Chapter 22 #2
Ylva stared at him, panting hard, feeling as if she would collapse herself. The deed was done.
Ulf was dead.
Or at least, that was what he was pretending to be.
When Ylva had punched his chest, her hand sheathing the dagger’s blade, he had done his best to stagger, fall to his knees first, so as to be able to choose his final position—flat on his stomach with his head turned away from the door.
He suspected it was not as easy as it seemed to pose as a corpse, so he preferred not to betray himself by a flutter of the eyelids or an involuntary wince.
From his place on the floor, he heard everything.
“You killed him.” Oslac sounded suitably satisfied by this outcome.
“I hope so. Just make sure he’s dead!” Ylva’s supposedly triumphant tone was tainted with what he thought might be real panic.
He guessed that she would be afraid to have really hurt him.
She had not. The punch to the chest had been surprisingly hard, but then again, it had to look convincing.
Before falling he had seen blood blooming on his tunic.
A clever trick, that. Which animal had contributed to the daring deed, chicken or pig?
His fierce she-wolf had come prepared, leaving nothing to chance.
He felt someone, Oslac probably, prod at his chest.
“Aye, the bastard’s well and truly dead. You killed him, sister.”
“Let us see.”
One of the guards, this time.
Ulf braced himself. This would be the hard part. If the man touched his neck, and felt a pulse, or examined the supposed wound too closely and saw no puncture, he would know what had happened.
He held his breath when Oslac turned him onto his back and made sure to prevent the man from getting too close. The light in the cell was mercifully very dim, another detail in their favor.
“Here. As you see. A strike straight to the heart. My sister never misses.”
“Has she killed many men then?” the other guard called. He sounded half-amused, half-suspicious.
“No. But she always gets what she wants is what I mean. Since she clearly wanted the man dead, she was not going to miss.”
In any other circumstances Ulf would have smiled. Ylva had once stabbed him, and missed, precisely because she hadn’t truly wanted him dead.
Still, she had hit at his heart in some other way.
“Well, in any case, he got what he deserved!” Oslac sneered. “A much more satisfying result than seeing him hang for some crime we don’t care about, if you ask me. We’ll always have the pleasure of knowing we ended the bastard’s life.”
With those words, he half lifted Ulf off the floor before throwing him away in disgust. It hurt like hell, but he knew what the Saxon was doing.
He had ensured that he was once again face down, his wound and his face hidden from view, to help him play the role of the still corpse. Good. Now all he had to do was wait.
What was the next part of the plan?
He was dead, but he was still in the custody of the reeve’s men. How would Ylva and Oslac get him out of the cell?
“We should take him home, prove to everyone that he really is dead. You know the old man, he will only believe what he sees,” someone else said—his uncle, Torsten.
Ulf fought another smile. No wonder the man had been chosen to join the expedition, he looked nothing like a Norseman, and spoke without any accent.
“Yes, he’s dead now anyway. Perhaps we could do you men a favor and take the corpse away. He’s no use to you in this state, is he?”
Another voice. Caedmon, of course, the only true Saxon man in the village. Even before he’d heard his voice, Ulf had guessed that he was who had been chosen to play the role of Ylva’s father.
There was a silence while the guards pondered what to do. “I think the reeve will want to see—”
“The reeve will be satisfied with your word, if you bring him the news of the Norseman’s death. You will have saved him the trouble of killing him and the expense of burying the man.”
“Yes, but you see,” the other guard said, “the whole point was to execute him publicly to appease the population. We need at least the corpse to—”
“The public execution of a despised Norseman would have made an impression, I agree. But he’s dead now.
It can’t be helped. Exposing a dead corpse will not have half the impact the reeve wanted.
I’m sure he will agree that in the circumstances, it’s better to wait for another opportunity to appease the crowds with a Norseman’s execution, especially if you bring him this gold ring in compensation.
” A pause, presumably while Caedmon removed said ring from his finger.
“And, of course, you too should be rewarded for allowing us the satisfaction of avenging my daughter. You’ve been most helpful. ”
Another pause, another couple of rings—or even perhaps a belt buckle or a chain and pendant. The man was a goldsmith. He would have brought his most precious creations to buy the guards’ cooperation. Yes, everything had been carefully planned.
Would it be enough, though? Would they willfully disobey orders?
He guessed that Ylva and his friends would have counted on the fact that the reeve had asked them to arrest the famous Wolf, not his grandson. Perhaps he would not be as vexed to be denied the opportunity of killing someone he had not actually wanted.
“I mean, think about it…” The first guard sounded already won over, dazzled by the bribe offered to them.
“The reeve wanted the Icelander captured. He will not be best pleased when he hears that William and Osmund brought the grandson in his place. But I think he will enjoy being told that the useless captive was killed by a weak female. He can still get the village leader later and execute him publicly, as planned. It will be a much better way to assess his authority. Everyone has heard of the mighty Wolf, and will be delighted to see him hang for daring to punish so many Saxons for spurious reasons but nobody cares about a little pup who could not even defend himself against a woman.”
Ulf let the insults wash over him. They would simply have to ensure that his grandfather never put himself in a position to be captured. Elstan would help.
“Very well,” the second guard agreed after a tense silence. “You can take him away.”
It was when Ylva saw Ulf’s bloodied form draped across the horse’s saddle that she realized that she was not, contrary to what she had thought, halfway in love with him. She was fully, madly, irremediably in love with him. And she would tell him so as soon as possible, as soon as they were alone.
And soon they would be, because her plan had worked.
Her risky plan had actually worked. Ulf was free and, in a moment, she would be in his arms. She could hardly wait.
Once they had gone through the south gate, they made straight for the cover of the trees.
The sooner they reached a place where Ulf would be able to stand, the better.
The position, with his stomach pressing on the horse’s withers, would be excruciating for a man already in pain but in spite of it all, he was doing an excellent job of pretending to be a corpse.
The imitation was almost too good for comfort. Had he really died? Had she somehow injured him when she’d lunged at him? Had the beating he’d received from the guards been more severe than she’d thought?
Please God, no, she murmured incessantly under her breath.
At long last, they stopped. After one last glance around to make sure they were alone, Caedmon called out. “It’s all right, Ulf. You can stand.”
He slid over to the ground.
When she saw him in front of her, bloodied and bruised but whole, Ylva’s heart almost stopped.
She had imagined she would run into his arms but she was rooted to the spot.
She had thought she would ask him how he was but she was speechless.
Nothing was happening like she had anticipated, and she could do nothing but stare at the man she loved.
The father of her child. The man she had saved.
One of his eyes was swollen shut. His hair was matted with blood and sweat. His face was dirty, his clothes torn. He was perfect.
A corner of his lips lifted. “You killed me, you she-wolf. Again.”
“Yes.”
“You saved me.”
“Yes.”
“Because you love me.”
Really, but the arrogance of the man! He knew, somehow he knew that she loved him. How? She had only now realized it herself.
He was still smiling, waiting for her reaction, not worried in the least. Ylva feared for a moment that she would faint from pure relief and joy. Instead, she did what she had thought she would do and threw herself into his arms at last, words flooding past her lips.
“I do. I do love you, so, so much, my mated wolf. I have never loved anyone before but I love you. Please, say you love me t—”
A kiss the likes of which she had never even thought could exist stopped her plea. No need for Ulf to give her an answer. It was clear he loved her as well.
“I love you,” he said nonetheless once he drew away, eyes ablaze. “I love you. Ek ann tér. Never doubt it. And I thank you for saving me. I know that killing me was your idea. No one else would have dared.”
“Yes, it was my idea. I have no idea where it came from.”
She couldn’t help a smile. Who would have thought she would owe Mildred her thanks one day? But without her order to kill Wolf’s sons, Ylva would never have thought of doing such a thing.
“Are you all right, Ulf?” Torsten asked. He didn’t appear overly worried but understandably needed to make sure his nephew was well.
“Better than all right,” Ulf answered, drawing her against his flank. Then he looked at the three men and nodded at each of them in turn. “I thank you all for coming to my rescue.”
Caedmon snorted. “As if we could have left you to rot in that cell a moment longer.”
“No. I suppose I would have done the same for you.”
“Let’s ride, shall we?” Torsten seemed eager to put distance between them and the reeve’s men, and Ylva could not blame him.
Ulf eyed up Ratatoskr, whom they had brought along for the ride back to the village. “Will you come with me or do you prefer to ride your own—”
“Please, I want to sit with you.”
Though she had not minded riding the mare on the way to town, she needed to be with Ulf, feel that he was really here, back with her.
“Of course. Then Torsten can lead Doe.”