by Bambi Lynn
Returning to the trunk, she fished around until she pulled out a worn pair of small leather boots. Dalen had loved to tag along with Rinan and often helped bring home enough game for the entire village. Following Rinan’s instruction, he had fashioned the boots himself. What a great asset he would have been for them. He would be nearing manhood by now and his skill would have matured as well. When they bathed him for burial, she had noticed what tender feet he had. She sat down on the floor. Wrapping the remnants of Claennis’ shift around her bare feet, she worked them into the boots.
She stood up and inspected herself. Starting with her feet. Dalen’s protective boots. Hugh’s itchy breeches. She stretched her hands toward the walls on each side of her and looked first down the length of one arm then the other. Claennis’ snug fitting smock. Rinan’s vest that felt so sinful, it must be a gift from the old gods. She crossed herself at the blasphemy and continued. John’s belt. Lenore’s rosary.
Anson.
She had nothing of Anson’s. She looked through the remnants in the chest and found only the child-sized quiver her faeder had given him to carry his arrows. The bow was his favorite weapon. He never left the house without his bow and quiver. There was neither bow nor arrows. Not that she would have been very good with them. Her only skill was trapping and fishing.
And the sword fighting she’d learned from Rolf. A lump formed in the back of her throat at the memory of him. She would not mourn the loss of a man she loathed. She would see him dead. Her feelings be damned.
She shoved to her feet and retrieved the sword he had taught her to wield. She inspected her attire for a place to carry it, although keeping it in her grip might make her more prepared. Then she had another idea.
Returning to the trunk, she strapped Anson’s quiver to her back. She easily lifted her sword over her shoulder and into the hard leather sheath. The blade slid right through the bottom. Another perfect fit.
Thus, befitted, she pulled open the door of the home she avowed to defend.
Or die trying.
Chapter Twenty-Two
She stepped out into the courtyard. Bright sunlight had replaced the dark clouds of yesterday. She held her face up to its warmth and let the feeling sweep over her. She took a deep breath of the sea air and slid her eyes open.
The other women had crept through the door of their prison and into the brightness of day. They stared back at her. Their expressions revealed nothing of their thoughts.
Ignoring them, she marched across the yard to the forge, William’s home. She had thought one day she might be the woman of this house. She had not loved William, she knew that now, but she recognized him as a good man who did the best he could. She felt a wave of sadness at his loss as she pushed the door open.
She nearly squealed in surprise as a ruckus rose from the far corner, startling her so bad she almost fled. Stoking her courage, she crept toward the back of the hut.
There she found Udela, stark naked and trussed up like a pig for slaughter. She struggled against her bonds like a crazed woman.
She knelt beside her, pulling her knife free as she did so. “Shhh. Udela, be still. ‘Tis Kaylla.”
She did indeed cease her squirming at the sound of her voice, allowing her to slice the rope that bound her and help her to her feet.
Kaylla fetched a blanket, then wrapped it around Udela’s shoulders hiding her nudity and hopefully staving off some of the chill. She could not help but notice the vicious bruises that mottled her skin.
“My God, Udela. Are you all right?” The question sounded ridiculous, given her state. She had obviously been sorely used.
But Udela surprised her. “Well enough to slit that pig’s throat if I get my hands on him.” The vehemence in her voice seemed a direct contrast to the heretofore mild, obscure Udela, a woman long in the tooth and so ugly no man had ever deigned to spread her legs. Leastways, not until yestereve.
Udela took in her appearance. “And just where are you off to in that get up?”
“They took my modor. I intend to go after them.”
“I am coming with you,” she said without hesitation. “Let me get my things.” She clutched the blanket beneath her chin and stepped through the door.
She watched Udela march toward her home, back rigid, shoulders wide. Udela had strength. She would give her that. She recalled Rheda’s death and could only imagine the horrors Udela suffered yestereve. That madman fit the image they had all feared for so long, that of a vicious, brutal demon.
So unlike her initial impression of Rolf.
Rolf Bloodhands. Viking marauder who had slaughtered her little brother. A boy not yet bearing the shadow of manhood. Even though she recognized the suffering he had been spared, how she despised the man who claimed to have eased that suffering.
And loved with all her heart.
She brushed angrily at the tears that stung her eyes. She would not cry for him. Not until after she had spilled his entrails onto the ground.
She screwed up her nose, not nearly as satisfied with that image as she should have been. She stepped over the threshold and back out into the unseasonably warm day. Udela had already disappeared, presumably to get what she needed to seek her own revenge. The other women had not moved from the front of Mae’s hut.
Mae shielded her eyes against the glare and inspected her from head to toe and back again. “Why are you dressed like that?” Her voice carried across the courtyard.
“’Twould be difficult to pursue my enemy with a skirt tangling about my ankles,” she called.
Mae sauntered over so she could speak without the others hearing. “What then? Will you fight a mass of ruthless warriors single-handed?”
She stood taller, glaring down her nose at the older woman. “Udela comes with me.”
For once the animosity was gone from Mae’s eyes. “Have you any idea what they will do to you, girl?”
She relaxed a little, fighting tears that seemed a constant threat. “I have to try.”
Mae stared at her for a long time. Her gaze darted back and forth, searching her face, for what, Kaylla did not know. “Fine. We will come with you, as well.” She turned and shouted at the women across the yard. “Find something to wear that is not so encumbering and take up your favorite weapon.”
The women scattered off and exuberantly sought out attire similar to hers. Udela emerged from her home. She glanced around at the bustle of activity as she strode over to her. “Seems you have a small army at your back.”
She almost laughed. “Not sure I’d call them an army.”
“Do not underestimate them, Kaylla. There is great strength in the power of hatred and the desire for vengeance.”
She squinted up at Udela, almost a head taller. “Think you we stand any chance at all?”
Udela speared her with an intense look. “I suffered horrors at the hands of that barbarian, atrocities no human should have to endure. I will rid the earth of that demon scum if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What then?”
Udela shrugged. “Maybe I shall take one of his comrades for my own thrall.”
She drew in a sharp breath. Udela’s words eerily reflected her own thoughts just after she had brought the devil into their midst.
“After spending a night in his bed furs, I can tolerate anything, anyone. It has been a long time since I entertained the idea of having a man of my own.”
By now, the others had gathered at Kaylla’s door, prepared to march into battle at her command. She ran down the list of survivors as she looked around at them, ticking them off in her head.
“Where is Mae?”
They looked around at each other, but no one answered.
“I’ll be right back.” Leaving them where they stood, she walked across the yard to the hut that had been their prison. She pushed the door open and found Mae standing just inside.
“Mae? The others are ready.” She kept her voice low, soft.
She did not answer. Her hunched shoulders shook with silen
t sobs.
Kaylla stepped closer. “’Tis all right, Mae. You do not have to come with us.”
With a loud sniffle, she shook her head. “Aye, I do. They have taken everything from me,” she said in a strained voice. She turned and gave her an admiring look. “You were right to stay. No matter what happens, ‘tis glad I am that we stayed with you.” She brushed past her. They joined the others in the court yard.
Kaylla waited until they had all gathered close before she spoke. “The closest thing I have to a plan is to sneak up on them while they sleep and slit their throats.” She was surprised at the merciless conviction in her own voice. When had she become so ruthless?
Mae spoke for the group. “We’ll follow you.”
For the first time, she felt like these people, her people, accepted the sacrifices she had made for them all these years. She scanned the faces before her. She might not be able to count them, but she knew they were small in number. As she looked at them, she recalled, not their needs, but the people they were, before so much sorrow had taken over their land. They wanted nothing more than to live in peace and raise a family.
Instead, they endured reprisal from the pagan gods they had served so long. Was it retribution for their conversion to worship the one God of the Romans? Or was it God who punished them for their many sins?
Either way, they would defend their rightful place and seek vengeance for their loved ones. When this day was over, they would join Him in heaven.
Or suffer in Hell.
***
The Vikings left a trail Kaylla could easily follow. She felt like Boudicca, the warrior queen, on a mission to rid her home of the enemy.
The sun had barely crested the midday point when she got the distinct impression they were being watched. She kept glancing about the trees that surrounded them, unable to see within the forest for the new spring foliage. She whispered over her shoulder at those behind.
“Weapons at the ready.”
The prickly hairs at the back of her neck stood on end. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her heart pounded against her ribs. She held up one hand, halting the line of women warriors. Each one of them stood completely still, listening to the roaring silence amongst the trees. The squawk of a jay caused many to jump, but no one spoke.
When she heard a twig snap to one side, she whirled in that direction, sword held before her. “Show yourself, coward.”
Her command was met with a definite crashing through the brush. The air thickened with tension. She resisted the urge to step back, sure that if she so much as twitched, her tiny force would flee like a herd of spooked deer.
They let out a collective breath when Bearn’s haggard face emerged from the trees.
She lowered her weapon and rushed to embrace him. The other women gathered round, many taking a turn at hugging the only man left of their clan. Kaylla could barely speak past the lump in her throat. “What are you doing here? I figured you to be lost in Elmham by now.” She handed him a wineskin.
Bearn uncorked it and took a long pull. He dragged his sleeve across his mouth before speaking. “I was bound for Axning to warn the king, just as we planned. But I twisted my ankle and have been too slow.”
He looked to be on the verge of tears, and she had to remind herself he was still a boy. She encouraged him to take another drink from the wineskin.
He did so, taking the opportunity to compose himself. “The Vikings overcame me. I was forced to hide in the brush as they passed.” He looked at her as if afraid to speak his next words.
“They have hostages.”
“I know.” She brushed off his concern. “How far ahead are they?”
“A league. Maybe two.”
She could only guess how long it would take the Vikings to travel two leagues.
“We’ll have to travel quickly if we are to catch them by nightfall.” That would surely prove difficult if Bearn was injured.
They moved out, Bearn limping along next to her. “What do you intend to do?”
“As soon as they bed down, we’re going to kill them all. Bloodhands and Boddi first.” Just ahead, Udela nodded over her shoulder.
“By the time the others react, hopefully ’twill all be over.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rolf volunteered to take the watch. They would rest tonight and attack Eadwald’s camp at dawn. He counted again the men on his side. Eleven. To Boddi’s sixteen. It would have to do. The element of surprise was their only leverage. His secret weapon was the boy. If he could hold up his end, they might succeed.
If he managed to slip unawares into the camp, without sounding an alarm from one of Boddi’s men, they might just survive.
***
Kaylla and her band of women gained on the Vikings more quickly than expected, especially with Bearn lagging along at the rear, and soon found themselves hiding in the bushes watching their prey bed down for the night. The arrogant bastards showed little fear of ambush, confident they would be able to take down the Norfolk king with little resistance from the local populace.
She could not allow her family to be taken as slaves. They had all heard the stories. Stories of rape and torture. Neighboring villagers who had been taken across the sea in the Vikings’ strange boats and never heard from again.
They had witnessed the brutality of the invaders first-hand. Some more intimately than most.
She glanced over at Udela. She had the look of an ancient pagan warrior. Bloodlust drove her, a thirst to make the man who had degraded her beyond human tolerance pay for his perversions.
Surely with such fierce determination goading them, they could not fail.
As night fell, so did the temperature. She hugged Rinan’s vest tight across her body, clenched the collar beneath her chin, but a deep chill settled into her bones. Unlike the uncontrollable shivers that had racked her as she awaited the Norsemen’s attack, she now felt a sense of calm, a surge of power fed by her yearning for bloodshed.
I killed a man. And I will kill again. And again if needs be. I will not stop until I have avenged my family and rescued my modor.
But she was still cold.
She had to move.
Stretching her aching limbs, she waved Bearn over. She was glad to see no sign of limping as he made his way to her. “How is your foot?”
He waved off her question. “What would you have me do?”
“Sneak over there and find out how many men they have on guard, and see where my modor is.”
He made no response, but turned and slipped into the brush. She gripped the short sword she had brought from the village, determined to slit Rolf’s throat before whisking her modor away to safety. While waiting for Bearn to return, she noticed a shadowy figure moving toward the camp in a crouch.
Her heart lurched.
Wulf!
How had he escaped?
Why had Rolf not admitted such?
Excitement welled up within her. Her brother lived!
And now he blindly raced towards the demon’s lair.
I have to stop him! Think. Think. Think.
She paced back and forth. If they attacked the camp right now, they would all be lost, but at least Wulf would be alerted to the danger he faced and would have time to back track and make good his escape.
Think faster!
Just as she was about to raise the signal, Bearn emerged from the trees. She grabbed his arm. “Wulf is alive.”
“I know. I told you they had hostages.”
She was confused. “I thought you meant my modor.”
Bearn nodded. “Yes, and Wulf. Three of the Vikings are standing guard. Edlyn is tucked away on the other side, but she does not seem to be in distress. Where did you see Wulf?” Confusion passed across his own features.
She looked down at her outstretched hands. “How many is three?” Bearn clamped a hand around the middle fingers of the hand she used to wield her sword. Oh good, not so many.
The others had gathered round now to hear th
eir plan. Still speaking to Bearn, she pointed to the small, shadowy figure now hiding on the opposite side of the camp. “He must have gotten free somehow. We have to distract the Vikings so he and Modor can get away. If…”
Bearn held up a hand to silence her. They watched in horror as Wulf slipped from his hiding place and crept toward the camp.
She wanted to cry out, to warn him of the danger just ahead.
But then a much larger shadow appeared before him, a figure she recognized instantly. Rolf had discovered him. She was already striding in their direction when she realized that instead of recapturing the boy, he led Wulf, who seemed to tag freely along behind him, as they and the other guards began rousing some of the Norsemen.
She had waited too long. It was too late to surprise them. If only they had had more time to practice their fighting skills. If only there was someone besides her to lead them, to give them direction. It was one thing to fight defending your home. Entirely another to attack a band of seasoned warriors.
She had no time to ponder these developments, as one group of Vikings suddenly attacked the other. The violence she witnessed among these men made the little skirmish in the village seem a joke. Men lost their lives in the blink of an eye.
They could not stand idly by and wait to see what happened. “Split up. Surround them. Kill anyone who tries to venture this far.”
The women raced off at her instruction. It seemed as good a plan as any. Maybe the men would isolate themselves enough to be taken down one by one.
Leastways, she would be able to count them that way.
With an alarming cry, Boddi ran in her direction as if being chased by demons. She felt the blood drain from her face as he rushed toward her. Her heart pounded. She hoped death would come quickly. She froze, terror stealing her ability to react.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Udela raced past her, her sword clasped in her hand and a chilling war cry on her lips.
Her breath caught in her throat as she realized Wulf clung to the man’s back and strove to stab him with his dagger.
She pulled the short sword from its sheath and followed Udela to her brother’s aide. The Viking showed more surprise at their sudden appearance than did the boy. She drove her blade into the man’s chest. Udela sent hers into his gut, just as Wulf plunged his into the base of Boddi’s neck.
