to me, something I’ve never felt before—not even with my wife.
I want Emeline in ways I should not.
“I’ve dreamt of this day,” she whispers, looking at Aethelwulf. “For each and every time you forced yourself on me, humiliated me, I wished for your demise. But now that it is within reach, I see that no matter how much you suffer, it will never be enough.
“I could kill you ten thousand times, and I would never tire of feeling the life drain from your body. You are weak. Nothing but a coward walking in his father’s shadow. I curse thee, and soon, you’ll be nothing but a forgotten memory.”
The worst form of punishment to deliver to a dying man as Aethelwulf’s fight would have been for nothing.
“Guards!” Aethelwulf screams, twisting violently. He senses his time on this earth is coming to a close.
Emeline laughs, a maniacal cackle that fuses with my perversion.
“It’s time you made peace with your God,” Emeline says, and with poise, she gently reaches for the blade which hangs from my belt.
“Are you sure?” I ask because killing a man changes you. Some for good, some for the bad. But when I see the twinkle in Emeline’s eye, I know this is the moment she was born to live.
This will transform Emeline into the warrior I always knew she was destined to become.
“Yes,” she replies, blade in hand. “No one will kill him but me.”
I understand her completely because Aethelwulf’s life is hers. No one shall end it, for she earned the right to destroy him as he has done to her.
Arching his head back farther, I expose his neck to her, a gruesome offering only someone as macabre as me can appreciate. And Emeline does.
“Oh, Skarth.” She sighs breathlessly, her eyes dropping to half-mast. “You offer me such a delightful gift I’ll forever be grateful for.”
My insides clench, and Odin strike me down, but I want to make Emeline mine. In the blood of our enemy, I want to fuck her.
“Once I am done with you,” she says, lowering her lips to Aethelwulf’s, “I shall bestow the same fate to your beloved wife. Fare thee well, sweet husband. ’Tis most splendid delight.”
She kisses him softly, coating her mouth with his blood. She seals his fate in a blood-soaked kiss.
With her lips still pressed to his, she pushes the tip of the blade into his throat. His eye bulges open as she swallows his screams of pain.
My cock instantly hardens at this morbid sight.
Just as Emeline runs the blade across his throat, the door bursts open, and who I see changes the course of everything forevermore.
“Skarth,” Sigrith says, her blue eyes filling with tears. “I knew you’d come.”
She closes the door and runs over, hugging me as best she can. I won’t let go of Aethelwulf, but my grip on him loosens because my body has gone into shock.
“Sigrith? It’s really you?”
“Yes…brother, it is me.”
“Brother?” Emeline gasps, the realization of the situation hitting her hard. She yanks her bloody hand away from Aethelwulf, who has passed out. He still breathes, however.
“Yes, Emeline,” Sigrith says, smiling broadly. “I knew he would come. When you spoke of your brave Northman, I knew it was my brother. So, I waited. I endured their punishments because I knew he would come for me.”
Emeline’s fire simmers when she hears Sigrith’s words, for she believes her. I do not wish to hurt my sister, whom I’ve searched years for, but she is not the reason I’m here. Nonetheless, I am so thankful that she is.
Aethelwulf drops to the ground with a thud as I drop him and embrace my sister warmly. I will never let her go. I inhale her deeply—how I’ve missed her smell.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, brother, I am now.”
Putting her out at arm’s length, I take her in. “How you’ve grown. What are you doing here?”
When she averts her gaze, I realize she, too, has been forced to do things that have changed her forever. “Have you found Mother? And what of our brother, Knud?”
My stomach drops as a small part of me had hoped she would know where Mother is. “No, I have not. But come, we must go now. We will find her. I promise you. We will find them both.”
Our brother became a recluse once he lost his vision, which was another reason I proceeded on this quest for justice.
“I know you will. You are Skarth the Godless. You can do anything.”
A shadow overtakes Emeline, cloaking her passion and siphoning her vivacity. I don’t know why.
When Aethelwulf groans, I realize we must go, and we must go now. But our luck, it appears, has come to an end when the door opens and two of the king’s guards appear.
Pushing Sigrith aside, I don’t give them a chance to call out for help as I reach for my sword and brutally attack.
Instantly, they fend me off, fighting for their lives, but nothing will stand in my way. It may be two against one, but I won’t be defeated. It’s a flurry of swords, but these fools have no heart behind their strikes.
They fight with their heads, not their hearts, which makes them easy to read. And when one guard lunges for me, I spin and thrust my sword into his side. He drops to the ground, gasping for air. I don’t give him the chance to recover before I drive my sword into the base of his neck.
The other guard realizes he soon will end up like his comrade, and just as he opens his mouth, crying out for help, I slice my sword through the air and take his head clean off. It rolls along the floor.
The clash of swords is soon replaced with an eerie silence, and when I catch my breath, taking in my surroundings, I see why that is.
I’ve just made a monumental mistake—one which will haunt me for the rest of my days.
“Who will you choose?” Aethelwulf wheezes as he holds both Emeline and Sigrith by the arms. “Whose life means more to you?”
They struggle against him, but both know if one escapes, the other will suffer when he takes her life.
Aethelwulf’s blade is within reach, and even though he is wounded, he will ensure he doesn’t go down without a fight.
I look at Emeline, who nods.
She can take him on, but when I hear the unmissable pounding footsteps of the approaching army, we both realize it’s too late. I can only save one.
She lowers her eyes, the fight in her dying, for she understands the decision I face. Do I save her? Or my sister?
“Skarth, please,” Sigrith pleads, confused as to why we’re still here. This decision should be an easy one. But it’s not.
“Save her,” Emeline says, and when she looks at the blade, she makes clear what she intends to do. She’d rather end her own life than remain a prisoner.
But I cannot allow it. Whatever decision I make, I will regret for all of my days.
“I command thee!” Emeline exclaims, eyes wide as she orders me to obey her. “Take your sister and leave this place. It’s what you sacrificed your life for.”
I did, but everything is different now. When I made that promise, I wasn’t besotted with a princess who set my world on fire from the first moment we met. I cannot live with her death on my conscience, for if Emeline dies…I perish as well.
I do not wish to exist in a world where she does not.
The footsteps are right outside the door, so with no other choice, I run for Aethelwulf. He shoves Sigrith toward me, holding Emeline as he desperately reaches for his knife. The moment he presses the tip into her throat, I am possessed by a force I’ve never experienced before.
She doesn’t fight him. She welcomes her fate, eyes locked with mine.
“No!” I scream, pushing Sigrith aside as nothing, no one , will stand in my way.
When a trickle of blood stains Emeline’s porcelain skin, a rage bursts from me, and I attack Aethelwulf with utter ferocity. I fight with a passion that blinds me as I make a critical error and wound him, not kill him as I stab him in the thigh, missing his stomach.
The blade to Emeline’s throat tumbles to the floor, but it doesn’t make a difference because when the door bursts open, I know we’re outnumbered.
Sigrith’s screams will haunt me forever, and when I see her being captured by two guards, I beg for forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I will come back. I promise you.”
“Skarth? Skarth, no!” she cries, fighting against her captors. “Please don’t leave me here. Please! I’d rather you kill me than leave me here! Kill me. Send me to Valhalla! Please.”
But that is something I cannot do.
When a guard charges for Emeline, I elbow him in the nose and seize her by the arm.
“No!” she screams, fighting me ferociously. “You will do what I command! Take Sigrith. You will do what I say!”
This isn’t her choice, however. It is mine, one which I will be forced to live with.
“When do I follow orders, Princess?” I state, shoving her toward the window.
The guards tend to Aethelwulf, who is bleeding profusely, but he shrugs them away. “Don’t let them leave here alive!”
Meeting his stare, I promise here, now, that his days are numbered. His life is mine.
Sigrith’s hollowed cries for help cut me deeply, but when the guards charge for Emeline and me, I have to act—I must stand by my choice and deal with the consequences.
“Forgive me, Sigrith.”
She slumps to the ground, defeated, sobbing uncontrollably when she realizes the choice I’ve made. “I will never forgive you for this.”
“Good, as I will never forgive myself either.”
The sight of my sister broken is what animates me to tear this kingdom and its people to the ground. However, now I have another battle on my hands.
Emeline shakes her head when I glare at her as I know she won’t come willingly.
“Do not fight me,” I sternly warn. “Let us go.”
But she stubbornly breaks free.
She picks up a fallen sword, prepared to fight her way through the guards, but she will lose. I won’t allow this to be in vain.
Punching a guard in the face, I bend low and pick Emeline up, tossing her over my shoulder. She kicks and screams, flailing madly, her fists pounding my back, but she’s not going anywhere.
I mount the window ledge, but a sharp sting suddenly takes my breath away. I ignore it, and without haste, I jump into the gardens below. The drop is steep, but I don’t stop to recover. With Emeline still thrown over my shoulder, I run through the grounds, sword in hand.
Guards scurry from every corner of the palace, but nothing will stop me. I fight for my, for our lives, fending off every bacraut who blocks my path.
It’s a flurry of violence, and all I see is red as I annihilate the enemy. I cut off arms, legs, heads. Nothing is off-limits because when the main gate is within sight, victory lingers on my tongue. But that soon sours, and all I taste is defeat when the portcullis drops, sealing us in.
“ Soreinn !” I curse, slicing a guard in half as he charges for me.
I suddenly am weak on my feet, but I cannot stop.
“Turn around!” Emeline orders, and for once, I do as I’m told. “Go to the gardens. There is a postern hidden there.”
A back door is our savior, and determination drives me as I fight my way through dozens of men. More only seem to take their place, and before long, we are surrounded.
“Put me down! I can fight!” Emeline screams, twisting violently as she attempts to pry a sword from the hand of the man I just killed.
I know she can fight. I taught her. But the thought of any harm coming to her has me resisting.
“Skarth, we will die!” she cries, begging I see reason. “This cannot have been for nothing. I refuse to accept that fate.”
“If anything happens to you—” I can’t bring myself to finish that sentence. I can’t.
“Nothing will happen to me because you taught me how to be a warrior,” she says desperately. “You taught me to never surrender. Better to die on my feet fighting than crawling on my belly in fear. Being on your back this way…I am worse than being on my belly.
“Don’t take this away from me. Do not treat me like a little girl, for I am not. I am hugrekki . Your hugrekki .”
My head and heart battle for what I know is right and what I want to do, contest in hopes of conquering the other. But she is right.
Being on my back this way is robbing her of a right she earned. This is her fight. These animals deserve to suffer by her hand. And hearing her speak in my tongue…I am helpless to deny her anything.
Lowering her to the ground, I pick up a sword and toss it to her. She catches it with a cunning grin.
“Try to keep up.”
She charges for a guard, ducking and weaving how I taught her before driving her sword through his stomach without remorse. He collapses onto the ground face-first.
She doesn’t bask in her victory. She simply fights another man who dares to take her on. She offers me her strength, and a new lease on life is breathed into me as I fight alongside my hugrekki .
We are unstoppable, fighting anything that moves. We slowly edge toward the gardens, and once behind the walls, I make eye contact with Emeline.
She is slathered in a thick layer of blood, her hair loose. In battle, I’ve never seen such beauty until this day. She belongs here on the battlefield, for this is her home, and at this moment, I realize I am lost to her.
I once believed I never would belong to anyone, but Emeline has changed that. I am hers…I always have been.
Gesturing with her chin toward the thick shrubbery to indicate the postern is there, she interrupts my thoughts, thoughts I need to mute. They can never come to fruition, for I am a married man.
Focusing on what I know, I attack and kill anyone who stands in my way. The palace is a frenzy, and it pleases me that both Emeline and I are the cause of the mayhem. If I had more time, I’d burn this fucking place to the ground.
But this is just the start of things to come…
Emeline ducks low, stabbing a guard in the back as she runs for the postern. I follow but am once again unsteady on my feet, so much so, I reach out to balance myself against the wall. My vision blurs, and I clutch my side as it suddenly burns.
When I pull my hand away and see it covered in blood, I realize the sharp sting I felt before jumping from the window was a sword piercing my side. I was running on fury, the adrenaline masking the pain, but now that the end is within grasp, I’m running on fumes.
“Skarth!” Emeline cries, fending off attackers as she attempts to slice through the undergrowth with her sword.
A guard takes advantage of my weakened state and charges for me, sword ready for a kill strike.
With the last shred of strength I possess, I elbow him aside and pierce him with my sword. He collapses with a hollowed thud.
The ground is now painted red—a sight that helps me focus.
Blood seeps from me, and I know I’m moments away from passing out. But I persevere because I won’t leave her here alone to fend off the wolves.
I kill countless men to get to her, and when I do, I have to touch her to make sure she’s all right.
“Let us go. Now!” she shouts, the clashing of swords echoing against the palace walls.
She shoulders open the door as we fight our way through it. Any man who dares follow suffers the same bloody, violent fate. Once we are outside the castle walls, we both push against the door, fighting an influx of guards to keep them from flowing free.
“Skarth? Are you all right?” Emeline looks at me when she notices me struggling to breathe.
“Fine, Princess. However, I will be better when we are free of this place.”
She doesn’t press because I take her hand when the door slams shut, and we run faster than our feet can keep up.
“Where are we going?”
I’ve told Emeline that friends await us, but she doesn’t know who.
My energy is depleting with each step I take, but I don’t let Emeline know that. I lead her through the thick foliage to where our allies wait. The castle bell tolls, alerting villagers to be on the lookout for fugitives.
We need to hurry.
I knew this would happen, but I thought we’d have a head start. Now, we will have everyone looking for us. With limited allies, our chances of staying hidden are slim. I’m angry with myself for failing. I don’t fail. I’m Skarth the Godless, but we will pay the price for my impatience.
I just wanted to protect her…
“Lord Robert!” Emeline gasps, alerting me that we’ve finally found sanctuary.
“Oh, Princess. You are safe.”
She rushes toward him, throwing herself in his arms as he embraces her tightly.
“Lord, you are most holy. I thank thee for keeping her safe.” Sister Ethelyn appears, holding a hooded cloak for Emeline as she thanks her God.
Emeline bursts into tears.
“I thought you said to be discreet,” Raedwulf says, guiding three horses through the dense landscape.
These allies are ones I trust with my life because we share one common factor—our love for Princess Emeline. She’s the only reason we’re working together. If this were for anyone but her, they would have me hung for treason.
Although I know Raedwulf harbors romantic feelings for Emeline, I have to put the urge to murder him aside because I know he will do anything to protect her. I need a man like that on my side, regardless of the fact that I want to gouge out his eyeballs for looking at Emeline the way he does.
“Where do you propose we go? Wessex will be swarming with guards and villagers wishing to please the king with our capture.”
“There is no need for you to tell me what I already know,” I snarl, wavering on my feet.
The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Raedwulf. But I don’t give him a chance to speak.
“We ride far away from here. We don’t stop until it’s safe,” I instruct, clucking my tongue at the majestic white horse.
He instantly comes at my command.
“That’s your plan?” Raedwulf doesn’t mask his disgust, and I don’t hide my annoyance that he’s still speaking.
Mounting the horse, Emeline instantly walks toward me. I don’t miss Raedwulf’s disappointment that she’s opted to ride with me.
Offering her my hand, she accepts, but the moment I help her onto the horse, she notices my blood staining the horse’s white coat.
“Skarth!” she cries, attempting to examine my wound.
I don’t have the power to fight her. I don’t have the strength for anything. That’s evident when I finally surrender to the darkness and slip into the shadows for good.