by Sandra Lake
“Then I would have died, so what of it? Then you would not have had to rescue me—again!” She abruptly shoved and kicked out her legs, landing on her feet. “I think you have carried me far enough,” she said as they crested the small hill. There they found six unattended, saddled horses. A short distance behind them, pressed up against a large spruce tree, was Lars, exchanging spit with the curvy young handmaiden.
“Ahem.” Fist cleared his throat but the couple took no note and continued to maul each other. “Lars! Time to come up for air.” Fist slapped his friend’s shoulder. The couple broke apart and smiled idiotically at each other in an intoxicated stupor.
“Katia! Oh, thank the stars.” Tosha dove for her friend, embracing her fiercely.
Lars was grinning so hard his face was bound to hurt. “What? I was simply doing my duty to distract the frightened girl.”
“Aye, appeared like duty indeed,” Valen said, eyeing the maid. Lars shoved him back a few feet. As Lothair’s friends had a silent fight over territory, the two women chattered away.
“Can you believe our luck? Remember when we first all met in Tronscar? Well, I never could have forgotten Lars. Don’t you remember me telling you—” Tosha started whispering and giggling in Katia’s ear. At least someone was pleased with their circumstances.
Lothair, meanwhile, examined the horses and checked their packs.
“Fist won the mare off of the watch commander and I purchased the other pony for a fair price off the priest,” Lars said. “No one will have cause to raise the alarm.”
“They look good, Lars,” Lothair said.
“At least no one should raise alarm, not until Dierk sobers and realizes half of his company has disbanded.”
“We should be halfway to Estonia by then.” Lothair broke up the women’s reunion by grabbing Katia’s arm and directing her over to a long-legged black mare. “We only have a few hours before the house stirs and discovers that you are missing.” He shoved her up and then mounted his waiting gray stallion.
Sitting high upon the horse, Katia’s back was straight, her hands in comfortable command of the animal. Though she was soiled and wearing naught more than rags, the pride of the iron princess seemed fully restored. She kept her eyes fixed squarely on him, and was smiling a curious kind of smile. “Thank you for getting Tosha to safety. I shall forever be in your debt,” she said.
“Yes, you will.” He commanded his own trusted horse, Homer, forward. He was relieved to see that at least the girls knew how to ride.
For the first few hours, they rode south down a well-traveled, moonlit road. As the sky began to lighten, they realized they were heading in a slightly wrong direction and corrected course, heading northeast.
“Will they not be watching the main roads? Two foreign maids and four foreign swordsmen all disappeared in a single night—I’m sure they will be looking for us,” Katia called out to him. Lothair sighed. As if saving her for the second time in one night was not enough, now she was questioning his judgment.
“This road is the fastest. We will be in Estonia in less than a week.” Lothair rode on ahead, not looking back to give her leave to challenge his decision.
***
To Katia, heading straight to the seaport of Tallinn seemed like a stupid idea since it was the most obvious path to take. Otso was going to keep a lookout for them, but what if they did not reach Tallinn before Prince Andrei sent word? He could send messages by ravens. She had seen the small bits of rolled-up paper in his war council chamber, scattered across the floor and table.
“What if the prince sends word ahead?” she called out to Lothair. “We may be riding straight into a trap.” Lars turned his head, giving her a slight shake that she understood was meant to stop her from continuing to press her concerns.
“No thanks to you, we have few options at this point,” Lothair bellowed over the sound of the horses’ hooves. “It is still better for us to get out of Kievan Rus territory as fast as possible.” The other men nodded in agreement.
Once more, Katia looked back over her shoulder. She had an ugly feeling creeping up her spine. Her grandmother had always warned her never to disregard a woman’s inner voice. Lothair looked over at her suspiciously. She smiled her best fake grin, not knowing what else to say or do. He had rescued her. She was in his debt—again.
***
Two nights later, lying in the high grass next to a gently flowing river, Katia closed her eyes and pled with her mind to be silent. She needed at least a few hours of sleep. Her body was exhausted beyond anything she had felt before, yet her mind would take no rest. They had taken three wrong roads trying to find the route to the coast. She prayed they were on the correct path at last. Opening her eyes, she turned over on her back. The starless sky seemed to crush down on her.
She and Tosha were sharing their blankets, and Katia snuggled closer to her friend.
“Are you scared, Kat?” Tosha whispered.
“No, not really,” she lied, keeping her voice light. “We have fallen into good company. We will be on a ship heading for home in less than a week.”
“Do you really believe that?” Tosha had known her since they were small children, making it difficult to fool her with false confidence.
Katia could not lie to Tosha any longer. “No,” she softly said.
“It feels like we are riding in circles.”
“Perhaps the weather will clear and we will have clear skies to navigate by tomorrow.” Katia prayed for that wholeheartedly.
Katia had been so determined, had thought for sure she would have been an excellent spy. It was as if every moment in her life had been to prepare her for this adventure. Learning so many languages from her grandmother, her mother’s wisdom, her father’s sword training; all had been tools to help her succeed and serve her family. But now, lying on the soft bed of grass next to her best friend in the dark, all that remained was self-doubt.
Her plan had been simple. Find out Prince Andrei’s plans for invasion, count men, evaluate weaponry, determine strengths and weaknesses, assess the top-ranked men and memorize their names. Easy she thought. She prided herself on being tough. She could take care of herself in a skirmish. She was clever enough and she always had a wink and a smile to fall back on. How stupid she suddenly felt.
All the smiles, all the swordplay in the world, hadn’t helped her escape the hands of the soldier in the hall. Only Lothair’s strength and the reputation of his sword had saved her.
Her rescuers had been having their own adventures, and now all of them were in danger because of her selfish stupidity. Tosh had bravely told her that she was going too, that Sweden was her home to protect, that they must stick together, sisters for life, and so on. Still, it was Katia’s decision to bring her, rather than leave her safely behind in Finland. The fault would rest solely on her shoulders if anything happened to any of them.
The sudden reality of her culpability slammed her in the gut. This was no longer just her life to throw away, or make use of. Could she live with herself if even one of them was injured because of her choices?
As she listened to the insects peacefully humming away in the warm, late summer night, Katia shivered. Tronscar was in danger. Her brother Urho needed her. Sweden still needed every possible advantage to fight against this unholy tyrannical threat.
A humid, sinister-feeling fog continued to roll in over them and Katia thought it a perfect time to pray. Her only prayer tonight, as she searched for sleep, was that they would be in time to make a difference, and that all these lives risked would not be in vain.
A twig snapped. Her eyes popped open. The horses became unsettled, neighing and snorting.
Somewhere in the black forest that surrounded them, something—or someone—was getting closer.
Chapter 7
An attendant offered Andrei a stacking torch, which he accepted, using the fi
relight to inspect the spoils of his latest victory.
The heavy cloak of predawn fog, gifted by God, had served as perfect cover for his attack. Andrei nodded approvingly to his men as the spies, two men and two women, were dragged before him. Andrei would get to the bottom of this treachery before morning’s first light.
Walking down the line of captives, Andrei recognized Ulla, the fair-haired chambermaid, who appeared fully recovered from her blood illness of only a few days past. Who was she? And why had she been in his bedchamber?
He coiled her thick braid around his fist, pulling her up to stand before him. She looked him coldly in the eyes, her defiance boldly on display. Ulla was no servant, no slave, and if she was no whore, that left only one option: she was highborn.
“Who are you?” he asked. “I know you understand my tongue, girl.” She drew in another defiant breath and held her tongue. She was going to be difficult. He preferred not to alter her face. She would be so much more enjoyable as a body slave if she was fully intact—but if he must, he must. He dropped the braid and pulled the second girl to her feet, shoving her toward Vladimir. “Enjoy. Leave enough of her for the other men. This one will be only for me.”
“Yes, sire.” Vladimir smiled at the trembling girl in front of him.
“I will tell you nothing if she is injured.” Ulla spoke in a perfect Slavic tongue. Andrei had to smile at her foolish first words. He backhanded her. She stumbled to the right but quickly recovered and returned to stand proudly in front of him once more.
“Tell me everything, or she will not see dawn’s first light.” He watched Ulla closely. “Who are you?”
“I am no one, but she is someone. If you hurt her, or if your men touch her, every northern kingdom will rain down their vengeance upon you.” Ulla drew in a ragged breath. Andrei easily read through her lies.
The cowering girl in Vladimir’s hands behaved as a servant should. This one before him was no servant, no daughter of a serf. He’d had enough of her game.
Andrei pulled the girl on the leash of her long, blond braid, dragging her toward the trees. He preferred a measure of privacy from his men when he took his pleasure. “Northern kingdoms, you say. You think I am so foolish as to believe that the kings of the north sent a pair of puny females to spy on me? Try again, little one.” He tossed her to the ground and staked the torch beside her head. He drew out his sword and pointed the blade at the center of her chest. Andrei then unlaced his riding braises, enjoying the look of panic on the young maid’s face. He waited for the tears and the begging for mercy, but they never came. The girl lay silent.
Ah, this one was exceptional—spirited as an untrained colt, yet lionhearted, foolishly thinking herself indomitable. He loved nothing more than to break the unbendable.
“Beg me.” He stroked her soft cheek. “Shed your lovely tears and beg me for mercy. Tell me who you are and what you were doing in my bedchamber. Who sent you?” The tip of his dagger plucked the leather laces of her bodice. Her hands scratched and scrambled to cover herself, but he collected them easily and pinned her hands above her head, planting a knee to her chest and the other knee lower, locking her legs to the hard ground.
Andrei smiled, immensely enjoying her twisting and struggling body beneath him. “Yes, fight me, little one.” He laughed. Nothing was more pleasing for a master than a woman in need of discipline and training.
However, this one stayed stubbornly silent. This did not please him. “Filthy little harlot. No wonder you left my chamber. You wanted it like this—in the dirt, on your back.” She fought him with more strength and he began to sweat from the effort it took to subdue her. He hated sweating. “Tell me who sent you. Beg me to stop. Weep for me.”
Even in the dark, he had no trouble gazing upon the taut, youthful breasts, her flawless skin glowing from the flickering torchlight. She had not a mark on her. Not yet anyway. He smiled. “By the time I am done with you, you shall surely know the grace of God. Who sent you?”
A thin gold chain around her throat caught his eye, evidence that his appraisal of her as highborn was correct. Perhaps from the prying Polish court? He snapped the ring from the chain. It was made of gold and emerald, a man’s ring—a jarl’s ring.
“No!” she shouted.
He held up the ring to eye level. “I have seen this ring before.” Violent memories flooded Andrei’s mind. “This is Knutson’s ring.” His heart soared, lightened by the righteous bounty he held in his hand. Andrei had removed the holy ornaments and altars from the unclean hands of the godless citizens of Kiev, and now God had given proof of his thanks with a most worthy reward.
Andrei looked up to the heavens and gave thanks, kissing his enemy’s ring. He had been waiting for a sign and this was it.
“God Almighty, I vow to accomplish your will and deliver destruction to your enemies. Knutson will pay for his crimes as an agent of the devil. Your rightful punishment will be felt from the tip of my sword.” He crossed himself, concluded his prayer, and returned his attention to the Norrland harlot that strained and struggled under him.
“There, there, little one. I will grant you mercy if you renounce your fidelity to the devil Knutson and swear allegiance to me as God’s anointed one.”
“You’re mad,” she said, her voice strained. His knee on her chest was granting her little air to breathe.
“Why would a servant girl wear the jarl’s ring?”
“I stole it. My mistress has nothing to do with it.” The girl was a very poor liar.
He slapped her. “You are no serving wench. You are Knutson’s daughter.”
“Nay!” Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened in a sinister little scowl.
“Of course he is your father. Knutson the whoremonger—I would expect no less than for him to make a harlot of his daughter and send her to my bed for his own gain. In spite of the machinations of the devil, the righteous have conquered the wicked. I will rightly savory this sweet retribution.”
Andrei’s mind traveled back.
The sea had been high, slapping angrily at his back when the godless Swedes swarmed around his fleet like a demonic plague of locusts. Knutson’s steel-ribbed bow sliced into the side of Andrei’s ship, nearly cutting his vessel in two. The wretched souls who were plucked out of the sea tossed themselves at Knutson’s feet. Andrei had been ransomed back to his father, disgraced, then banished and sent to toil in the godless southern district of his father’s kingdoms. His younger brother was declared his father’s heir, all because of the devil’s agent, Magnus Knutson.
“My father was Finnish. I am nothing to Knutson—”
He squeezed her cheeks, silencing her lying tongue. “Shh, shh, girl. You have angered God enough with your lies. The Almighty had decided to punish you and reward me,” he said, not taking his eyes off the emerald ring. “I have waited twenty years, Knutson. I will liberate your country, burn your ships, and purify your women, all with God’s blessing.” He envisioned the magnitude of perfection that triumph would be. This ring was a sign. He held it up. No man could stop him now.
“God is love, you ignorant, beetle-headed lecher,” the girl spat at him. “The book of Luke says, ‘Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you shall be forgiven—’”
He clamped a hand over the harlot’s mouth. “Perhaps I will keep you alive long enough for Knutson to hear you cry out as I purify your wicked soul. A quick death would not be equitable.” A soft chuckle rose up out of his belly. His contentment could not be contained. This girl who lay twisting beneath was a gift from God for all his hard work and endurance. He would have his victory over Sweden, over Denmark, and then over his brother, the pretender ruler of Kiev. There would be only one true Holy Roman Emperor and that would be Andrei the Sainted.
***
Katia didn’t know what was happening to Andrei. His eyes had sudde
nly gone blank, frozen in a trancelike state. The pressure on her wrists lessened as the prince muttered nonsense to himself.
Darting her eyes around her, she spied his sword lying on the ground. It was too far to reach, but Andrei’s dagger might just be close enough. She would have only one chance.
Silently, Katia raised a leg out to the side, planted her foot into his ribs, and in the blink of an eye she pried him off. She rolled, coming up with the dagger in one hand.
“Don’t move.” She crouched in an attack position above him.
“What are you going to do, little one? Stab me with your shaking hand?” He laughed as he moved toward her. She slashed the blade across his cheek. Not deep, just a display of who held the power now.
“I warned you not to move.” She circled around him, picked up his sword, and held the tip to the base of his neck.
Appearing suddenly out of the shadows, Lothair whispered, “Don’t kill him. We need him in order to trade back for the others.”
Katia dropped the dagger and clutched the front of her gown closed. “Thank God you’re not dead!” she gasped. Her aching heart soared.
Lothair looked at her strangely for a moment, his brows pinched tight and his lip curled up in a feral snarl. He pushed past her, sweeping aside her blade and replacing it with his own. He looked so angry with her that she wondered if he intended to kill her after the prince. A part of her didn’t care if he did, as long as he promised to get Tosha away from here.
Gripping her weapon tightly, her fingers had gone numb, and her arm muscles were quivering. A cold sweat covered her skin. She was completely unnerved, and hated herself all the more for it.
“Baron!” the prince said loudly, drawing the attention of the Rus soldiers standing in the clearing nearby. “Whatever the little harlot has promised you, I will double it.”
Vladimir and his men had been alerted by the alarm in the prince’s voice. Swords in hand, they rushed toward Katia and Lothair.
