Chapter 22
Dawn was near. Suspended above the pale horizon like a beacon was the disk of the full moon. It was not, for once, shiny and light like a silver plate but heavy, as if ready to burst—and of an unusual, unsettling blood red color. Ylva shivered.
Was it a sign that their plan would work? Or a sign that Ulf was already dead?
No. He could not be dead. She could not afford to think like that.
To give herself courage, she took stock of the situation.
In a pouch at her belt was the dagger with which she would “kill” Ulf.
Hidden in her sleeve was the vial of blood she would use to create the illusion of a wound.
To her right was Oslac, mounted on a white stallion that belonged to Sven.
In front of them, leading the way, was the village goldsmith, Caedmon.
As the only Saxon man in the village, he had naturally been chosen to play the role of her outraged father.
Bringing up the rear was Ulf’s uncle, Torsten.
With his auburn hair and brown eyes, he looked nothing like a Norseman and, of course, thanks to his Saxon mother, he didn’t sound like one either.
He would be her older brother, intent on avenging her honor.
In the end, it had been agreed that they needed at least three men, not only to carry Ulf’s “corpse” out of the cell and to the horse, but also in case the guards proved immune to Ylva’s pleas. Then they might have to fight, and this was not something she would be able to help with.
Steinar had understandably wanted to be part of the expedition, but he looked so much like a Norse warrior that it would appear suspicious.
Wolf was out of the question. His face was too well-known in town.
It would have to be down to the four of them, a seemingly Saxon family in search of retribution.
Ylva took in a deep breath when they rode through the town gate. This was it.
Wolf had explained where they should go.
Being familiar with the reeves’ organization, he had guessed Ulf would be taken to one of the cells built in a thick portion of the walls, in the most noxious part of town.
Ylva remembered avoiding the place on the rare occasions Mildred sent her on errands, being scared of the pitiful cries of the unfortunate souls imprisoned there, awaiting their pending execution. And now Ulf was one of them.
She forced herself not to dwell on that morbid thought. There was much to be done, she could not falter before Ulf was free.
The group dismounted by the cemetery, and made their way down the dark, narrow alleys that led to the cells.
“Good day. I am here to see the Norse prisoner before he dies,” she told the two guards stationed at the door.
As expected, her request was met with suspicion.
“How do you even know there is a prisoner in here, Norse or otherwise? And what business have you with him?” The tallest man, who had to be the one in charge, eyed her up and down.
“What do you think?” Ignoring the first question, she unwrapped the cloak she had been careful to keep closed until then, revealing her swollen stomach.
The second guard whistled in surprise. “I see.”
“He said he would marry me, and he vanished the day before I found out I was with child. He needs to be told, he needs to see what he did.”
“I doubt he will care,” the tall guard snorted. “And I would think twice about meddling with these Norse dogs, if I were you. They’re nothing but filth. Next time you want a man between your legs, choose a Saxon. Someone like me or my friend.”
Oslac stepped forward, determined not to let this turn into a conversation about the supposed superiority of Saxons over Norsemen, or indeed an assault.
“Yes, they are filth, as my sister found out to her cost. We went to the Norsemen village yesterday, having finally tracked down the lying bastard, only to be told that he had been arrested. I don’t care what he’s done or if he dies for it, in fact I’ll be sure to attend the hanging, but we cannot let him go to his grave with a clear conscience.
Our family cannot allow his treachery to go unpunished.
It’s a question of honor. He needs to pay for abandoning her. I’m sure you understand.”
“We do.” The guards, reluctant a moment ago, now seemed to relish the idea of some further torment being inflicted on Ulf. “Well, come this way.”
Ducking under the stone arch, the tall one led them into a dark, narrow corridor built into the wall.
On either side was a small door, the wood rotting in the dank atmosphere.
The guard walked over to the one on the left and removed the heavy chains holding it in place.
His friend followed closely, Torsten and Caedmon bringing up the rear.
“I’ll go in with her,” Oslac said, coming forward. “It’s better, you know, in case the beast pounces.”
“Don’t worry overmuch. I doubt the wolf pup will be able to do much, in the state he’s in.”
The state he’s in.
Dear God, this was exactly what Ylva had feared.
Heart beating hard, she stepped into the cell.
Only the faintest light reached through the cracks, but it was enough to see a crumpled shape on the floor.
Ulf. There was no mistaking the blond hair or the fact that her heart had leaped at the sight.
She swallowed, getting increasingly more worried.
He had not moved at their entrance. Yet surely he had heard them?
She realized then that she had not spoken since she had entered the corridor, so he might have mistaken Oslac, whose voice he might not yet recognize, as one of the guards.
If he thought he was about to receive another beating, he would understandably not make it easy for them.
“Ulf Steinarsson,” she said, using the name Helga had used the other day. It helped to create the coldness she was after.
He did stir then, and turned to face her.
A cry almost escaped Ylva’s lips when she saw the huge bruise discoloring the left side of his face.
The guards had not lied, he had been beaten, perhaps because he was not the man the reeve had wanted, perhaps because he had provoked his gaolers, perhaps simply for sport.
There was no knowing and she could not afford to dwell on it for fear of betraying her real feelings.
She had to call on all her inner determination to play the role she had decided to play. And now that she was here, she realized that she had not anticipated one crucial problem.
There was no way to warn Ulf of their intentions to rescue him before launching herself into her tirade. He was going to see her and Oslac demand retribution for what he had done to her, inconsiderately getting her with child and abandoning her instead of marrying her.
For a dreadful moment, he would believe she meant it.
She had to speak before he could betray his relief at seeing her.
“Remember me?” she snarled while he scrambled back to his feet. “Or have you had so many women in the last two months that you’ve forgotten the one you promise to marry?
The confusion and hurt flashing across his face was good, as it would help convince the guards watching them, but it sliced through her gut.
“I don’t—”
“Did I even mean anything to you?”
Behind her one of the guards gave a snort.
He evidently thought that she had been a fool to think the man wanted anything other than getting between her legs.
It would not surprise her if the Saxon had made the same promises to countless women in order to get what he wanted.
He might hate Ulf because of his origins, but in this case, masculine solidarity would prevail.
It was sickening.
Oslac grabbed Ulf by the collar and slammed him against the wall, as arranged during the meeting in Wolf’s hut.
She was grateful for his quick intervention.
The sooner he could talk to Ulf and expose their plan, the better.
She hated to see him suffer for longer than necessary.
Besides, no one would condemn the brother of a supposedly slighted woman for losing his temper in front of his sister’s seducer.
The guards would no doubt enjoy the confrontation.
“You will pay for what you did to my sister, you filthy Norseman!”
This was the moment they had been waiting for. While she threw herself into the arms of the guard closest to her to distract him with her sobs, Oslac whispered in Norse, as agreed, the real reason for their presence here.
Ylva is going to pretend to stab you. Drop to the floor. She will apparently have killed you. Let us do the rest. Whatever you do, don’t move. You’re dead.
When Oslac let him go a moment later, something in Ulf’s eyes had changed. He had understood the plan and was ready to play his part.
Ylva’s heart missed a beat. This was it. Would she now be able to play her part?
Yes. She had no other choice.
“You lied to me! You said…” She walked forward, willing him to trust her, no matter what she did. “You said we would marry. I believed you.” Another step. She reached to the sleeve where the vial lay hidden. “You will pay.”
The three words were the signal they had agreed on.
Behind her, she heard Torsten and Caedmon try to burst into the cell to catch the guards’ attention.
Oslac came forward, blocking the view further.
It was crucial the men did not see her throw the contents of the vial at Ulf’s chest, or even the blow she supposedly dealt him.
It would be enough if they saw everything from the corner of one eye while they were busy restraining the outraged brother and father trying to enter the cell.
“Get back, ’tis too cramped in here!” one man shouted.
Ylva seized her chance. The vial was emptied at the same time as she made the stabbing motion. For good measure, she let out a cry that seemed wrenched from the depths of her soul. Her anguish was not feigned. She had not thought she would find it so hard to pretend to kill Ulf.
He fell to the floor, immobile.