Eleven
Princess Emeline
“W hat’s the matter, Princess , you don’t like your new lodgings?”
Curling into a ball, I ignore their jibes because I will not let them break me.
This metal cage is my new home, it appears, for once I was unleashed, I was stripped almost bare, thrown into it, and locked away. It sits in the middle of the large wooden feasting hall on display for all the Viking clansmen and women to do with me what they please.
My chemise is soaked in piss, for the men thought I looked thirsty, and the only drink I was worthy of was from their cocks. The women aren’t any better.
The freezing night air chills me to the bone as the fire provides me no warmth. It’s so cold my teeth chatter, but I cannot show weakness. This is what they want. This is why they’ve thrown me into this prison cell.
But I’ve lived through far worse.
We’ve ridden for three days and came here, to where I believe is Ulf’s kingdom.
Once belonging to Saxon people, Ulf and his men have made it their own. No more are Saxon structure. The farmlands flourish here, which is why I believe they chose this location. But they stole it. They killed whoever once lived here and took the land out from under them.
I now understand why they are feared and hated amongst my people. They are nothing but heathens, with no respect for anything holy. But Skarth, he is different. He is not like them. Even before I grew to know him, he was never a brute such as these men and women are.
However, Ulf appears different. He hasn’t spoken a word to me since he captured me, but I see the way he watches me. He sits on his throne, observing his people drink and be merry, but he doesn’t engage in the drunken, lewd acts.
He simply examines—how a mighty ruler should.
A large man with bright orange hair and a matching beard seems to have taken an interest in me, for he continues to walk past this cage, watching me like a hungry wolf. When I don’t answer his many questions, he pokes me with the handle of his ax.
“Maybe she is stupid?” one man says as they stand in front of my cage.
“Or maybe she believes she’s above us. Is that what it is, Princess? Do you believe you are better than us?”
When I remain silent, curled into a small ball, it seems the man’s patience snaps. I hear the latch unlock and the door whine open. Cruel hands reach inside and brutally yank me out. I am no match for him, so I don’t fight.
I allow him to drag me to my feet.
He fists my hair, arching my head back as he lowers his face to mine. “I can make you talk, Princess,” he repulsively states, not masking how he intends to do that. “I can make you scream if I want to.”
In response, I spit in his face.
The feasting hall suddenly falls quiet as everyone anticipates his next move.
A menacing smirk spreads across his lips before he tightens his hold on my hair and drags me through the hall. Men and women laugh, shouting loudly as they toss food and ale at me. This vulgar spectacle excites them.
As I pass Ulf’s chair, I lock eyes with him, begging he do something for this is not how a ruler should behave. His men are animals who show no discipline or control. But he merely leans back, crossing his ankle over the knee as he sips his ale from a horned cup.
At this moment, I promise I will kill him and burn his unholy kingdom to the ground.
The man leads me outside, and only when he guides me toward a barn do I begin to fight. My struggles are only fuel to his depravity, and he laughs hoarsely.
“Let me go!” I scream, slapping at his hand threaded in my hair. “Beshrew thee!”
My insult only encourages the oaf to laugh louder.
Once in the barn, he tosses me onto the straw-covered ground and makes his intentions clear as he unfastens his belt. But there is no way I will allow another man to violate me ever again.
With unpredicted force, I charge at him, knocking him off balance. I desperately try to push past him, but he pulls my long hair and smashes my head into a wooden beam. The blow has my vision blurring.
Staggering on my bare feet, I attempt to fight, but the wind escapes me as I am punched in the stomach. He forces me to the ground, keeping me pinned down with his foot as he frantically undoes his pants.
I fist handfuls of straw, desperate to flee as I flail wildly, but when I feel my chemise being lifted and his rough fingers prod into me, I know it’s too late.
“Your cunt is tight, Princess,” he whispers into my ear, fingering me brutally. He smells of ale and rotten meat. “That will change once we are finished with you, for the men have needs. They will break you.”
“Damn your soul to hell!” I curse hysterically, for that won’t happen. I was taught to fight by Skarth, the greatest warrior of all time. I need to stop and think. What would Skarth tell me to do?
“Scream louder. I love it when they scream.”
The man mounts me, and I surrender, for I know he will lower his guard…which is what he does. Just as he removes his fingers and positions his disgusting prick at my entrance, I swiftly reach around and seize the knife at his belt.
His pants are around his ankles, so he cannot escape as I drive the blade into his flank. I stab blindly, over and over. I don’t know where I’m stabbing him. All I know is the warm, sticky substance coating my hand drives me to continue.
He is still on top of me, fighting to overpower me, but he grows weaker and weaker. The blade slips from my hand where I slice my own flesh, but it only spurs me on, and with a scream, I stab him and drag the knife downward.
A winded wheeze leaves him, and his weight grows heavy, as do his arms as he sluggishly attempts to fight me. When his movements are stilled, I turn around and shove him off me, using my arms and legs. He smashes into the wooden beam and collapses onto his arse.
I don’t waste a moment when I dart to where he sits, straddling him as I drive the blade straight through his heart. I am slathered in his blood as I laugh maniacally.
“Scream louder. I love it when they scream,” I mock, using his own words as I twist the knife in deep.
His eyes widen as he gasps for breath. But it’s too late. I win. He loses.
Only when he stops breathing do I remove the knife, wiping the blood across his chest.
Suddenly, the reality of what I just did hits me, and I crawl off his corpse and begin to vomit violently. I’ve not eaten anything, so all that I bring up is bile. But regardless, it feels good to purge this sickness within.
Wiping the spittle from my chin with the back of my hand, I remain on my hands and knees as I peer at the feasting hall. The heathens are oblivious to what just happened, which means this is my chance to flee. I do not die here today.
With the knife in hand, I rise but keep low and make a mad run for the woods. The shadows protect me as I flee. My feet are bare, but I ignore the pain and continue running like the wind.
I don’t look back and sprint with my heart in my throat as I know the kinsfolk will find their friend soon. I need to be as far away as possible when that happens. The world passes me by in fast-forward because I won’t stop running until I am far away from this hell on earth.
Voices echo in the distance, and when they become louder, I know I’m being hunted. There is no way I’m going back, so I push harder, running faster than I’ve ever run before. The chase animates me, for I killed a heathen who underestimated the rage that runs through my veins.
I may be a princess, but my heart is that of a warrior, and when I peer into the night sky and see the brightest star beaming ahead, it’s time I found my North Star. I knew Skarth to be different, but being around his people has enabled me to see just how different, just how special, he truly is.
A clearing is up ahead, and just as I charge for it, someone tackles me to the ground. The knife falls from my hand.
I fight violently, but this man is strong, unlike the weakling whose blood still stains my hands. I attempt to stand, but he rolls me onto my back and pins me with his weight. When I look into his eyes, I realize my time has come.
“You killed Bo,” Ulf states, smirking when I spit in his face. “How does a princess know how to fight?”
His question has me treading with caution as I cannot mention Skarth. So, I don’t reply.
“He was one of my best warriors, yet a young girl was able to overpower him. I do not understand.”
“If he was your best, then I suggest you amass another army.”
I’m expecting Ulf to punish me for my insolence. But he does the opposite.
He bursts into husky laughter.
“You are something else entirely, Princess Emeline.”
I don’t know what that means.
He rises, and before I have a chance to lunge for my fallen knife, he kicks it away and lifts me up by the wrists. I don’t know what it is about him, but I know he won’t hurt me. I knew it from the first moment we met.
“Come.” He gestures with his head that I’m to follow him when I stand rigid. But I’m not going anywhere with him. “Have it your way then.”
He scoops me up before I have a chance to fight and tosses me over his shoulder, laughing huskily as I pound my fists against him.
“Put me down, you big, ugly brute!”
“Oh, you wound me, sweet princess,” he mocks, only tightening his hold on me.
He walks through the woods calmly with me slung over his shoulder. I don’t stop squirming or demanding he let me down, but Ulf ignores me, whistling happily to drown me out.
He does not act how a leader should.
If this were anyone else, they’d kill me for killing one of their own. But not Ulf. He confuses me, and I do not like it.
When we arrive back at his kingdom, the angered cries of his men and women alert me that they’re waiting for us. I can’t see them, but that makes their intentions clear as they demand blood.
“Kill her,” a woman exclaims.
“Why is she still alive?” another asks.
“You insult Bo by carrying her back here. We demand her blood! You are Ulf the Bloody. Your name is in the shadow of a wolf! Punish her!”
Ulf stops, as do the demands, because his presence commands their attention, reminding them who their leader is.
“It seems you’ve forgotten who rules,” he states evenly. “I am your Hersir, and I do what is best for Skalavik .”
No one dares to challenge him.
“Now, if you have finished, I am going to bed.”
“What about Bo?” I recognize the voice. It is Inga, the woman who expressed her hatred for me the moment we met at the monastery.
I think she and Ulf are together, for she hovers quite close to him, and I believe they share a bed. But I am unsure how Northman relationships work. It is something Skarth never educated me about.
“What about him? His weakness allowed a young girl to defeat him. He deserves to be slumped in that barn, flaccid cock exposed as a reminder to all—never underestimate anyone, no matter how small.”
Was this a lesson for them all? Did Ulf know I would fight Bo with my last breath? If he knew that…then he knew he was at risk of dying, and it seems he doesn’t care. He was willing to risk one of his greatest warriors to see my worth?
A chill racks my body, and it has nothing to do with being out here in the cold in only my chemise.
Ulf bursts through his men and women, indicating this conversation is over. When he walks past them, I crane my neck to see Inga standing in front of the group, for she is their leader, second after Ulf, it seems. She narrows her eyes at me, and I know I should fear her more than any man here.
For now, however, I fear where Ulf is taking me.
He walks past his chambers to a barrel of water where, without warning, he dunks me inside. The cold water sends my body into shock, but I soon realize Ulf is acting in kindness, allowing me to bathe.
I break the surface, gasping for air as I brush back the wet hair from my face. Ulf stands before me, grinning. The full moon catches his straight white teeth.
“I thought you’d like to bathe before bed.”
“Whatever for?” I sarcastically ask, glaring at him. “Only to be thrown into my cell?”
“You will be sleeping with me,” he reveals, folding his arms across his broad chest.
“I cry your mercy!” I exclaim, horrified. “I will do nothing of the sort. Throw me back into my cell please, for I would rather that than sleep anywhere near thee.”
I stand my ground, not bothered that I’m sopping wet and standing in a barrel of water.
Ulf smirks, and before he can toss me over his shoulder once again, I very ungracefully climb out of the barrel and stomp off, shivering in the cold. He chases after me, laughing deeply.
I know this isn’t optional, so with great anger, I enter his small but elaborate wooden house. I know these are his quarters as the other houses are long and larger. I guess that’s because the men and women share the lodgings.
But this is Ulf’s alone.
There is a large wooden bed draped with animal skins and straw. It does look very comfortable, but I’d rather eat my own tongue than admit that to him.
My curiosity has me marveling at the structure, which is quite advanced. The walls are lined with clay to keep the heat from the roaring fire in. The slanted roof is quite clever to keep the rain falling at a proper angle.
“What’s the matter, Princess? You weren’t expecting such lodgings from uneducated, ungodly heathens?” Ulf teases, and when I turn to tell him what I think of his uneducated, ungodly self, I almost choke at the sight of him topless before me.
My cheeks instantly redden, and I immediately lower my eyes.
He is even larger without clothes, and I’m ashamed to confess I like what I see. His muscled chest is covered in intricate patterns, inked onto his bronzed skin. His waist is tapered, and he has defined muscles shaped into a V.
A light sprinkle of hair between his pectorals continues down his stomach into his low-slung trousers. I suddenly am no longer cold.
He is flawless, appeared to be carved by God himself.
“Are you going to stand there all night?”
With a measured breath, I meet his piercing blue eyes. “Excuse me?”
He makes his intentions clear when he pulls back the furs on his bed.
And I make mine perfectly clear when I shake my head. “I am not sleeping with you.”
“Who said anything about sleeping?”
My cheeks rival the burning fire feet away, and once again, my eyes are downcast.
He strolls to where I stand and lifts my chin with his pointer finger to meet his intense stare. “I will not force myself on you, Princess…for you will want me one day. I promise you that.”
His arrogance is the slap to the face I needed, and I recoil from his touch. “You do not know me, Ulf, so I can promise you that that day will never come.”
“We will see,” he replies, rubbing his thumb along my bottom lip.
I resist the urge to bite him—only just.
“Have it your way then,” he leans down and whispers into my ear.
Before I can reply, I watch in interest as he reaches for a length of rope.
“Sit,” he orders, gesturing with his head toward the corner of the room, by his bedside.
I do as he says as the sooner I get away from him, the better, for I lose myself when he’s too close, and it scares me. I sit cross-legged and peer up at him, unable to place the look on his face as he stares down at me.
He winds the rope around his large hand, his broad chest rising and falling steadily as he continues staring at me. “Are you sure you wish to be tied to this post and…not my bed?”
He’s making his intentions very clear, for something has shifted between us by me killing Bo. He sees my worth and the blood I spilled, and it excites him. I’m not the pitiable little princess he believed me to be.
I don’t bother replying. Instead, I place my arms behind my back and look away.
He doesn’t speak as he comes up behind me and commences tying my hands to the wooden post. His fingers work deftly, and when they brush over my wrists, my pulse begins to spike. He chuckles softly as he is aware of my response to him.
“Sleep tight , Princess,” he whispers into my ear, tightening the rope. I don’t struggle, however.
He comes to a stand, his imposing height even more predominate as I sit tied to this post. I’m at his mercy.
It’s suddenly impossible to breathe.
I shouldn’t trust his word, but I do. But I disturbingly wish he would go back on it and force me to do things I think I’d enjoy. Disgusted with myself, I turn my cheek, ignoring the rustling of furs as he settles into bed.
I do not wish to think of him snuggled amongst that comfort and how he offered me a place beside him, for I need to remember he is the enemy, and the first chance I get at escape, I’m taking it.
“Time to eat.”
My brain takes a moment to remember where I am…and that I’m tied to a post, in a Northman’s chambers, in only my chemise.
My eyes pop open, and I attempt to scurry back, but thanks to my hands still being bound, I’m not going anywhere.
Ulf is crouched in front of me, holding a bowl of what looks like porridge in his hands. However, it smells quite sweet, and my stomach instantly growls in hunger. But I won’t give Ulf the satisfaction of knowing that.
“I am not hungry. I thank thee.” My response is far from grateful.
Ulf’s nostrils flare, and it gives me great pleasure knowing I’ve annoyed him. “You will starve yourself just to spite me?”
“You think too highly of yourself, heathen, for I do not think of you at all.”
I know what I’m doing, but I can’t help myself. If he thought I’d be a docile prisoner, he thought wrong. And besides, I know he likes me more than he should. I can see it in the way he looks at me.
But that doesn’t mean he won’t be cruel.
“You know, I can make you eat. I can make you do whatever I want,” he declares, scooping up a spoonful of porridge.
He shuffles closer, so close that our knees touch.
He runs the spoon along my mouth, leaving a tiny trail of sweetened porridge behind. The honey and buttermilk linger, but I don’t give in to temptation and seal my lips shut.
Ulf chuckles, his blue eyes almost eating me alive. “Why do you defy me? Why do you not fear me?”
I interest him, which is the only reason I’m still breathing.
If I told him about Skarth, that he’s the reason, I know that interest would only grow, for he and I both know that Skarth will be coming for me. I refuse to believe he’s succumbed to his injuries. I would have felt it if he had. I know in my heart of hearts that he will find me.
Up until then, I have to try to stay alive. But that doesn’t mean I have to roll over.
“Why should I fear you?” I ask honestly. “What can you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”
A look washes over him, a look of pity, but thankfully, it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared because I don’t want pity.
“I am very creative,” he states, gently slipping the spoon into my mouth. “There are many ways to make someone fear you.”
The suggestion to his tone warms me from head to toe.
I clench my teeth, but that isn’t a deterrent as Ulf continues to work the spoon into my mouth. He won’t give up, so I release my teeth and allow him to feed me.
But that doesn’t mean I will swallow.
“You stubborn, arrogant little girl,” he says, half in anger, half in awe. “Swallow.”
I will do nothing of the sort.
Instead, my cheeks billow, stuffed full of the porridge I refuse to consume.
Ulf groans in frustration as he continues to spoon-feed me, and I continue to defy him. Porridge trickles down my chin, but I will not concede. I lock eyes with him, daring him to persevere as I breathe steadily through my nose.
Ulf doesn’t like to lose, however, so he pinches my nose. But I don’t yield. I can feel my face turning red as I hold my breath, mouth stuffed full.
“Swallow!” he orders, squeezing my nose harder.
My lungs are quickly deprived of oxygen, and I know I will soon pass out, but there is no way I’m eating, being spoon-fed like some incompetent child. So, I decide to do the next best thing.
With a deep breath, I spit out the porridge, projecting it all over Ulf’s face.
He appears to be in absolute shock as his mouth hinges open. Porridge is caught in his long beard, sprinkled like speckles of snow. He looks utterly ridiculous with a face full of breakfast.
“Thank you, Ulf, but I simply could not eat another thing,” I quip, taunting him, for I know he is moments away from exploding.
He grins, but nothing about the gesture is pleasant.
He calmly places the bowl and spoon beside him. I believe he’ll wipe his face clean, but he does not. Instead, he grips my throat in his palm and arches my neck backward. He lowers his face to mine.
“Do not test my patience, Princess, for you will not like the consequences if you do,” he warns, his blue eyes suddenly engulfed in a darkness that rocks me to the core.
He squeezes harder while I swallow deeply beneath his grip. “What exactly do you plan on doing with me? I thought I was supposed to be a trade. But here I am, tied to a post as you spoon-feed me,” I mock because I want to know what he plans on doing with me.
“I plan on doing everything to you,” he ambiguously promises.
I don’t cower, but I can’t deny that being this close to him and inhaling his unique, manly scent does things to me which it should not. He is undeniably handsome, and his arrogance just adds to the appeal.
Something suddenly happens, something which I don’t understand. Beneath the thin material of my chemise, my nipples swell, and heat gathers in my belly. Ulf’s gaze drops to the front of my gown, where a smug grin spreads across his full mouth.
I am angered at my body’s response. I think of Skarth, and how he is the only man who I’ve ever reacted to in this way. I instantly am ashamed, for Ulf is my captor, while Skarth is my protector.
Ulf appears to want to say something but changes his mind at the last minute as he releases me.
I gulp in mouthfuls of air, but I’m unsure if I’m breathless because of the tight grip on my throat or mayhap something else…
I watch as Ulf stands, wiping the porridge from his face with a cloth. He reaches for his knife, and I hold my breath as he comes up behind me, only to cut the ropes at my wrist.
“Get dressed,” he orders, tossing a brown strapless gown into my lap.
It’s very beautiful. It is embroidered with intricate, colorful patterns with beads hanging from the front. The hem has the same pattern sewn around it. As it is strapless, I will wear my chemise underneath.
I finger the soft gown, unsure why he’s giving me such a lovely garment to wear. But I don’t argue.
Coming to a shaky stand, I slip into the gown, never breaking eye contact with Ulf as he watches me dress. I fasten the belt around me, which gives the garment shape and draws attention to my slender waist. The leather belt is long, so it dangles low.
I’ve never seen a dress such as this before. But I instantly feel like it’s a second skin.
Ulf simply stares at me. I don’t know what he’s thinking, which scares me.
“It’s time we discussed our attack, Ulf,” Inga says, barging into Ulf’s home. She comes to an abrupt stop when she sees me dressed in her people’s clothes. “She dresses like one of us now?”
Ulf shakes his head as if clearing whatever was plaguing him. “You’d prefer she freeze to death? What use is she then?”
Inga glowers, and the black strip of paint she’s coated across her eyes just seems to emphasize her hatred for me.
Ulf dumps a fur shawl at my feet before following Inga out the door. Once he’s gone, I let out three deep breaths I didn’t even realize I was holding. I don’t know what it is about Ulf, but he is dangerous in every possible way.
With shaking hands, I reach for the shawl and wrap it around my shoulders, thankful for the warmth.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, so I step outside, the harsh morning light almost blinding me. Shielding my eyes, I take everything in and examine the Northmen in their natural environment. It’s an almost surreal experience as I’m not sure how many people would be given the opportunity to be here.
Men and women work the lands, and the flourishing crops reveal what skillful farmers they are. Skarth told me his people left their homelands far away from here in a place called Scandinavia and traveled the seas to better their lives. I can see that here.
Although brutal, the Northmen are like Saxons in the sense they merely wish to establish a home. Maybe we can coexist? Maybe there can be a place where Northmen can settle so the bloodshed can end. But that would mean King Egbert would have to delegate land for the Northmen.
And I don’t see that happening anytime soon. It’s a nice thought, however. It would put an end to so much war.
A young boy with bright orange hair stops in front of me, openly staring. It seems he’s as intrigued by me as I am by him. “Good morrow. How met?”
His hair is cut short on the sides with a long plait down the middle of his head. I am fascinated by Northman fashion. No matter what the occasion is, they are always ready for battle. I admire how they radiate such strength and brutality.
Even Ulf, who appears to be in talks with a group of men and women.
“My mother says your God was killed. My gods live in the sky,” he reveals, tonguing the corner of his mouth. “Odin, Thor, and Loki are my favorite.”
“They are?” I ask, bending low. “Why?”
“Odin is the god of wisdom and war, and Thor, he is very strong. That’s why I wear this.” He reaches for a pendant around his neck shaped as a hammer. “He is my favorite. Loki is part god, part devil. My mother says Loki influenced my father, and that’s why he’s dead.”
I gulp, as this story has suddenly taken a morbid turn, especially when he looks at a blackened pile of ash in the distance.
“He is in Helheim, for he did not die in battle. But my mother said we tricked Hel because my father was stabbed through the heart, and Hel would think the injury was inflicted in battle.”
A sense of dread overcomes me, for I think I know how his father died—I killed him.
“Your father is not in Valhalla?”
I’ve heard of this place, and I thought all warriors are destined for here. But when the young boy shakes his head, I fear I’ve condemned his father to a miserable afterlife.
“No, Valhalla and Folkvangr are for warriors who die in battle. The goddess Freya, she gets first pick of which warriors she chooses. I wish my father was there.”
Heathen lore is quite complex. I have much to learn.
“Come, Erik,” says a woman, glaring at me. No doubt, this is Bo’s widow.
Instantly, I lower my eyes, ashamed for killing her husband, no matter that he was a wretched bastard.
Erik bounces away, oblivious that he was speaking to his father’s murderer. I grip the crucifix around my throat, needing to say a prayer. But I cannot do that here.
I don’t have a place here. I need to know what Ulf is planning, so I casually stroll to where he conducts a meeting. They are huddled around a fire underneath a structure that appears to store their wood and food.
“We attack them at Carhampton. The terrain is at our advantage. It’s close to the seas. Soil rich,” a man states, rubbing his hands over the fire. “King Egbert is an old man with a weak army. We can defeat them. The raid on the place the Saxons call the Isle of Sheppey in Kent proves they can be defeated.”
“With what army do you propose we attack?” Ulf questions calmly. “King Egbert may be an old man, but he has the loyalty of hundreds to act on his behalf. Who do we have? We’ve lost many in battle. And we were deserted by a traitor.”
There is bitterness to Ulf’s tone, and I believe this traitor was someone close to him.
“We can’t just wait for them to attack us,” Inga says, and it astounds me that women have a say in talks of war as it is not the case in my world.
“I know, Inga,” Ulf declares, annoyed, and I’m suddenly struck with an idea.
“Trade me.”
The Northmen fall silent, turning to look at me.
“Now she has a say in the matters of our war?” another man spits, curling his lip at me.
But Ulf ignores him. “If you wish to eavesdrop, then come close and not lurk in the shadows.”
I do as he says because, in essence, we want the same thing—the fall of King Egbert.
I don’t stand near them, for I know we are not equal. They give me their attention.
“I am not sure what you know of King Egbert,” I start, wringing my hands nervously. “But he is Bretwalda, the ruler of all of England. He has conquered Kent, Surrey, Sussex, Wales, and my home, Northumbria.
“He has done this viciously. He tricked my father. He was able to overthrow Mercia. He is unstoppable. And so is his son, Prince Aethelwulf.”
“And how will trading you help us?” Inga questions blankly, not seeing my worth.
The men wait for me to reply, clearly annoyed I’m wasting their time. But I’m not.
“Because King Egbert will do anything for my return,” I state, sickened. “Send word that you are holding me prisoner and that we are to meet at Carhampton for the trade. You were always going to trade me. But now, we both can win.”
The men and women look at one another before bursting into jubilant laughter, all but Ulf, and that’s because he knows this will work.
“Why would you want to help us?” he asks, which silences the laughter.
“Because he tricked me, and in turn, he made me Wessex’s whore.”
The mood soon changes, and no one speaks a word.
“This will work, for I am seen as his property. I defied the king and still live. He cannot let that pass, for that will be seen as his greatest defeat.”
“What do you want in return?” Inga asks, the only one who doesn’t appear affected by my truth.
“All I ask is for my freedom…in whatever form that may be. If you win, I ask you let me go free where I can live a life I choose. I cannot go back to his kingdom, so if you lose, then I ask you kill me, for I would rather die than go back to being the king’s whore.”
Ulf hisses, a look of anger surpassing him.
“I do not ask for protection. Just my freedom. You know this will work.”
“How will King Egbert know we are telling the truth?” Inga isn’t stupid. She knows he will want proof.
With utter grief, I confess, “Allow the messenger to inform the king that our son is buried in the cemetery. A small cross is the only marker that he was once ours.”
Although I’ve told Ulf of my unborn son, he was not aware the father was King Egbert. This changes everything, just how I knew it would, and in a sense, it gives my son a purpose—his death was not in vain.
“I will leave you to discuss my proposal.” With a curtsey, I leave them to deliberate on what I just offered.
Suddenly exhausted, I decide to retire to Ulf’s chambers, and this time, sleeping in his bed is welcomed, for I will be alone.
“Princess.”
With a groan, I open my eyes and see it’s dark out. I have slept longer than I thought.
Ulf lays beside me, watching me closely. “We accept your proposal. We will trade you to the king in exchange for Carhampton. We expect a fight. However, we will be ready, and we will win. This plan allows us to at least gather Wessex men in one place, instead of a surprise attack,” he says softly and with somewhat regret.
I wonder why.
“We will send word come first light.”
“Very good,” I reply, shifting away as I suddenly am aware of how close he is to me. But he seizes my chin between his thumb and finger.
I am stunned into submission by his tender touch as he runs his thumb along my lips. “How did you escape? Who taught you how to fight?”
Ulf’s interrogations reveal he knows I’m not telling him the whole truth.
“My father’s men—”
“Enough with the lies,” he demands, cutting me off. “Tell me the truth, and I will protect you.”
“I do not need nor want your protection, Lord.” But my words hold no weight when a whimper slips past my parted lips as Ulf slips the tip of his thumb into my mouth.
“I know, but I want to protect you,” he confesses, expressing his confusion as neither of us understand it. “Have you ever been kissed without force?”
“What do you mean?” My cheeks redden.
“Have you ever been kissed and welcomed it? Wanted it?” he clarifies while my heart begins to race.
There has only ever been one man whose kisses I’ve wanted. But he’s never wanted mine in return.
“No,” I reply honestly because Skarth has never kissed me the way a man who wants a woman does.
“What a shame.”
Before I can speak, Ulf closes the distance between us and slams his mouth over mine.
My eyes pop open, as I’m utterly shocked, but that soon turns to something else when Ulf nudges my lips open with his tongue. I do not know what he’s doing as I’ve not kissed with tongue before. But it does not feel unpleasant.
I like it.
“That’s it, ástin mín .”
The moment he speaks in his language, I think of Skarth and am showered in guilt. “No, I cannot.”
“Yes, you can,” he amends, setting me on fire with his firm command.
I try to pull away, but Ulf doesn’t let me.
He wraps his hand around my nape and kisses me deeply, holding me prisoner to him, to his delicious scent, and I am helpless to stop it. I should recoil, but I cannot, and that’s because I don’t want to.
I lose myself to his touch, to the feel of his lips sliding against mine and his tongue dominating mine.
He rolls on top of me, his weight surprisingly perfect and not squashing me as others have before him. He is everywhere, all over me, and I am lost to this brutal beast who touches me with nothing but yearning.
He dominates my mouth and body, our lips suddenly moving at a frantic pace as I thread my fingers through his wild, long hair. It feels like silk, just how his lips do, and learning from him, I massage my tongue against his.
A pained hiss leaves him as he cups my cheek, pressing us even closer together as he kisses me passionately. A wetness pools between my legs, something which has never happened before. I wonder what is happening.
His hardened chest is pressed to mine, and I can feel the thrashing of his heart. It’s in tempo with mine. Nothing else exists but this.
“You will be the death of me, Princess,” he whispers against my lips before robbing me of air as he continues to kiss me obscenely.
He doesn’t attempt anything more, merely kissing, which has never happened before. This is all so new. But who knew kissing could feel this good.
He touches my face, my hair, unable to get enough of me, it seems, as we kiss for what feels like hours. I can feel his arousal pressed between us, and I shamefully want more. If kissing Ulf can feel this good, I wonder what lying with him would feel like.
His mouth is firm, hot, wet—it’s a perfect combination of heaven and hell.
I pull at his hair, a growl leaving him as he grinds his arousal into me. I’ve long forgotten my God as I am about to ask for more, but when the blowing of a horn sounds loudly from outside, I realize God has not forgotten me.
I pull away, the realization of what I’ve just done hitting me hard. I quickly scrub at my lips. But the betrayal is scored onto my very soul.
Ulf smirks arrogantly as I did what I said I wouldn’t do—I surrendered. “Too late, Princess, I will always be a part of you now. And I know you liked it. I can smell how much so.”
Horrified, I slap his cheek and shove at his chest to push him off me. He chuckles as I frantically crawl away from him, my back hitting the wall behind me as I draw my knees toward my chest. I am utterly ashamed and disappointed in myself.
When Inga comes charging in, however, he pretends nothing happened and is quick to arm himself. She looks at me, realizing what she walked into, but doesn’t address it because we have far more pressing matters to deal with.
“Wessex Guard ride toward us.”
“How many?” Ulf asks, sheathing his large sword.
“A hundred or so.”
“ Faen !”
He tosses a sword onto the bed before marching toward me and gripping my arm firmly. “You are to stay with me.” I don’t have time to protest when he adds, “I cannot have my most valuable chattel harmed.”
He has now wounded me by making me feel like nothing but a whore.
Roughly shrugging from his hold, I grip the blade and stand on my own two feet. I will never allow him to touch me ever again.
Inga laughs, seeing me as nothing but a helpless maid. “You cannot fight on your own.”
“We will see,” I challenge before I shove past them both and face the danger headfirst.
The Northmen prepare for battle as they stand together, strong in formation in their shield wall. Ulf follows after me, demanding his army stay solid.
“Stay strong! Hold!” he orders, looking ahead at the approaching army of Saxons, a Wessex flag flying high into the night sky. “They have the numbers, but we have heart! If not, we feast in Valhalla!”
The roars erupt into the darkness, and my skin breaks out into tiny prickles, for we face certain death. But these men and women aren’t afraid—they embrace it.
Ulf stands beside me, his unique scent slathered all over me. I wish I could wash it away, for if I’m to die, it’ll be his touch, his scent, that lingers on my skin as I meet my maker.
“Scared, Princess?” he mocks, his astute gaze never wavering from the approaching guards.
“No, Lord, I am not, for I defeated the king’s guards once before, and I plan to do so again.”
“So, you did fight them?”
Turning to look at him, I’m now the one who smirks arrogantly. “Of course, I did. And you are right…one of your men did teach me. A warrior far braver than you’ll ever be. So, take that to your death, Ulf the Bloody. You allowed a traitor to enter your kingdom and kill one of your men, all because you wanted to wet your cock.”
A look of fury overtakes Ulf. “Who?” he snarls between clenched teeth.
“Ulf! They’re coming,” Inga warns, demanding he get into position behind his warriors. But he doesn’t move. “You are arguing now? Seconds away from battle? Have you lost your mind?”
He and I stand in the middle of the field, the war between us far more important than the one mere seconds from erupting.
“Tell me who!”
Our gazes never waver from one another, regardless of what faces us mere yards away.
“It’s someone who has had my heart since I was twelve years old! Everyone else, a mere distraction for who I really want.”
I’ve chosen my words with intent because when Ulf flinches, I know I succeeded in hurting him just how he hurt me. There is no time to recant, however, because as Ulf looks behind me, his jaw clenching, it seems things have come full circle.
“Skarth the Godless,” he growls, shocking me as I did not mention his name.
I frantically search for words to protect Skarth, but when someone grips my arm and I take to the air, I understand that Ulf meant Skarth is here, now.
I also realize he knows of my Northman, and by the anger stamped on his face, I dare say he knows him well.
“Always getting into trouble, I see,” Skarth quips as he positions me onto his horse. “Hold on, Princess.”
I do as he commands, looping my arms low around his waist as he clucks his tongue and pulls at the reins, resulting in our horse dashing away from danger, leaving Ulf and his army to defeat the guards on their own.
Turning over my shoulder, I see Ulf stare after me, a look of anguish overtaking him. He doesn’t seem to care that Wessex Guard attack his men and women, who stand firm, but there are so many of the king’s men.
“Fight!” I mouth to Ulf because even though I am angry with him, I do not wish for him to die.
He shakes his head and lays down his sword as Wessex Guard swarm him. When one pierces him with their sword, a guttural scream leaves me.
“We have to go back!” I demand, squeezing Skarth’s waist.
“Princess?”
“Please,” I beg, as I cannot live with myself if anything were to happen to these people. “I killed a little boy’s father. I cannot allow myself to be the cause of his mother’s death as well. Please, Skarth. We have to help them.”
A frustrated sound leaves him. “I am the reason the king’s men are there. Now you wish for us to go back?”
Skarth must have given word to where I was, and when I peer into the heavens and see the brightest star above, I know this is how he knew where to find me; just how he promised he always would.
“Please.”
If he were to refuse me, then I would understand. But I know he won’t.
“ Soreinn !” he curses with a roar, but he tugs at the reins. The horse whinnies as Skarth directs him to turn back around.
We race toward the battlefield where I look on, heart in my throat, as the Northmen have broken formation and are scattered across the land, fighting for their lives. We ride like the wind, and the moment we’re close, Skarth dismounts and runs toward danger, sword raised.
I cannot allow him to face this alone, and I take the reins, riding toward battle, prepared to kill anyone who stands in my way. The moment I reach the Wessex Guard, I am teemed by men, but I am on horseback, and I carry a mighty sword.
With one hand holding the reins, I swing my sword in the other, cutting down men who wear silver armor and fight in the name of a merciless king. I do as Skarth taught me. I don’t lose focus because although outnumbered, we fight for a far greater cause.
Blood coats my face and arms as I fight the king’s men. Their armor does nothing to protect them, for I know where to pierce. My horse’s white mane is soon stained a bright red, which glistens against the full moon.
A girl’s scream has me peering ahead where I see a young Northman being dragged by her long blonde hair toward the feasting hall by three guards. The battle is long forgotten for them. But I will not allow it.
Clucking my tongue, I ride toward her, slashing and slicing anyone who stands in my way. Men’s bodies twist and fall as I slice my sword through the air. One man grabs my leg, attempting to pull me off my horse, but I kick him hard, and he stumbles backward onto the end of Skarth’s sword.
He uses his foot to pry the corpse off his sword, and the sight of him bloody and breathless and in total control stirs a raucous longing within me. I want him—in every way there is.
I have to ensure I survive this, for I refuse to die without tasting those pert lips.
I gesture where I’m going, and he nods, flipping his sword and stabbing a man behind him through the gap between his body and arm. He did this without looking, for a warrior uses all senses to fight. Another lesson he taught me.
Leaving my Northman, I ride toward the feasting hall the men and girl disappeared into. I fear I may be too late. I tug at the reins, compelling the horse to ride faster, and when he jumps over three men, I shout in delight.
When I arrive at the feasting hall, I charge in, not bothering to dismount, and when I see a man rutting into the girl who is thrown over the table, her dress lifted high, anger like never before animates me, and with a roar, I slice my sword through the air, taking his head clean off.
The other men reach for their swords, but it’s too late. I slice off the hand of one man, taking his hand and cock in one fluid movement, for he was yanking at his disgusting length as he watched his friend defile and plunder the young girl.
She doesn’t hesitate and stabs the remaining man straight through the throat. He collapses to the ground, twitching.
“Thank you,” she pants, adjusting her dress before grabbing her sword and running into battle.
I follow, and when I smell fire, I see the guards have set Ulf’s chambers alight. Fire is the least of our worries as buildings can be rebuilt, but lives can never be revived.
I search the bloody field for Ulf, and when I see him fighting one-armed as the other hangs limply by his side, I sigh in relief. I am glad he is still alive.
Skarth is a beast, and although I’ve heard tales of him in battle and seen him fight when he taught me, actually seeing him in action is an entirely different thing. He cannot be beaten, and I witness with my own two eyes as he takes on five men at once.
He twists and turns, his movements so fast I almost miss them when I blink. My Northman is merciless, and he is here for me.
Clucking my tongue, I ride fast, cutting down any remaining men. Each man I kill is one step closer to getting my revenge on Wessex. I don’t feel a thing. I should. But all I feel is elation at shedding blood.
Ulf stabs one man through the neck, and when another man drops to his knees, begging for mercy, he swings his sword and decapitates him in one stroke. His head rolls along the blood-soaked field, coming to a stop at Skarth’s boots.
He uses the head as a rest as he places his foot on it and locks eyes with Ulf.
Ulf roars, pounding his chest, and a string of words I don’t understand spew into the night sky. He is daring Skarth to fight him.
“No,” I say aloud, for they cannot fight. They are on the same side.
But clearly, they are not, when Skarth stomps on the head beneath his boot, pulverizing it under the pressure. His hollowed cries echo as he runs toward Ulf, and Ulf runs toward him.
What are they doing?
I kill anyone who stands in my way, and when I see the men are dwindling in numbers, I order Inga as I ride past her, “Keep one alive! We need him to deliver a message to the king.”
She nods firmly, her face slathered in enemy blood.
“Stop!” I shout, riding toward Ulf and Skarth as they charge toward one another, ready to rip off the other’s head.
Their attention never wavers from the other as they circle each other, ready for the other to strike. The way they move is very similar, making it clear they’ve fought together before. But now, they fight against the other, and I need to know why.
Ulf makes the first move, but Skarth blocks his attack with ease, laughing happily. This enrages Ulf, who goes on the offense, attempting to bring Skarth down with a flurry of blows. Although Ulf is injured and fighting with one arm, so is Skarth as that’s all he needs to bring Ulf down.
He punches him in the face, tossing his sword down to the ground. Ulf staggers back, shaking his head, but Skarth doesn’t stop. He punches him in the jaw, then the nose.
I’m close enough to hear Ulf speak as he spits out a mouthful of blood. “I am surprised you are here. Did the king grant you permission to leave? Whoever will massage his tiny feet?”
Ulf mocks Skarth, so he knows what Skarth did. Is Skarth the traitor Ulf spoke of? Were they once friends?
The thought of what I did with Ulf moments before Skarth arrived assaults me, and vomit rises, for I have done a very bad thing. I didn’t know who Ulf was, but that doesn’t lessen the guilt.
“No one granted me permission. I’m here for the princess…for she is mine.”
“Yours?” Ulf questions, chuckling loudly, for he is a privy to a secret Skarth isn’t.
I refuse for Skarth to find out that way, so I tap my heels into the horse’s side, forcing him to ride faster.
“Stop it!” I scream, thankfully capturing the attention of both men. “Stop squabbling like two old maids.”
Both men turn to look at me.
“Princess, I am pleased to see you,” Ulf says, smirking smugly, for we share something which Skarth and I do not as I told him I’ve not been kissed before.
I ignore him and deal with one dilemma at a time. “Inga has a Wessex Guard. The plan still stands.”
Skarth arches a brow. “What plan?”
A husky chuckle leaves Ulf. “You have a lot to catch up on, it appears. Lead the way, Princess, for this is your plan.”
I narrow my eyes at him, and a part of me regrets turning around to save him.
His arrogance isn’t needed, but this is who Ulf is. He is hurt that Skarth left him, and now he’s going to hurt him by using me. But I will not allow it.
I turn around and ride toward Inga, who has the guard on his knees in the middle of the bloody field.
Men’s bloody bodies lie in grotesque, twisted heaps as far as the eye can see. They’re missing arms, legs, heads—war is brutal. The soil is stained red, forever tainted with what occurred here tonight.
“Please spare me,” the guard begs, interlacing his muddied hands as I approach him. “You are a good Christian. I can see that by the cross you wear. Do not kill me.”
“We are not going to kill you,” I reveal, tugging the reins to stop the horse.
He sighs in relief.
“For you serve a far greater purpose.”
His relief soon turns to dread.
“You are going to deliver a message to the king,” I reveal. Ulf and Skarth stand on either side of my horse. “You are going to tell him you saw me here and that the Northmen want a trade.”
Skarth peers up at me, dangerously slow. He doesn’t need to utter a word, for his face says it all.
“The trade is to take place at Carhampton in three weeks,” Ulf states, for I assume this is how long they need to gather more kinsfolk. “We give him the princess, and in return, he gives us Carhampton. We do not wish to fight. We simply want land in exchange for his beloved.”
The guard’s eyes widen. “That is the message I am to deliver? The princess does not look to be in despair, however.”
He is right, and if he delivers that message, the king will know this is a trap, which is why when Ulf yanks on my arm and pulls me down from the horse, I don’t fight him. I don’t fight when he slaps my cheek so hard my teeth rattle in my mouth.
Skarth advances forward, but I discreetly shake my head. This is the only way.
Ulf rips the crucifix from my neck and spits on it before tossing it to the ground. He is about to tear my chemise, but the guard nods hysterically.
“All right! I shall deliver the message to the king. Forgive me, Princess.” His brown eyes are filled with regret for doubting me.
Blood trickles from the corner of my mouth, which I don’t wipe away. “Go, now. Take a horse and do not stop until you reach the palace.”
He rises to his feet, running away in case we have a change of heart. We watch as he mounts a horse and rides as fast as he can. When he’s no longer in sight, Skarth tips his face to the heavens and inhales slowly.
“You have no idea what you’ve just done. This plan will fail. The king will see this for the trap that it is and will recruit hundreds more men to defeat you. He will take the princess and kill all of you. You are foolish if you think you will win.”
The reality of Skarth’s words sends a shiver through me. “That is a risk I am willing to take, but I will not be taken alive.”
“ What? ”
Skarth lowers his clenched chin, glaring at me.
“You heard me,” I state, bending down to retrieve my necklace. “This is the only chance we have at defeating the king. He will come. You know he will.”
“Yes, Princess, he will, but he will be armed well.”
“Isn’t it fortunate we have a skilled Saxon and Viking fighter on hand then?” Ulf says, grinning broadly because things have suddenly fallen in his favor.
With Skarth on his side, he knows he can’t lose.
“With news of your return, we can recruit our own army, where you can teach our people the way of the Saxons. We will be at an advantage, for you have taught them how to fight.”
“I taught King Eanred’s army. I do not know the ways of King Egbert’s,” Skarth growls, turning to face Ulf.
“They are Saxons; how different can they be? But if you wish to leave the fate of the princess to the gods—”
Skarth clenches his fists while Ulf shrugs as he knows Skarth will agree to anything he proposes to protect me.
“I intend to see our deal through, Princess,” Ulf says, looking at me.
“What deal is this?”
Gulping, I know Skarth will regret coming back for me because all I seem to do is cause him trouble. “That if King Egbert does win, I will ensure he does not take the princess alive.”
Skarth storms forward and punches Ulf in the jaw. His head snaps back with a sickening crack, and I know if I don’t intervene, they’ll kill one another.
“You will not touch her. Ever.”
“Enough!” I run between them, separating them at arm’s length. “Bickering amongst ourselves will not win this war. We must work together, for we want the same thing. Sigrith relies on us. We must go back for her.”
The mention of Skarth’s sister has the fire in him simmering, but the same cannot be said for Ulf.
“You left her there?” he cries, eyes livid. “How could you?”
His fury reveals Sigrith is someone he holds close.
Before Ulf can say another word, I speak for Skarth as this is my fault. “He did it to save me,” I reveal on a quickened breath as I want Skarth to know I appreciate his sacrifice. “He could only save one of us…and he chose me.”
Inga and Ulf stare at us, completely dumbfounded.
“He came to Wessex with intent to take me away. And in turn, he left his sister behind and was severely injured in the process. He did all of this for me.”
Skarth doesn’t say a word, but the hard press of his jaw reveals his anger.
“That is why I made the trade with you,” I explain to Ulf. “I knew if you found Skarth on his deathbed, you’d kill him. I could not allow it, so I sacrificed myself, just how he has done for me time and time again.”
Our relationship is a complex one, one Ulf can never fully understand as it’s one I don’t even understand myself.
“You turned your back on your people,” Inga spits in disgust. “You are nothing but a traitor. You owe us this, Skarth the Godless. You will help us defeat King Egbert’s army at Carhampton, and then you can go about living your new Saxon life, forgetting who you really are.”
Inga doesn’t hide her hatred for Skarth’s choices. She will never see him as anything but a traitor to his kind.
“If not, your precious princess’s life is at risk. And it’s evident you will sacrifice everything for her. So let us pack everything up. We cannot stay in one place. We need to move, as the king will seek us out now that he knows we have her.”
Inga is right.
Even though I have no doubt he will meet us at Carhampton in three weeks’ time, he will still send his guards out to look for me. Meaning we are all fugitives.
She storms off, helping the fallen Northmen. It pleases me that not many fell victim to Wessex as the men mortally injured are mainly the king’s men.
Standing between Skarth and Ulf, I can only pray they work together because we want the same thing—to see King Egbert fall from his throne.
“Do we have a deal?” Ulf asks Skarth.
Skarth has been thrown into a war he wanted no part in. “What choice do I have?” he poses, making his feelings clear. “I will help you win your war, Ulf. We gather as many men and women as we can find.”
“I will send word as they will not take direction from a traitor.”
“Then how do you expect me to teach them the ways of Saxon war?”
Ulf ponders on Skarth’s question. “Because when I, their Hersir , promise them victory, they will agree. I never abandoned them. I promised them wealth and land, and now is the time to claim what is ours.
“So, here we are, once again fighting on the same side. Just how we once did.”
“We are no longer those people,” Skarth says, shaking his head. “I only do this because my hands are tied.”
What he means is he does this to once again protect me.
“Skarth—”
But he won’t look at me.
He turns his back, leaving me to deal with the mess I’ve made.