Fourteen
Skarth the Godless
A s the twentieth Viking falls to his arse, I shake my head because we are doomed.
They’re barely fit enough to fight me—and I am not even fighting at my full capacity—let alone an army of men. They’ve become lazy, and I don’t know if that’s because of arrogance or lack of leadership.
My father would have never allowed his men to fight this way. They embarrass us. We don’t stand a chance against the Saxons.
Ulf watches on, reading my thoughts as he too is surely disgusted with the efforts of these men and women who are supposed to be his finest warriors. I have no idea how they’ve survived this long.
Turning away as Gunn gets off the ground, I subtly search for Emeline. She’s been gone for over an hour, and although I’m trying to keep her at arm’s length, not a second goes by when I don’t think of her.
She hates me, which is what I wanted. I thought it would help keep her safe because if she hates and fears me, she’ll do what she’s told. But now I’m worried I’ve gone too far. I knew she was watching last night. I knew what it would do to her seeing me with women who weren’t her.
I pushed her away for her own good, but I feel like a rotten bastard for doing so. She looks at me with hurt and confusion, and it kills me inside.
And now I fear by trying to keep her safe, I’ve done the complete opposite.
“Where is the princess?” I casually ask Ulf as he sharpens our swords.
“How would I know?”
“You are the one who chases after her like a lost lamb,” I taunt, as I don’t want to rouse any suspicion.
I don’t fail to notice the way he watches her closely. He’s interested in her, and that interest has nothing to do with her being his opportunity to triple his wealth. But I don’t know if he’s intrigued by her because she is a Saxon.
Or if he’s fallen under her spell too.
Both possibilities have me wanting to rip out his eyeballs and feed them to him.
The men laugh at my comment as they, too, no doubt, have noticed him chasing after Emeline. But when I glare at them, they quickly get back to practicing their swordsmanship before I toss their arses to the ground again.
Storming away, I decide to look for her.
This is the problem that plagues me. I can’t stay away from Emeline even though I know I should. And when she isn’t in sight, I want to kill everyone in my way.
Inga steps into my path, but I can’t deal with her at the moment. After what she did to Emeline this morning, she’s lucky I haven’t tossed her arse into the river. She believes after last night, she has some say over what I do, but it meant nothing.
We were both using the other, as I know she did it to make Ulf jealous and hurt Emeline.
She doesn’t follow, knowing better than to annoy me when I’m in a mood like this.
Emeline followed Ulf into the forest, and I didn’t see her return. So I walk toward it, unable to shake this feeling that something bad looms. It could just be my temper souring everything, but she’s been gone for a long time.
We aren’t safe here, even if we have the numbers. Wessex Guard are looking for us, which means the king will have eyes everywhere. I quicken my step, agitatedly pushing tree branches out of my way. The farther I walk, the more frantic I become because it’s too quiet.
This has me softening my footsteps, allowing me to be invisible as I search for Emeline. I use all my senses because it’s not only sight which allows one to see. Closing my eyes, I take in my surroundings and try to retrace her steps.
Her sweet scent no longer lingers. Nor does the echo of her spirit. She’s been gone for a while.
Reopening my eyes, I drop to a squat and gather some disturbed dirt between my fingers. Peering ahead, I see tracks. There are three sets.
Rising slowly, I unsheathe my sword and creep through the forest on high alert.
When I get closer to the footprints, I see the smaller ones are flanked by two larger sets. The sudden drag marks indicate my fears—whoever these belonged to didn’t leave here on their own accord.
They continue for a while, and when there are no horses’ hoofprints, it’s safe to assume they traveled on foot. Just as they take a left, I see something which has me gripping the handle of my sword.
A gold crucifix necklace lays hidden amongst the orange leaves. As I get closer to it, I see it belongs to Emeline.
Bending to pick it up, I rub my thumb over the relic. “You will protect her,” I demand. She has served her God her entire life, and it’s time He served her.
Placing the necklace into my pocket, I continue following the tracks, and that’s when I see a white ribbon that was fastened in Emeline’s hair dangling from a low-hanging branch.
My clever Saxon—she is leaving me a trail to find her.
The trunk of a tree is darker in color, which means someone stopped here for a piss. A man. To the left, I see some disturbance in the dirt as if someone was scrambling to get away. Whoever it was, was pushed onto their stomach and left behind claw marks in the soil.
They were then dragged away as the footprints are now long drag marks in the mud.
With my heart in my throat, I look for any other clues, and I see it when a splash of crimson on a green leaf catches my eye. Running my thumb over the splatter, it comes away red, meaning the blood is fresh.
Finding Emeline becomes all the more imperative because this scene is a violent one.
The splashes of red are my trail to follow, hinting whoever’s blood this is, they are still bleeding. I come to a steep hill and only see two sets of footprints, but the trail of blood continues. Emeline must have been carried up this hill because she was knocked out cold.
Taking a calming breath, I continue my trek, and when I reach the top, I see two sets of horse hooves dug deeply into the earth.
This was my worst fear.
They’d be easy to follow on foot, but on horseback—almost impossible as the farther I journey, the more probable it’ll be that I encounter many hoofprints.
“Fuck!” I curse under my breath, kicking at the dirt in anger.
How could I let this happen?
I can wallow in self-pity later because now, I need to find Emeline. By the pattern of their boots, I am certain two of the king’s guards have her.
I need my horse as I am useless on foot, so I take flight down the hill and through the forest, but before I get to the village, I see Erik, the young boy whose father Emeline killed, playing in the trees. He holds a sword, and it is not Viking.
“Erik!” I call out, demanding he come down.
But his mother suddenly appears from the edge of the forest, her guilt reflected all over her traitorous face.
She doesn’t have a chance to explain before I am on her, gripping her by the throat and shoving her back against a tree.
“Where is she?” I snarl, inches from her face.
“She killed Bo!” she cries, slapping at my hand to release her.
“If you do not answer my question, I swear on the gods your son will lose his mother as well! Answer me! Where is she?”
She whimpers, tears streaming down her face. “I did what any wife would.”
I squeeze harder, her reasons meaning nothing to me.
Small footsteps sound behind me.
I release the woman whose name I do not know and spin, kicking the boy to the ground as he charges for me with his sword. His blade falls feet away, so he is unarmed as I place my sword to his throat.
“Tell me where she is!” I scream at the woman, who shrieks for me to let her son go.
He tries to fight, but I press my blade deeper into his skin, and when a trickle of red seeps from the cut I made, I grin, for I will spill endless blood to find Emeline and beg for her forgiveness. Nothing else matters.
The woman drops to her knees beside her son, begging I spare his life. “The king’s guards have her. I saw them yesterday when I was picking herbs, and I made a d-deal with them. They lay waiting for the pe-perfect moment to strike. She is on her way to King Egbert. It is too late…just how it was for my Bo.”
“What deal did you make?” I question, untouched as she sobs hysterically.
“They gave Erik a sword and promised to leave without any harm coming to us. They have no interest in us. Just that whore. I did it for us. We—”
She doesn’t have a chance to finish her sentence because I drive my sword into her shoulder, wounding her. “Insult her again, and this blade will end your son’s life. I promise you.”
She whimpers, cupping her bleeding shoulder as her eyes plead with me that I show mercy.
“Have you gone mad?” Ulf exclaims from behind me as he runs to where I stand.
He tries to disarm me, but I elbow him in the face. He staggers backward, his shock clear.
“Touch me again, and you will join them,” I warn him, my gaze never wavering from the woman and her son. “Where did they take her?”
Ulf’s anger is replaced with alarm. “The princess?”
I nod once.
“Dova, what have you done?” he cries, coming to stand near me. “We need her. Without her, we do not have anything to offer the Saxons! How could you be so foolish?”
“She killed Bo!” she sobs, standing before us. “You saw what she did to him! She embarrassed him. He did not die an honorable death.”
“He embarrassed himself,” Ulf corrects, disgusted. “And he did not deserve an honorable death.”
“How could you say such a thing? Bo was your friend! You have all lost your minds over that Saxon whore. I hope they do to her what was done to Bo.”
Ulf’s cries for me to stop come too late, not that I would have, regardless of his orders. I swing my sword, taking Dova’s head off with one clean stroke. It rolls along the ground, coming to a stop at her son’s feet.
He peers down at it, his face splattered with his mother’s blood and his eyes widen as her headless corpse crumples to the ground with a thud.
I’m untouched by it all.
“Skarth!” Ulf exclaims, his shock clear. “You cannot cut the heads off our men and women!”
“Why not?” I question, looking at the little boy who doesn’t cower and cry. He will be a great warrior.
“Because we need them,” Ulf explains, but his argument is weak.
“We do not need traitors like her.”
“And what are you? You too are a traitor, siding with the Saxons to get your revenge. You are not so different from Dova.”
“Ulf, if you do not wish to join your beloved Dova, then I suggest you stop talking. Now, get out of my way. I have to find Emeline.”
The young boy reaches for his mother’s head and cradles it. The sight touches me, which is why I state, “When you are older and wish to avenge her death, I will be waiting. However, you will only have one chance.”
The boy nods once, his innocence shattered by a ruthless beast like me.
I push past Ulf as I’ve already wasted so much time. Dova was no help as she refused to divulge the whereabouts of the guards, so I will have to trace their tracks by relying on the hoofprints. I will find Emeline. Failing isn’t an option. I just fear what state I’ll find her in.
The thought has me charging through the thick clearing and making my way toward my horse.
“I am coming with you,” Ulf says, arming himself. But he isn’t going anywhere.
“No, you are not,” I state firmly, mounting my horse. “We stick to the plan. Your men will sail home and bring back as many men and women who will fight with us at Carhampton. And you will continue to move and remain undetected by the king’s men.
“Isn’t that why we are here?”
I dare him to argue because he will have to confess to me what other reason there may be. And if that reason has to do with his feelings for Emeline, I will cut out his tongue.
“I will bring back your beloved treasure,” I affirm with disgust.
“She is more to me than just that,” he acknowledges. “You know it.”
Without thought, I unsheathe my sword, the sword still stained with Dova’s blood, and place it to Ulf’s throat. “Your true feelings became clear when you expressed them to Dova!”
“We need her. Without her, we do not have anything to offer the Saxons!”
That’s what he said, so regardless of what he thinks he feels, this is one thing that will always differentiate our feelings for her—I would never use her for my personal gain. Ever.
“So, the only thing I know is that she interests you because you do not understand her, but I know if the choice was given between your wealth and her safety, you will always choose your fortune. Now, get out of my way before I send you to Valhalla myself.”
“You do not own her,” he angrily spits, but that’s where he is wrong.
“Yes, Ulf, I do. And she…she owns me.”
Clucking my tongue, my horse gallops away, but no matter how fast he runs, it’ll never be fast enough.