Chapter Nine
“The wench had the gall to deceive me! Me!” Ivar clenched his teeth the next morning as he paced furiously back and forth in the room at the back of the Great Hall, normally used for war conferences.
Perhaps it was a war conference after all, Bronwolf thought as he raked a tired hand through his hair. The other captains had made themselves scarce sometime ago, but he had yet to get some sleep. After Moire’s shocking statement last night, Ivar had quickly lit the fire wheel and then summoned Aethelthryth—Ella—to this chamber.
Only she didn’t come. She was nowhere to be found.
That had spurred a second surge of anger. Presuming she was hiding somewhere, they’d searched every building in the fort, then within the walls of York, and finally out to the village where the peasants, just recently returned from the festivities, were roused from their beds and questioned.
Some of whom bore bruises from the questioning. Even though she’d played him for a fool too, Bronwolf was glad she hadn’t been found. And—not that he’d admit it to anyone, least of all Ivar—he admired her ability to go to ground so quickly and without a trace. Right now, though, he needed to try and calm the prince.
“The real princess and Ella did look alike,” he said. “She was probably only following Aelle’s orders.”
Ivar nearly snarled at him. “She made me look like a fool.”
“Aelle knew we would be coming,” Bronwolf reasoned. “Moire did say the king had already made plans to whisk his daughter away at the first sign of our approach.”
“And an imposter—a common servant—led me on a merry chase!”
Bronwolf was tempted to retort that it had been Ivar who’d done the chasing, but that remark certainly wouldn’t help the present situation. “Do you think a common servant would dare to defy her king, then?”
“She defied me! They all did! Every last Saxon. They all knew—the soldiers, the servants…probably even most of the villagers.” He began pacing again. “They will all be punished. Every last man will be whipped, and the women passed around—”
“Consider—“
“You are interrupting me!” He glared at Bronwolf.
Bronwolf held his gaze. “Only because you can come up with a better solution.”
Ivar narrowed his eyes. “Pain is a great persuader.”
“Ja. It is,” he agreed, “but would you expect anything different from our men? Our servants? If your orders were to protect your sister at all costs?”
Ivar slowed. “That woman made me a laughing stock.”
“I am not so sure.” Bronwolf tried to come up with something that would soothe Ivar’s pride. “First, it’s doubtful that the villagers even knew the real princess was gone since they don’t reside within the city walls. Most of the soldiers probably didn’t realize it either, since I don’t think Aelle let his daughter mingle with them. As for the servants… If Moire was aware of the king’s standing order to get the princess to safety, then the rest most likely were, too. And servants are trained to do as they’re told.” He paused. “You would expect the same of ours.”
Ivar hesitated. “You do have a point, I suppose. Taking my anger out on the entire lot of them might work against me. There’s no sense in having to worry about our food being poisoned out of revenge.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But Ella will not go unpunished. When she is caught, I will keep her locked in the gaol. She will have to beg me for food, water, clothing…” He paused and then smiled. “And, she will have to pleasure me as often as I wish.”
Bronwolf nodded, hoping his expression looked neutral. Ivar had earned his ruthless reputation. He also held grudges longer than any man Bronwolf knew. Ella would be subject to a living hell.
Which meant Bronwolf would have to find her before Ivar did.
• ♥ •
Ella squinted as an early ray of sunshine leaked through the burned-out ruins of her parents’ cottage she’d taken shelter in. Careful not to move, she attuned her ears for any human sound. All was still, save for the barely audible rushing of water over rocks at the nearby creek. Birds twittered in the trees, a good sign that humans weren’t afoot. Much closer, a small animal—a rat probably—rustled the tall, overgrown grass that had taken over much of her old village.
Slowly, she uncurled herself from the ball she’d scrunched into alongside the crumbling wall. Every muscle ached from the cramped position, but she’d wanted to make herself as small—and invisible—as she could, in case Ivar’s men came this way.
And they probably would. She didn’t how much time it would take for the prince to realize she wasn’t inside the fort or the city walls. With all the revelry that went on last night, he might wait until dawn to send out search parties.
Dawn. The sun was already shining. Ella leapt up, ignoring the protests from her knees and ankles. At best, she might have a four-hour lead, perhaps a bit more. She looked down at the silk gown and satin slippers—torn, tattered non-slippers now—and frowned. If she were going to be successful in reaching Aelle, she could hardly go walking along a road dressed like this.
She looked around the devastation that had once been her home. The dozen or so cottages were nothing but charred remains. The tiny kirk had been reduced mostly to rubble, but she remembered the priest had kept charitable donations of clothing there. It would truly be a Yuletide miracle if some of those remained. Making her way as swiftly as she could, all too aware that she already had blisters on her feet, she stepped over a heap of broken wattle. The altar was gone, but the battered tin trunk that had held the garments was lying on its aside, half-buried in overgrowth. Quickly righting it, she said a little prayer and then lifted the lid.
Tears stung her eyes. The trunk was nearly full of clothing.
Digging through it, she selected a rough linen shirt, breeches and—thank the Lord again!—a sturdy pair of boots. Rapidly removing her gown, she tossed it inside the trunk and donned the men’s clothing. It hung loose on her which would only aid in her disguise. No one—she hoped—would be looking for a lad, especially one who looked poorly dressed. The boots were a little big, but she didn’t care. Grabbing a cap, she tucked her hair up into it and took a deep breath.
And heard voices. Ella hunched down, peering just over the edge of the trunk. Had Ivar’s men somehow picked up her trail already? She’d stuck mainly to the deer trails of the forest last night, but running in the darkness, she’d probably broken a lot of branches. She’d certainly had enough tears on her gown.
But the sounds were coming from the nearby road. And she heard no hooves clopping along nor any jingle of bridles. The Vikings would hardly be walking when they had the horses the East Anglia king had given them. Slowly, she stood, and cautiously left the ruins of her village. As she inched her way toward the road, she was careful to stay behind clumps of gorse and bramble.
The voices grew louder, and she crouched again. It took but a moment until they appeared from around a cluster of small boulders. Nearly a score of roughly dressed men and boys—some carrying picks, and others, shovels—walked past. Ella breathed a sigh of relief. Not Vikings. Harmless peasants in search of a day’s work, no doubt. Since so many had lost their homes, groups were often seen walking the roads.
She waited until they had passed by. Then she left her hiding place and trailed behind them, hoping to blend in, as well.
• ♥ •
Bronwolf ran a hand through his disheveled hair and tried not to growl at Lynet and Deira as they clutched each other, their eyes frightened and wide in their drained faces.
He’d probably given them cause for fright, barging into their chamber with such force that the door nearly came off its hinges. He probably also looked like some kind of wild animal. He still hadn’t slept, and he had well over a day’s growth of stubble on his jaw…stubble that was much darker than his hair.
“Are you…” Lynet’s voice was trembling so much, it sounded like a squeak. “… are you going to punish us?”
“Please…” Deira sounded as pitiful as Lynet. “ …we—”
“I’m not going to punish you. I cannot promise what Ivar might do, though.” As soon as the words came out, he regretted them. The women in front of him clutched each other tighter. He sighed. “For now, I still have claim on you.”
Their eyes grew rounder and one of them whimpered. He swiped his hair again. “What I meant was, you should be safe since you are under my protection.”
“You…you… have been…good…to us,” Lynet stammered.
“We…appreciate how…kind…you’ve been,” Deira added.
Bronwolf eyed both of them. “Perhaps, then, you can return the favor?”
Deira nodded vigorously while Lynet asked, “What can we do?”
“Tell me where you think Aethel—Ella—may have gone.”
They gave each other wary looks. Bronwolf sighed again.
“You have to trust me. I must get to her before Ivar does. As angry as he is, he will take his revenge on Ella—and it will be brutal.”
They exchanged another look, and then Deira nodded at Lynet, who took a deep breath.
“She will most likely try to get to King Aelle.”
“Ja. Ivar suspects that, too,” Bronwolf answered. “But I’m sure Ella is smart enough to know it as well, and won’t take the main road to Crayke. Is there somewhere she might hide for a short time? Does she have friends nearby?”
Lynet shook her head. “No friends, but…”
“But what?”
“She came from a village not far from here. The Great Heathen…” She stopped, looking horrified at what she’d almost said. “…it was burned to the ground.”
“Ella had been berry-picking and returned to smoking ruins,” Deira said.
Bronwolf frowned. “No one else survived?”
The women exchanged looks again. “Some of the girls were taken away.”
He didn’t need for them to explain what that meant. Women far too often were considered merely spoils of war. “You think Ella may have gone to this village?”
“I don’t know,” Lynet said. “She said it was in ruins, but there might be a place for her to hide among them.”
Deira nodded. “And your prince’s men would probably just ride past it.”
“Tell me where it is.”
Once more, they hesitated and Bronwolf was hard put not to growl again. “Time is of the essence here. You must trust me.”
“First, though…” Lynet’s voice was stronger now. “Where will you take her if you find her?”
He hadn’t thought that far. By Odin, he needed to keep a clear head. “I will take her to Aelle.”
Deira’s eyes widened. “You could get caught.”
“I won’t.”
“Even if you don’t get captured by King Aelle, you might get caught by your own prince,” Lynet said. “You’d risk that for Ella?”
In that moment, he realized he would. “Yes.”
Lynet exchanged one last look with Deira. “Very well, then.”
As she proceeded to give him instructions, he realized he would be leaving Lynet and Deira with no protection.
“Do either of you have relatives nearby that you can stay with?”
“I have a cousin in a village south of here,” Deira said.
“Then I suggest you and Lynet dress as peasants and leave immediately. The fort is in chaos, and you shouldn’t have any trouble slipping out into the village. Once you do, make haste to get away. Ivar will be sending most of his men north, but some may spread out through the woods as well.”
The impact of his words was not lost on either of them. “We can get some scullery maid dresses off the clothesline,” Lynet said.
“Do so, and then go.” Bronwolf dug into a pocket and pulled out two gold coins. “Take these as well.”
Deira grabbed them and headed for the door. “Thank you, my lord.”
Lynet nodded as she followed. “You have been most kind to us. God speed.”
God speed. He would need it, he thought a few minutes later as he went down to the bailey. He would have to make sure Ivar saw him giving his men commands and then, he would slip away. Hopefully, he’d find Ella at her village and get her to Aelle unharmed.
He paused for a brief moment at the bottom of the stairs. If he did this thing, he would be branded a traitor. Whether Ivar found out or not. Ella had played him for as big a fool as the prince, but Bronwolf understood why and admired her for it. More than that, he could not allow Ella to be hurt. The truth dawned on him then. He cared for her. Maybe he even loved her.
Bronwolf took a deep breath, then opened the doors and stepped outside. He would not be returning.