Avelynn (33 page)

Demas pulled a leather thong from around his neck. My mother's amber amulet glinted like molten steel against the pale silver of his mail. The numbing cold disappeared, and a burning fury consumed me.

“Bastard,” I roared, and turned on him. Wulfric noticed the change of my focus.

“Avelynn,” he yelled. “Steady!”

A Viking shield shoved hard against my side, knocking me off balance, and brought my attention back to the immediate threat at hand.

A Viking spear point clashed with the bronze boss of my shield, and I spun around to face my attacker. While the Vikings had redirected a lot of their energy to the breach in our wall, there were still plenty of them left to occupy my efforts. “Hold!” I yelled to the men behind me. With the chaos of the wall splitting farther down the line, men were dropping away from behind me, either turning to run, or trying to aid those who were taking the brunt of the fight.

I dropped my spear and unsheathed my sword. I swung hard over top of my shield, meeting Viking steel in a clash of sparks.

“You must be careful. I'd hate for anything to befall you before our wedding day.” Demas pressed his body tightly against me, his shield overlapping mine. I could smell the stench of ale on his breath.

“I'll never be your wife. My father's decree was sent to Winchester. You'll never touch me again.”

“About that message…” He inclined his head behind me to the right. “You remember Sigberht, my associate. He never made it to Winchester—he brought the note straight to me. And, of course, I disposed of it promptly and thoroughly.” He swept his sword up and over his head. A yelp and barrage of insults assailed us, along with a disembodied hand that someone threw at Demas's head.

I didn't dare look behind me lest I open myself to a fatal blow, but I knew Sigberht was there. I could sense his malevolence. “I have witnesses,” I said, feeling the cold seep back into my pores. Black ice filled my veins. Suddenly the Vikings didn't terrify me nearly as much as the man to my left.

“Oh, yes, about them.” He looked across at Wulfric. “You remember my other associate, Gil?”

This time I did turn. The toothless, drooling bodyguard didn't look any worse for the wear after his encounter with Muirgen's bear. My heart sank but then began to hammer madly against my chest as I saw a flash of steel.

“We can't have any witnesses,” Demas said.

“Wulfric! Watch out!” I screamed, but Wulfric merely looked up, thinking a Viking sword or axe was bearing down on him. He didn't expect the blow to come from behind. Helplessly, I watched Gil's knife sink deep into Wulfric's back, slicing upward to his kidney. Gil held him up momentarily.

The crux of the battle and everyone's attention had moved off to the left. No one noticed Demas's treachery.

“Wealth buys formidable allies,” he said, leaning in close. “Your own missing grain accounts have purchased your fate, lady.” He pointed to a fearsome Viking with blazing red hair. “We have a little arrangement, Halfdan and I. By the time he's finished with you, you will beg for me.”

Gil dropped Wulfric, who fell hunched to the ground, and then reached around and pulled off both the leather and my father's helmet, yanking and twisting my head painfully upward. Something brushed against my back, slicing through the thong that bound my hair, and hands pulled hard on the long waves, wrenching them from beneath my belt. Waves of gold whipped around my face in the wind.

“Just so there's no mistaking you,” Demas said, and the three of them disappeared into the chaos behind me.

The Saxon wall had fallen apart. Men were fleeing in all directions. I tried to turn about and run, but the Vikings plowed through the remaining stragglers, ending any attempts at escape. A few of my men noticed my state of distress and turned from the crumbling wall, encircling me. We tried to hold our ground, but Halfdan sliced and carved his way toward me as if my father's greatest warriors were no more than butter for his bread.

Then it was finished. I was surrounded. The Saxons were gone. The Vikings had control of the field. My men were slaughtered.

I wiped the sodden hair away from my eyes and crouched, waiting. My shield had been lost, and I held my sword with both hands.

“I admire your courage, maiden.” Halfdan spoke in Norse as he stepped closer to me. Blood caked his axe.

“You are like a wild filly. I look forward to breaking you.” He licked his lips, and the Vikings laughed.

“Alrik, take care of her,” he said flippantly, and walked away, celebrating and cheering with his men.

I turned to the man charged with my care. He barreled toward me, but stopped, his body inches from mine. Azure eyes looked down at me, and my breath stilled. I would know that face anywhere, high cheekbones, golden beard and mustache beneath the silver helmet. I never thought I'd see him again. I reached out, but something made me pull back. Alrik's expression of shock turned hard, a cold malice clouding his eyes. And I watched, as if in a daze, as he raised the familiar garnet-studded hilt of his sword.

“I am sorry, Avelynn,” he said, and brought the pommel down hard against the back of my head.

 

TWENTY

Nausea washed over me, and my head pounded as if a hundred blacksmiths' hammers were forging my skull. I was draped over something, lying on my stomach, being jostled and banged about. I opened my eyes. The ground moved slowly beneath me. A leather boot rested in a stirrup along a horse's russet flank. I admired the tightly bound laces and then vomited all over them.

The horse stopped.

“I see you are awake.”

I tried to lift myself to see who was speaking, but pain swelled behind my eyes and clamped tightly around my head. I thought better of it.

My companion slipped off the horse and landed with a soft squelch. I was lifted up and placed unceremoniously on my own two feet. I swayed, listing heavily to one side, and clung to the large arms supporting me.

“It will pass,” he said.

The harsh accented English sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it and let the thought pass as another wave of nausea overtook me. Backing away, I stumbled to a small oak tree and retched into the flattened and dead foliage around its trunk.

Leather boots, considerably worse for the wear thanks to my unsettled stomach, appeared in the grass beside me. “You will need to walk now.”

I leaned against the tree, trying to stop the swirling dots in my vision. He reached out and enclosed one of my hands in both of his. They were rough and calloused but welcomingly warm. He grabbed my other hand and began binding them with coarse rope.

Despite my discomfort, my indignation soared, and my gaze flew upward. I found myself staring into Alrik's clear blue eyes. For the briefest moment there was a feeling of elation at seeing him again, but then it all came crashing back to me—meeting him on the battlefield, his assault knocking me unconscious.

“You bastard!” I tried to squirm free of his hold.

His face hardened, but he continued to secure my wrists.

“Let me go!” I twisted, pulling against the rope, but stopped when I felt it pinch even tighter.

“I cannot,” he said simply, pulling me to his horse.

“What do you mean you cannot? What are you doing?” I grabbed the rope with both hands and tried to tug myself free. This was about as effective as trying to budge a mountain.

“You are being held for ransom by my brother Halfdan.”

Brother? He was a Ragnarsson! Of all the Vikings on the earth, I had to meet the son of one of the most reviled and vicious Vikings ever to have lived. While Ragnar was dead, his sons, Ivar, Ubbe, and Halfdan, had taken up where he left off, and Alrik was their brother!

We were on the old Roman road heading east to the Viking stronghold of Reading. “Alrik.” I glanced around nervously. “Where are we going?”

I froze, hearing the approach of horses. He pulled the rope, yanking me forward, and leaned in close, a death grip on my arm. “Do not say a word.” He straightened.

A towering Viking in full mail stopped his horse beside us. A grizzled brown beard lifted the cheek flaps of his dented helmet.

He took in Alrik's appearance and laughed. “I hope you had the Saxon wench at your cock till she retched.” His large belly shook with the effort of his mirth. “Best hurry along, boy. Halfdan'll be returning to Reading.” He nudged his horse and sped off.

“Charming company you keep.”

“It would have been better for you if you did not know Norse. I expect you will hear a great deal more and worse.” He tied the other end of the rope to the back of his saddle and mounted his horse.

Goddess help me. He was going to drag me to Reading!

“I will keep the pace reasonable. I advise you to keep up.”

“How dare you treat me like—”

The horse started forward, and I slipped, sliding on my knees. I struggled to regain my footing, grabbing hold of the rope to help pull me up. The effort to stay vertical quickly assumed all my energy, and any choice words I might have had for the man in front of me remained unspoken.

I had been stripped of my armor and weapons, a cloak the only outer clothing left to me to help fight off the frigid cold and damp. My hair had been tucked beneath the cloak, presumably to keep from ensnarling the horse's legs, but the long ends swung free and were soon caked in mud.

For the most part, Alrik kept the pace manageable. But even the slowest march would have proven difficult. After the drizzle and sleet, coupled with the vigorous travel the old dirt road had seen in recent days, it was a mangled, churned-up, muddy mess. I was on my knees almost as much as I was on my feet. In no time, I was soaked through and covered with thick, rancid sludge. My teeth were clattering so hard my jaw ached.

Every so often, another Viking would pass us, taking the time to either spit in my direction or make a bawdy threat or ribald remark. Alrik said little in response and maintained his pace.

Left to my own thoughts, the long, arduous journey to Reading lent itself to a great deal of silent reflection. For me, the war was over. I had no idea if the Saxons had recovered or if Wessex was finished. I thought of Alfred and Ealhswith, of my goddaughter, Aethelflaed. Were they safe? Perhaps escaped to Mercia in the north to seek aid amongst Ealhswith's family. Would Bertram have had time to get the women and children of Wedmore safely away, or were they right now being slaughtered at will? I cringed as an image of Demas flashed into my mind.

I hoped, somehow, someone had seen what he did and twisted his spineless neck. But there had been so much confusion on the battlefield, steel flashing everywhere, so many men dying in the mud. I suspected no one was any the wiser to his treachery. And even if someone did see something, would they have understood in the heat of battle what they really saw? You don't expect murder and sabotage from one of your own.

The Berkshire woods surrounded us on both sides and dusk closed in, hastened by thick gray clouds that filtered the pale winter sunlight.

The equinox was only a month and a half away. Soon the ground would be workable and the fields would have to be plowed for the spring planting. My brows pressed together. Were there still fields to sow and people left to tend them? If the Vikings didn't eradicate us, famine and sickness would, as families fled to the forests and fens. It felt as though an iron weight had been placed on my heart.

I looked at the man before me. What had I been thinking? How could I have had feelings for him? He was a Viking, one of the ruthless barbarians destroying my homeland and murdering my people. I searched for some connection, some glimmer of hope, but I no longer saw the man I had known last summer. When he had first appeared out of the mist, I'd been at once terrified and awed. I had felt so many other things for him since then, and for what? Heartache and betrayal?

“Who do you think you are?” I spat in Norse. I slipped, and the horse dragged me several feet before I caught my footing. “I was just a Saxon whore to you,” I half shouted, half cried at his rod-straight back. “You disgust me! You miserable—”

He reined his horse to a stop, dismounted, and stalked over to me. “I told you to be quiet.” He scanned the road in both directions, untied the rope from the saddle, and led both the horse and me to a large stand of oaks. He weaved us through the thickening underbrush until we reached a small stream. Tethering the horse, he dragged me deeper into the woods.

He stopped and pulled me to him, crushing his lips against mine. I struggled madly against his hold.

“Get your hands off me!”

He let me go.

I wiped my mouth furiously with the edge of my cloak. “Don't touch me, you filthy—”

“You dare speak to me with hostility?” His eyes flared with anger. “What were you doing fighting in a shield wall?”

“That's not your concern.”

“On Odin's eye, woman, it is my concern. You could have been killed, or raped, or worse! Your actions have jeopardized us both.”

“Us?” I stared at him, incredulous.

“Because of your recklessness, I am to sit and watch my brother make an example out of you. How am I supposed to tolerate that?”

“You're not. Save us both the trouble and let me go.”

“I have been charged with delivering you to Reading. A Ragnarsson does not break his word.”

“So you're a weak fool who does his brother's bidding?”

“I am saving your life.”

“It looks as though you're saving your own selfish skin.”

His face turned a furious shade of red. “You want to go? Fine.” He untied my hands. “Go. I will not stop you.”

I rubbed the burned and chafed skin around my wrists and looked down the river.

“There is not a Saxon within fifty miles of here. Norsemen lay thick in these forests. They command the roads. How far do you think you will get before someone finds you?” His voice was hard as steel. “What do you think they will do with you once you are caught? Or perhaps I should have just left you on the battlefield, to be assaulted by every rutting bastard in Halfdan's army.”