by Lexy Timms
"I don't like it.” He set his sword down but didn’t let go of it. “He hasn't forced himself on you, has he?” He tilted his head to the side, trying to read her. “They’re savage beasts. Known for killing and raping women, probably in that order.” He sighed, his face growing pale with weakness. “How could you bring him into the house?"
"He hasn't, and how could I not? He was dying in the field! What sort of person would I be if I left him there to die?" Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Her father closed his eyes, breathing in deeply and letting it out. "I don't like it. He leaves today."
"Tomorrow."
"Today."
She stomped her foot. "He leaves tomorrow. He’s finishing the field.” She rested her hands on her hips as she stepped in front of her father, trying her best to sound like her mother. “I saved your life, and his. The two of you have something in common and you better try and get along. I'll not have you offending him when he's been nothing but good to us. He was hit by arrows from his own men and is suffering the effects of that betrayal. We will not add to it."
"Linzi?" Erik moved into the doorway, his hands lifting as if surrendering. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize..."
"Well, you should have!" her father barked, moving out into the hall toward Erik.
Linzi stepped forward to intervene, but Erik lifted his hand toward her and shook his head. "Sir, I appreciate what your family has done for me. Without your daughter’s aid and assistance, I would be but a corpse.”
“She should have left you out on the field.” Her father glared up at the tall Saxon in front of him, unconcerned with the other man’s size.
“I promise I will be on my way by morning. I would like to spend the afternoon trying to repay your kindness by finishing the planting you need completed in the field."
Linzi walked out and held up her bandaged hand. “I can’t do it.”
Her father scowled. "Did he do that to you?"
"I did it myself!” She huffed and whipped her hair over her shoulder. That too bothered her father, her wearing her hair freely down. “Erik wrapped and cared for the cut. I did it myself trying to find ways to protect me and you if someone came to harm us. I was on my own, what else could I do?"
Her father flinched at her words.
Erik, sensing the change in the tone of the argument, turned and walked back toward the kitchen. He spoke over his shoulder. "I have everything ready to eat. Come eat, regain your strength and I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
Linzi leaned close to her father as she followed him. "I told you he was a good man."
"Don't you dare fall in love with this heathen Viking! Your mother would roll over in her grave." Her father reached out, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and walked to the kitchen with her help.
"Not sure I can help who I fall in love with, Da'."
He glanced over at her as she shrugged, helping put him down at the table and walking to the pantry.
Erik's gaze raked her body, sharp remembrance of his greedy hands and hot mouth caused a moan to creep up her chest.
She slapped at his arm and growled softly at him. "Behave."
He winked and took a glass of water to her father, his words piercing her need and setting it ablaze. "Never."
Chapter 8
Marcus
It was time to mobilize, the men had grown restless after more than a day of resting along the campsite. The mid-morning air was hot, moisture sitting heavy upon them. Marcus brushed his hand over the top of his head, his hair just starting to grow back. He shivered at the thought of the bugs that caused him to shave it in the first place, his cousin far more insensitive to such things as he. Or at least he had been.
Had news reached the palace yet? Had the riders made it to their ships and then on to the king? Would Erik's older brother, Nathaniel, suffer the emotional loss of his brother? Would the queen hide away in mourning in her chambers? She was a strong woman, beautiful and brave. He wouldn't mind having her remain queen when he took the throne, her age no matter to him. She would prove to be the glue that held things together, his own desires sated in the bodies of the maidens he brought back with him from Scotland.
"Why have we not moved up the ranks yet?” Halfdan bellowed. “The day’s wasting away and you, Marcus, seem to be enjoying a leisurely morning stroll. Tell me what is wrong with this scene before me." Halfdan stood in front of his tent, his breeches and shoes on, but the rest of him on display.
Marcus turned his head from the sight, the man far too heavy for anything healthy to become of him. "I'm headed that way now, Commander. We’ll mobilize and move within the hour. Day after tomorrow we’ll take on the Scots just a day’s travel north of here, several small towns clustered together with perhaps several thousand people. My scouts have reported everything. It’ll be an easy win."
"Then get it done. I'm hungry to claim another victory. The one behind us has grown cold."
Marcus kept his personal thoughts of the man’s hunger to himself, walking quickly toward the large group of captains who stood chatting amongst themselves. "Call your men to attention! We pack and leave here in less than an hour. Don’t tarry, but work with efficiency. Your commanding king is ready to move!" His voice boomed across the campsite, all of the men turning and watching him. The ever-defiant John's gaze a bit more direct than the others.
A yell of response went across the group and Marcus pointed at John. "You. Come with me." He turned and walked back toward the northern end of the campgrounds.
John’s long strides worked to catch up with him. "What is it, Marcus?"
"Commanding General. You’ll refer to me as General.” He stared down his nose at John. “You tell me. I’m nearly cut in half by my cousin as I have to watch him go mad, and yet you stare at me as if the story goes beyond what I recollect." Marcus swiveled abruptly toward the captain, inches from him. "Is there something you'd like to ask me, soldier?"
John stood for a minute, the dark beard staining his cheeks working to make him look younger than he was. Finally his eyes averted to the ground, his teeth clenched together. He was the most loyal of Erik's supporters.
Marcus needed him on his side. The men might not follow if John did not.
John brought his gaze directly on Marcus. "I cannot see our prince going mad and leaving us. He has been beside us all of these years. I mean no disrespect, I’m not calling you a liar, sir, but the story doesn't reconcile well with the man I know Erik to be."
Marcus sighed, long and meaningfully. "People change in a time of tragedy, John. Do you know that the night we all wanted to go into the city and take a woman into our beds and were threatened directly by him, he disobeyed his own words and went anyway?"
"He did not."
"He did. Ask Halfdan. He was reprimanded, warned to lead by example and not by words alone. He had been slipping for a while. The man never wanted to be a soldier." Marcus closed his eyes and scratched his fingers along his nearly bald head. “He didn’t want it.”
John’s eyes grew big. "He wanted to be king? He was jealous of Nathaniel?"
"Heaven's no.” Marcus waved his hand, playing the part perfectly. “The idiot wanted to be a simpleton like you, and your friends before the war. He wanted a piece of land and a woman to make him dinner and breed his sons."
John shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense. What man would want for less?”
“One not carrying all his marbles.” Marcus pressed his lips tight.
"Then why did he go mad? After we had won the battle? We had every reason to celebrate. We sacked the town!"
"He went mad during it. He left Halfdan's side when he was placed to protect our commanding king. Do you not remember his lot that day? It was not more than a day passed. Have you begun to feel the effects of the fever that washed over my brethren too?" Marcus tilted his head to the side, pseudo concern covering his features as if to convince John of something that didn't exist.
"
Me? A fever? No.” John touched his forehead as if to reassure himself. “I do remember Erik's task, but I thought he had been relieved of it." John squeezed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. "He was more aggressive during the battle than usual, but I figured it was from lack of sleep. And sex. The gods only knew when he had been with a woman last. I always thought he never partook.” He shook his head. “You're saying he slept with a woman in Northumbria?"
"He did. He was warned if he strayed from orders once more he would be sent back to Denmark to serve his brother in whatever capacity Nathaniel saw fit."
"And you believe that caused him to snap?” John stroked his beard, not buying it. “Seems so odd to me."
Marcus threw his hands in the air and began pacing. "That, in combination with the battle and his jealousy toward Halfdan! His own father had chosen Halfdan over his own son! Why do you think that was? Because the old king knew about his son’s lack of commitment!”
John folded his big arms over his massive chest. "It was because Erik was barely a man. He’s grown and always stayed equal to us. He’s earned our respect."
"Not true and you know it." Marcus stretched and moved back a few steps. "Regardless of what you think, I'll not have your looks and questions laying seeds of distrust and dissent among the men. Mind yourself, or Halfdan will find use for your head on top of a pole, ‘eh?"
"Of course, Sire. I understand much better now." John nodded, hitting his fist over his chest and walking off.
Marcus moved to his tent, pulling his personal effects and throwing them into a small brown sack before the sounds of yelling brought him back into the open air just beyond his make-shift home.
"I’ve news! Who's in charge here?" The small teenage boy yelled loudly, his high-pitched voice yet to find puberty as it jumped around. Marcus walked toward him, Halfdan nowhere to be seen.
"I'm the most senior officer here.” Marcus glanced around. “What is it, boy?"
"News from King Nathaniel regarding the death of his brother, Prince Erik," the boy shouted loudly.
Marcus dragged him into a nearby tent. So the King had received the news. “Tell me, boy!”
"A falcon arrived late last night, Sir, carrying the news. We were alerted at the mid-southern coasts this morning as the sun broke through the clouds."
"Give me the summons." Marcus reached out, grabbing the small paper out of the boy’s hand. The child's voice grated his nerves.
It is with broken heart and questioning spirit I heard of my brother’s passing. He shall be remembered as nothing but a hero amongst our men. Find the men responsible. If they are British, kill them. If they are Saxon, bring them home so my mother and I might decide what justice is to be served.
Nathaniel,
King of Demark
Marcus rubbed his thumb over the King’s seal. "Be gone!" Marcus barked at the boy. He walked by a dying fire of red embers. He dropped the letter into it, watching the flames lick the parchment and air for a short gasp. The evidence left to ashes, he then moved around the camp looking for their commander. He finally found the giant bastard sauntering out from the tent of women, tying his breeches as the tent flapped shut.
"Are we ready to move?" Halfdan gave up on reaching under his belly and opened the tent, beckoning a woman to come out and do it for him.
"Almost. Word has arrived from the castle."
"What is it? Give it to me." He motioned with his fingers.
"The boy took it back with him. I was unsure of who was supposed to keep communication and the lad seemed to be practiced in these things." Marcus kept his face neutral.
"You twit." Halfdan sighed loudly. "Follow me to my tent. Then tell me what it said."
Marcus walked beside the larger man, stopping at the edge of the tent and standing in the opening, his eyes adverted to the men who moved about just outside. Watching Halfdan change his top wasn't on his list of things to do.
“Get in here, boy.”
The nickname angered Marcus. He was far from the age of being a boy. “The message was straightforward. The king and his mother are in mourning, their hearts heavy. The king will not send another commander to assist you. He demanded I bring victory to the crown and resolution to Erik's death."
"Yes, well consider it resolved." The older man laughed, the sound cruel and nefarious.
"They want the murderers brought back to Denmark so they might act out the punishment of their choosing." Marcus didn’t bother explaining it fully. It didn’t matter in his opinion.
Halfdan scoffed, now fully dressed and rather intimidating in his stance. "The deed is done. We’ve already killed them. They were rogue Scottish men and their arrows left us without a face to place upon the crime. Simple.” He wiped his hands against each other as if the matter was finished. “You need to learn to use your head, boy. When I’m king, you’ll be my commander. If you can learn how to act like one, think like one, or the next wayward arrow of treachery may pierce your own soul."
Marcus nodded, biting his tongue to hold back a response he might regret later. He bowed his head before walking out of the tent, his actions asking for punishment and yet he could care less. He soon would be the only power anyone would answer to, the Vikings taking land after land as they marched. His rule and reign would be with an iron fist, his desires not that of his predecessors. Uniting the landmass under the benevolent hand of Denmark sounded trite and a waste of time. He would lord them into behaving and paying taxes to the crown, his crown. Their sons would be his soldiers, their daughters his whores.
Halfdan's days were numbered, as were his cousin, Nathaniel's.
Marcus hoisted himself on his horse and saddled up, riding through the men and yelling loudly, "We move. March forward! One day closer to Victory. For Erik!" He grabbed his sword out of his sheath and waved it above the men. “For Erik!”
"For Erik!" The large crowd of men surged forward, a few remaining behind as always to clean up, pick up and mobilize their tents.
Marcus laughed with excitement. Erik lay rotting in a field somewhere, never to be found. Should anyone pick him up and see he was Saxon, they might also wonder why the death blow in his chest held the same symbol. Because he was murdered by one of his own. A smile touched his lips, the rightness of such dark actions sitting comfortably on his high shoulders.
He would be king, and anyone who thought differently would fall beneath his boots – or arrows.
Chapter 9
Erik
Linzi prayed over the meal, her father's irate eyes locked on Erik the whole time. Erik bowed his head and closed his eyes, the sweet vision of pressing the beautiful lass in front of him against the outside wall washing over the back of his eyelids. She was divine, so wanting of his attention and yet trying to maintain the purity her mother must have warned her about.
How he wished it were just about sex. He squirmed when her father cleared his throat as if he knew Erik’s thought. Sometime that morning, talking to her, he realized how much more he wanted. Could he give up his revenge and just remain here with her? No one would ever know.
"Erik? The prayer is over."
He opened his eyes, smiling at Linzi and letting the expression slide as her father grumbled something about him being a heathen. He didn't blame the old man at all. He'd beat back every scoundrel or –prince or otherwise—who thought to come take his daughter’s hand or anything else. "Apologies. I was lost in thought."
"And what does a Viking think about? Killing, rape, stealing?" Her father turned his heavy stare back on Erik, reaching for bread and taking a large chunk of it.
Linzi's cheeks colored crimson, but she held her tongue, making him respect her all the more. She had been smart with him, bantering and freely saying what crossed her mind, but with her father she showed a deep level of respect.
"I suppose a true Viking might, Sir.” Erik scraped at the stubble growing on his skin. “I simply want to return to the life I had before forced to join the war." He shrugged, his voice con
versational, his expression open and approachable, or so he hoped it as such. He hated lying, but life sometimes didn’t give you a choice.
"You still have to answer my question." Linzi stood, walking to gather new mugs and depositing them on the table. She poured them ale and herself a glass of water.
Erik picked his up and took a long drink. "What was the question, Linzi?"
Her father looked up from his plate, his eyes shooting daggers at Erik as if he didn't like the sound of the girl's name on anyone else's lips.
"Where will you go from here? Are you going back to fight…” She paused and wiped her eyebrow with the back of her hand. “To fight my br-brother and the people from these lands?” She ignored her father’s comment and continued. “Or will you go after the men who betrayed you?” She sat down beside her father, reaching behind him to rub his back. The old man glanced over at her, his face softening, the love between them more than apparent.
"Men betrayed you?” Her father did not sound surprised. “Why? Did you steal their wives or kill their babies?"
"Da’! Stop it!” Linzi warned him. “You don't know him. He, like anyone, deserves the chance to show his character. I believe him and would welcome him under my roof should I ever have one."
"Show character? If I give him an inch, he shall move a foot! I have one child left with me at home. He takes you, and I have nothing."
Erik reached across the table and touched the older man's arm. Linzi's dad jerked back. "I was not raised by wildlings. Not everyone marked a Viking chose to be as such." He stared down at his plate, the need to put the old man in his position rising up inside of him. He took note from the beautiful creature just across the table from him and bit his tongue.
"Erik, you'll have to forgive my Da’. I’m his only daughter and these times are trying. The Vikings have—"
