She turned back to face the inside of the tent, her arms winding round her middle. She bounced once or twice on the balls of her feet, but the nervous movement was not enough to sooth her agitation. Should she? Could she?
Undecided, she began pacing the tent, five long, forceful strides propelling her across the small enclosure until she was forced to turn on her heel again. Bayan could spend hours discussing plans, the talks lasting all night. That would be plenty of time to seek out Idin. Though searching for one man in a disorganised army of ten thousand would be like looking for a needle in a haystack, better to try and fail than to sit here twiddling her thumbs, wasting her time.
But what if Bayan came back early? What if he sent someone to check on her: a soldier on the pretence of collecting the discarded scrolls, or Lora laden with a tray of food?
She vacillated back and forth, unable to make a decision. Once, her mind set, she stormed towards the doorway, but changed her mind almost immediately, moving to the rear of the tent and turning her back on the opening.
“Æva?” The voice was soft, hesitant. Her stomach dropped as she recognised its owner. Spinning around, she gazed at the doorway of the tent in disbelief.
Idin stood there, dressed for battle. He wore a chain mail shirt, covered by a thick leather overcoat and trousers. In one hand he held his shield and a spear, a six-foot oak stake topped with a razor-sharp spike engraved with flames. On his head was an iron helmet, the cheek pieces and nose band hiding most of his face. Æva had never seen him in his full soldiers’ garb; he looked frightening, awesome.
As he removed his helmet, she saw his expression was at odds with the aggression of his outfit. He looked ill at ease, uncertain. They paused for a moment, gazing at each other. The kiss they had shared seemed a lifetime ago, like the wispy memory of a dream.
“How did you know I was alone?” she asked, wanting to break the silence.
Idin smiled.
“Wulfram is also at the meeting,” he said.
“Does he know that you’re here?”
Idin shook his head.
“He told me not to come,” he said, his voice soft.
“But you came anyway,” she prompted.
“Yes.” He trailed off, his lower lip trembling. He seemed almost afraid, as ludicrous as that idea seemed.
“Idin, what is it?” she asked, taking a step towards him. He looked up at her and grimaced. Hesitantly, he closed the space between them and reached for one of her hands, linking his fingers through hers. His skin was warm, his hand easily enveloping her fist.
“I have something to say,” he told her. She nodded, trying to be patient as cold snakes coiled in her belly. “I could die tomorrow. A spear, an arrow, a knife. Any one of those could end my life in a heartbeat.” He spoke so matter-of-factly about his death; it made her shiver.
“Don’t,” she whispered, but he shook his head to silence her.
“I am a soldier, Æva. I have been in many battles and seen countless warriors mown down by nothing more than chance. It is the way of war. I have accepted that. It is up to God to judge my fate. But if He decides that I should not return, I... I need you to know how I feel.”
He paused and Æva realised she had stopped breathing. She hauled in a painful breath.
“You are so beautiful, so pure. Even when you wandered into our camp that night, a frightened wild-eyed urchin, I could see the grace and goodness in you.” He smiled at the memory, and Æva’s face mirrored his. It was as if she had lost control of her muscles; as though her whole body didn’t belong to her.
“I love you,” he said, gruffly. “I love you, and if I die in the fray tomorrow, I want you to know that my last thought will be of you.”
He smiled awkwardly, his cheeks reddening in embarrassment at the words. Æva didn’t know what to say. She gaped at him, her heart pounding.
Idin broke their locked gaze, glancing around the tent. His eyes fell upon the luxurious furs, the grand winged seat, the flickering of candles on long, mahogany sticks, before turning back to her. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, and her skin tingled where he touched her, jolting down to her core.
“I am glad you have Prince Bayan to give you what I cannot,” he whispered, the sadness in his voice belying his words. “Goodbye, Æva.” He stepped forward to plant a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead before turning away.
Æva watched him go, saw his hand reaching out to sweep back the curtain of the tent.
“No!” The word erupted in a shout, but she didn’t care who heard her. She reached out, grabbed for his arm and pulled him to a stop. He turned back to her, his face wary. “I don’t want Bayan,” she choked, desperation tearing sobs from her chest. “I want you. I love you.”
She thought the words would be hard to say, but after his confession they burst from her lips. He was already shaking his head, though. Gently he pulled her grip from his arm. She resisted, but he pried her fingers loose with ease.
“Æva, when the sun comes up, I have to fight. I cannot take you away from here and then abandon you.”
“Then let me come with you,” she begged, grasping at straws.
“Absolutely not,” he growled, his eyes hard. Looking into her tear-filled eyes they softened at once, but the shake of his head was firm. “You are too soft, too fragile. These Vikings are savages; you have seen what they will do. They would break you, and I could not protect you.”
Æva shook her head. The truth of his words was undeniable, but she could not accept them.
“I can fight,” she whispered, but there was little strength in her voice.
Idin smiled at her. He reached around her back and drew her braid across her shoulders, running his fingers along the satiny strands.
“Something so fair does not belong on a battlefield,” he told her.
Æva broke away from him, feeling crazed, reckless.
“I don’t care,” she hissed, reaching down to her calf. She grasped her small knife from its home, tucked into the leather strap of her shoe, and drew it out. “I don’t care,” she repeated. Holding her braid in one hand she pulled her hair taught.
“Æva, don’t!” Idin said, reaching out to stop her, but he was too late. With her other hand she swept the knife across the hair, its sharp blade shearing through the delicate tresses like butter. The length of braid came away in her hand and she tossed it onto the table. She advanced on him again, the knife still in her hand.
“I would rather die than have you leave me,” she said. Idin’s eyes flicked uneasily to the blade.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, one hand reaching out, ready to lunge if she made to hurt herself.
“I do,” she said, her grasp firm on the knife.
“No,” he told her, his head shaking from side to side, advancing on her with cautious steps.
Æva could think of no other way to convince him. Dropping the knife, she launched herself at him. Her arms curled around his neck, her body pressed against his. Her searching lips found his mouth and she kissed him hungrily, her breath coming in a ragged gasp. Her hands twisted in his hair, pulling him closer to her. For a moment he was frozen, unresponsive, then his arms curled around her waist and he squeezed her tightly, his mouth moving in answer to her urgent kisses. After several long moments, she broke away, resting her forehead against his chin. She felt him kiss her softly, the stubble of his jaw scratching against the delicate skin.
“Please,” she whispered, clinging to him. She heard him sigh, sensed his indecision. “This can’t end like this.”
She pulled back slightly; gazing at him, beseeching him. He shut his eyes, trying to hide from her.
“You are making the wrong choice,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“It is my choice,” her response was swift, decisive.
He opened his eyes and took her face in both his hands. Hope blossomed in her chest at the feverish light in his eyes.
“You are sure?” he asked.
Suddenly his face broke into a grin.
“Come with me,” he said.
ᛚ
Idin pulled her from the tent, grasping her hand in his; his spear, shield and helmet all juggled awkwardly in the other. As soon as she stood upright, something caught her eye. She froze, jerking Idin to a stop beside her. Just outside the tent, a soldier stood guard. He wore full battle dress and his muscles flexed menacingly. He advanced on them a step, lowering his spear and pointing it at Æva’s heart.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded.
Relief almost made her faint. It was Ælric.
“I thought you were just saying goodbye, Idin.” His voice was accusing, his eyes narrowing beneath the helmet he wore. Idin held his glare, pulling Æva into the protection of his arm, tight against his body, and cupping her face with his hand. His thumb stroked her cheek as he measured Ælric.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he told him, “I’m leaving.”
Ælric looked left and right before stepping forward and lowering his voice.
“What do you mean you’re leaving? You can’t just leave!” he hissed.
Idin shook his head at the words, holding his hand up to Ælric as if he could stop them mid-air.
“I’m leaving, Ælric,” he insisted. “Come on, Æva.”
He released his grip on her and started forwards, tugging on her hand. She trotted after him, staring uncertainly at Ælric as she passed. He stood stock still, his spear still extended as if he contemplated holding it out to stop them. Only his head swivelled to watch them as they passed.
Idin led her around the back of the tent, towards the riverbank. It was much darker here, the height of the row of tents cutting out the light from the small campfires, but the gentle sigh of water announced the presence of the river. There were no stars to reflect on its inky surface, the clouds shielding their actions from the eyes of the moon. Idin plunged on into the darkened landscape, his footing sure on the uneven ground. Just a step behind him, Æva stumbled and lurched over the small clumps of grass and ruts of mud. She was not frightened, trusting Idin to keep her safe, but her ears listened keenly for the sounds of pursuit. If anyone caught them now, there would be no excuses clever enough to exonerate them.
Footsteps behind her made her twist around, eyes scanning the night for movement. Idin ignored them, continuing forward unperturbed and yanking at her hand with each step. She let him drag her along sideways, unwilling to turn her back on the sound. It sped up, the footfall treading more heavily on the earth, the jingle of chain mail clinking with each step. Ælric’s low, urgent voice drifted towards them.
“Idin! Idin, will you stop!”
Barely visible in the dark, Idin shook his head, his shoes crunching against pebbles that scattered, clattering then splashing. They had reached the river’s edge. The water was still just a quiet murmur, floating lazily past. The true winter rains that would turn it to a fierce torrent, flooding over this valley and swallowing everything in its path, had yet to fall. Idin paused for a moment, giving Ælric the chance to catch up.
Pushing past Æva, he darted in front, shoving Idin in the chest with his shield. His feet splashed in the shallows of the river, tiny droplets of freezing water spattering up and spraying Æva’s ankle. She took a small, unconscious step back, the skin of her legs breaking out into tiny goose bumps.
“Idin you cannot do this,” he growled, stepping forward until his face was only inches from Idin’s. Barely an inch difference in their heights, they glared at each other, eyeball to eyeball; Idin’s face set in determination, Ælric’s contorted in anger.
“Think about it,” Ælric said. “You will give Wulfram no option, he will have to imprison you. Prince Bayan might even call for your execution if he finds out. You need to stop this now while it can still be undone.”
“I have made my decision,” Idin said. He tried to push Ælric back, shoving at his shield and shouldering him out of the way, but Ælric sidestepped the move, dancing another step back into the water and coming at him again. This time he pushed harder. Æva felt the force of the blow travel down through Idin’s arm, though he stood his ground. She tried to take a step away, nervous of the furious aggression rife in the air, but Idin held firm to her fingers, refusing to let go.
Ælric glanced down at Æva, his eyes unreadable in the shadow of his helmet.
“You would die for her?” he asked. “When you are caught...”
“I’m not coming back,” Idin cut across him.
Ælric laughed, but it was not the good-humoured sound that Æva remembered.
“And where will you go?” he asked. “Her Prince Bayan will be king one day soon. He will rule over all the land of Northumbria. Then where will you hide?”
“We can go to Mercia. King Beorhtwulf would welcome me into his army.”
Æva heard the hesitancy, the repugnance that crept into Idin’s voice at these words. Ælric, too, screwed up his face in aversion. He spat into the ground at Idin’s feet and when he spoke his voice was rough, forceful.
“You dishonour yourself, Idin.”
A tense silence followed these words, and Æva swivelled her head from left to right, staring at one man, then the other. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloomy darkness, but she still read nothing in either face. Finally, Idin sighed, dropping his head. Ælric relaxed, smiling as he sensed a victory, but Idin only clapped him on the shoulder with his hand – a clumsy manoeuvre as it still held his spear, helmet and shield – and gave him a rueful look.
“Go back to camp, my friend.”
He stepped to the side and began to slosh through the shallow waters, pulling Æva along with him. This time Ælric stood motionless, letting him pass.
Æva took one step in and then balked, gasping at the frigid water. Its icy touch was painful, penetrating to the bones of her feet, making them throb and ache.
“Cold!” she hissed.
“It’s all right.” In the next moment, Idin grabbed her and hiked her over his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her legs. Balancing her weight easily, he continued deeper into the river.
Lifting her head up, Æva glimpsed Ælric’s silhouette, hovering at the water’s edge. He watched their progress, looked behind to the dim glow of the campfires, then back to Idin. Æva heard him mutter a low oath under his breath before he came splashing after them. He said nothing, merely trudged along two steps behind.
As soon as they reached the other side, Idin put ger down. Her leather shoes squelched, the consistency of cold slime against her wriggling toes, but Idin and Ælric’s trousers were wet up to their thighs so she did not complain.
Ælric planted himself once more in front of Idin, whose whole body tensed as if ready for another fight, but Ælric’s face was composed, resigned.
“If we are caught, I am going to kill you,” he warned.
“Go back, Ælric,” Idin sighed, looking pleadingly at his friend.
“No,” the answer was short, simple. “I am with you.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, before Idin smiled and nodded.
“I’m glad,” he said.
Ælric nodded back, an acknowledgement, and then gave Æva a long, searching stare before setting off into the night. Idin grabbed her hand and, after a quick glance back across the river to be sure their departure had gone unnoticed, followed after him.
Æva let herself be towed along, her mind reeling. Just an hour or so ago she had sat trembling under the gaze of the King and now she was running off into the night towards nothing but uncertainty. The speed of her decision frightened her. She had acted purely on instinct, clinging to the one thing she could not bear to lose.
She was confident she had made the right choice; all she had to fear now were the consequences.
Beyond the river lay a thick forest. It was narrow, perhaps only a few hundred yards in depth, but it hugged the ridge of hills for several miles along
the riverside. Idin and Ælric headed straight for it, knowing the thick cluster of trees would provide shelter. Æva had to run to keep up with them, immensely glad to be wearing the trousers and tunic. The long blue dress, though beautiful, would have been cumbersome. She clutched Idin’s hand, and though her breathless gasps cut through the silence, he continued to glance back at her, as if he had to convince himself that she was really there, they were really doing this.
Once they reached the tree line both men relaxed, slackening the pace enough for Æva to break into a stumbling walk. Just a few yards in, Ælric stopped, turning to address Idin over Æva’s head.
“You have the better eyes,” he said. ‘You look, I will watch her.”
Idin nodded once, dropping Æva’s hand. He rubbed her upper arm for a heartbeat then slithered back the way they had come.
“Where is he going?” Æva hissed urgently to Ælric, but he shushed her, his eyes straining after Idin in the dark. She glared at him, irritated. She was tired of being kept in the dark, of not knowing what was going on.
A moment later, Idin was back.
“Well?” Ælric asked.
Idin shook his head.
“No sign of anyone.”
Ælric nodded at this, some of the tension draining from his face, but when he spoke again his words were grave.
“Good. We should not linger though. When Prince Bayan discovers she is missing, he will be furious. He will send men after her.”
Idin frowned in disagreement. ‘He will not waste his troops so close to the battle. He may send one or two, they will be easy to handle.’
“I think you underestimate what she means to him,” Ælric said, his words thick with implication. Æva stared at them both, not understanding. She felt invisible; they spoke of her as though she were not there.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, her eyes swivelling between both men. An uncomfortable silence followed. Neither man wanted to answer her question. “Ælric, tell me what you mean!” She tried to make her voice as forceful as possible, but it sounded shrill, panicky.
Aeva The Wild Page 18
