Chapter 11 #2
There was no need to finish the sentence.
Steinar nodded. Yes, it was a good thing she had not been raped, but she still had been attacked, hurt, and frightened.
All because he’d been too stupid to believe she was in real danger, because he’d placed his peace of mind above her safety, because, like his sister had said, he was an idiot.
Fortunately, his son didn’t seem to realize what a despicable coward his father was, as his next comment made clear.
“You knew, then?” Ulf nodded at the axe planted in the man’s back. “You came armed, ready to defend her.”
Steinar rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, refusing to take credit for having come.
He hadn’t known, not precisely. It had taken his sister’s threats to make him see that he was making the biggest mistake of his life.
He would have to thank Eyja for shaking him out of his torpor when he got back to the village.
The stubborn little imp had saved not just one, but two people today.
Had he not ridden to town on her order, Ulf would be dead by now, and perhaps also Cwenthryth.
“I came, because your aunt made me see I had made a mistake in letting Cwenthryth go,” he answered honestly. He didn’t deserve any praise when his son had been the brave one. “But why did you come?”
Had he known about the danger Cwenthryth was facing? Had he overheard something he shouldn’t have the day she had revealed she was fleeing a man? It had to be something like that because surely she had not told the boy the situation she was in?
Ulf shook his head, indicating he had only followed his instinct, without knowing what he would find.
“It was good to have Cwenthryth with us at the village. I didn’t want her to leave so I decided to go speak to her, as I knew where she lived, see if I could convince her to stay. I’m glad I arrived before that man—before he—you know.”
“Yes.” It seemed that the boy had no idea who Godfrid had been, or that he and Cwenthryth had a history. A terrible history. “I’m glad as well. Wait, Rothgar is not here, is he? He didn’t come with you?”
He didn’t think so, but he had to be absolutely certain, as he’d seen neither of his two boys earlier that morning.
“No. I left him with Uncle Torsten, though he agreed with me that I should go. He wants her back too.”
That made three of them, then.
“Yes. I bet he does. Now, look away,” he instructed Ulf. He didn’t want his son to see him yank the axe out of Godfrid. It would not be a pleasant sight to say the least. Understanding what he had not said, the boy nodded and turned his back to him.
Without a word, Steinar wrenched the weapon from the prone body at his feet, behaving as if it were already a corpse.
Perhaps it really was. There certainly was no noise, no movement indicating the man was still alive when he wrenched the blade out of him.
Good. After wiping it on the grass, he replaced the weapon at his belt.
“Let’s go get Cwenthryth and take her home,” he murmured, making his way to the edge of the clearing.
Cwenthryth lay on her side, hugging herself.
She had mercifully come to, even if she seemed too stunned to do more than shake her head from side to side.
With each step he saw a new, frightful detail.
Her bottom lip was bleeding, her cheek was cut, indicating she’d been hit by someone wearing a heavy ring.
There was a large bruise on her thigh, the shape of it oddly circular, as if Godfrid had bitten her tender flesh after lifting her skirts.
By the gods, but these were the actions of a madman.
Steinar had never hated himself more than he did in that moment. What the hell had he done, allowing her to get back to town on her own, leaving her without protection? Well, he would have to examine his conscience later on. For now, he had to take her away from here.
As she was still indecently exposed, he bent down to put order to her clothes before scooping her up into his arms. Not wishing to embarrass her further, Ulf had tactfully retreated, going to find Fáfnir while his father was seeing to Cwenthryth.
As soon as she felt his hands on her, she started to protest.
“No, no,” she whimpered, her eyes still closed, her voice slurred, her movements slow and feeble, like someone drained of all hope and strength but doing what she could to protect herself.
His chest tightened. She thought he was Godfrid, come back to finish what he had started after having disposed of Ulf, and she was doing what she could to stop him. “I don’t want to—”
“Hush, I know. You’re safe, it’s over. You’re safe. It’s me, Steinar.”
“Steinar?” Her eyes flew open at the mention of his name.
There was such emotion, such gratitude in her dark gaze that they appeared almost luminous, and his heart exploded.
He wanted to see that look on her face every time she looked at him, he wanted her to know she was safe as long as she was with him.
“Yes, it’s me.” Now that she was no longer fighting him, it was easy to gather her into his arms. He cradled her in his lap a long moment, much like he had done after their passionate encounter in the tree house. “It’s all right. I’m here. It’s over now.”
“Ulf?”
That her first thought was for his son’s safety tugged at his heart. “He’s just over there with Fáfnir. He’s fine.”
At the words she went limp against him and started sobbing. “It’s over,” she repeated three or four times, the relief, the hope audible in every breath, in every word.
Steinar held her tight, not knowing what to say, doing what he could to make her feel safe.
He kissed her temple, careful of not touching the cut on her cheek.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Ulf looking at them intently, as if wondering what was behind the tender gesture.
He didn’t mind. Let his son think he cared for Cwenthryth if he wanted, it was nothing less than the truth.
“Let’s go,” Cwenthryth begged after a while, wiping at her eyes. “Please. I can’t stay another moment near—”
“Of course.” He helped her up, marveling at how small she felt. “Will you be able to sit in the saddle?” he asked, concerned at the way she was swaying on her feet. He wished he’d brought a cart to transport her to the village, but speed had been his priority, and he had only his horse with him.
“Yes. Anything to get away from here.”
“You and Ulf can sit on Fáfnir then. I will hold the reins and lead him. Don’t worry about anything, just make sure you don’t fall. Can you do that for me?”
She nodded.
The animal was grazing peacefully next to a clump of daisies, his chestnut coat gleaming in the sunshine.
Birdsong filled the air, tree leaves fluttered in the breeze.
A casual observer could have been forgiven for thinking all was well and good in the world.
Until he looked at Cwenthryth and Ulf’s damaged faces, that was.
Then he would see that evil lurked everywhere, and no one was safe from it.
Steinar lifted his son into the saddle first, then he brought the stallion to a piece of rock so Cwenthryth could climb on in turn.
“All right?” he asked, helping her up the rock. He forced himself to hold her waist gently when he wanted to crush her into his arms, become one with her so she could never be hurt again.
“All right. Thank you.”
The muscles in Cwenthryth’s body protested as one when she hoisted herself into the saddle but she gritted her teeth because the pain did not matter.
Nothing mattered now that the nightmare was over.
If Steinar had come for her, then it was truly over.
His hands around her were warm and comforting. His hold around her heart even more so.
Once settled, she closed her arms around Ulf’s slender frame, careful not to hold him too tight.
She had seen the traces of Godfrid’s violence on his face.
There was no telling how damaged his body was.
It had seemed to her he was walking as he usually did, but you could never be sure and she didn’t want to hurt him.
“Thank you, Ulf, for coming to my aid,” she murmured in his ear once the horse started walking. “You’re a brave man.” After what he’d done, she could not call him a boy. He deserved much more.
He shook his head slightly. “No, I don’t think I’m particularly brave. But I could not let the vile man do what he was trying to do. I’m glad Faeir arrived, though.”
“Yes, so am I.”
A sob escaped her lips. Ulf should never have had to endure the beating he had endured, but she dreaded to think what would have happened had he not interrupted Godfrid.
She was certain this time he would have killed her once he’d reached his pleasure.
With people thinking him gone, no one would have thought to accuse him of the crime.
He’d also meant to make her pay for daring to leave.
He’d been more savage than usual, insulting her while he beat her to the ground, even biting her on the inside of her thigh once he’d lifted her skirts.
By the time he’d started to unlace his braies, she’d been almost senseless, incapable of defending herself.
Not that she had managed to do much before that, he’d just been too strong, too determined to have her.
And then, when she’d thought she would have to feel him surge inside her, someone had thrown himself onto his back, pummeling him, yelling he had to let her go.
At first Cwenthryth had not recognized Ulf.
Why would she? It didn’t make sense that he should be here.
But the young Norseman had indeed been here, defending her.
He’d thrown himself at her attacker, and forced him to release her.
Unfortunately, as could have been predicted, Godfrid, being the stronger of the two, had started to punish the boy for interrupting him. It was then that Cwenthryth had fainted, overcome by the horror of it all.
Dear God.
What if Steinar had not arrived when he had?
Godfrid would have killed Ulf, she was certain of it.
Just like with her murder, there would have been little risk of being punished for this crime, since he was moving on anyway.
He would not have allowed anyone, especially such a fragile youth, to stand between him and his pleasure.
“Well, thank you,” she repeated, more grateful than she had ever been. Next, she would have to thank Steinar as well. He’d come for her, and ultimately, he was the one who had stopped Godfrid.
They reached the Norsemen village a little before dusk. As soon as she spotted the cluster of thatched roofs nestled in the hollow by the river, Cwenthryth’s whole body relaxed. Never had a sight been more welcome.
Stopping in front of the hut, Steinar lifted his son off the saddle and then turned to get her.
Cwenthryth leaned in to him. Ever so gently, he helped her down to the ground.
Once he’d steadied her, she lifted her head to him.
Gone was the usual scowling. There was an expression on his face she had never seen before, one that caused something like hope to swell in her chest. She had the impression he was about to tell her something deeply significant.
“We’re home,” he said simply.