Chapter Text
"Lord!"
At Finan's call, Uhtred shifted his attention from surveying the small village he and his men were safeguarding. A tendril of trepidation curled in his gut as he followed the Irishman's worried gaze. What he saw made his posture straighten and his hand itch to grab the hilt of his sword.
The hooves of the Dane's horse barely touched the ground as it flew over the dirt road and towards the village. The warrior on its back seemed to melt into the beast in hopes of spurring it on faster. It was only as the horse and its rider drew abreast to him, did Uhtred speak.
"Sihtric, what is it?"
The Dane spun his horse around in a hasty circle, both beast and man breathing hard. "A raiding party, lord."
"How close?" Finan hastily broke in, coming to stand at his lord's side.
"Not long. Their destination appeared to be the village. They are making their way through the trees as we speak."
"Shit…." Uhtred muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. His thoughts swirled like a violent maelstrom with this new information. They had been told there were no Danes in the area before coming here. It's why he had brought so few of his warriors….
"Lord Uhtred?"
The Dane-Slayer peered just behind him, finding Osferth standing there, eyebrows pinched in concern. Clearly he had overheard Sihtric even though the young monk was supposed to be away helping the people.
"The….ah, the villagers are almost ready to leave." Osferth spoke in a monotone but the distress on his face told a different story.
The villagers. Those he had been sent to protect. There were no more warriors amongst them, no able-bodied men to fight off the Danes. The small village was too close to East Anglia, too easy a target for raiding Danes. That was why he had been sent here.
Swiftly, he shut down any inkling of fear, turning his mind to battle-strategy and calculations. He would need his mind clear to make certain the villagers, along with his men, saw the setting sun tonight. Valhalla nor the Christian heaven would greet them tonight if he had any say.
"How many, Sihtric?" Uhtred turned back to his spy.
"Thirty? Maybe more?" Sihtric slid from the horse with a quick glance towards the surrounding forest before returning his attention to Uhtred. "I was unable to count, choosing to make haste here instead."
"You did the right thing. Saved us from a surprise attack."
"Lord, there is one more thing."
His blue eyes swung back from staring in the direction Sihtric had looked to meet the Dane's dark eyes. "Yes?"
"I saw Haesten leading the raiding party."
A foul oath slipped from Uhtred's mouth as he exhaled sharply. His gaze dropped to the overturned ground and his hands landed on his hips.
"What's that pig's arse doing 'ere?" Finan demanded no one in particular.
Although Uhtred would have paid handsomely to know the answer to that particular question himself, now was not the time. Later he could mull over Haesten's presence.
"It matters not." He dispelled that line of questioning, gazing once more at the line of trees. "We need to prepare."
"Lord? Prepare for what?" Osferth glanced back at the small village they were supposed to be helping evacuate. His hands were clasped in front of him, a thumb tapping a rapid staccato against the other.
"Are ya certain of this?" Finan stepped closer, his voice dropping so only their small group could hear him. "We have less than half the men we need."
The Dane-Slayer dragged his gaze back to his friend, a cocky grin on his lips. "Then we will need to kill twice as many."
Finan snorted before smacking Osferth's shoulder. "Baby monk, time for ya to make yaself useful."
"I already do. Whenever I pray for the souls of you heathens."
"And an excellent job ya do. I feel more holy already."
"Finan, take Osferth and go tell the priest the situation." Uhtred commanded, his mind already focused on the upcoming battle. "Have the people make their way to that nearby hill overlooking the village instead of the main road. Tell them to travel only with what they can carry on their backs. Go!"
The two nodded, Osferth immediately taking off, his robe flapping around his legs. Finan gave Uhtred a long look before turning around and sprinting towards the village, his sword bouncing off his hip with each step.
"Sihtric, were the Danes on horses?"
"Just Haesten. The rest were on foot."
"At least we have that to our advantage." Uhtred muttered. He gazed over the area surrounding the small village, knowing soon it would be filled with the sounds of battle, with blood and bodies, sweat and tears. The Danes would come expecting an easy raid and find the little bird they had come to steal and stomp on had turned into a hawk with sharp talons and a piercing cry.
"Come, let us gather the men. By the will of the Norns, maybe I'll finally kill that rat Haesten."
Sihtric walked alongside, leading his horse. "I'll gladly help you put his head on a spike after."
The two warriors chuckled darkly, heading back into the village where his men lingered. Uhtred began calling commands to his men, rallying them to prepare to fight and defend the fleeing villagers.
As the winds shifted, he could almost feel the storm brewing on the horizon. As if nature itself prepared to bear witness to the battle and its dubious outcome. Uhtred could only hope the winds were favorable for his men and himself.
*****
This is not how today was supposed to go.
It was meant to be boring and straightforward. The worst was supposed to be that he might get into an argument with the local priest over his heathen antics or an stubborn, elderly woman about leaving behind a cherished momento.
Not a skirmish. Not a bloody fight.
There were not supposed to be any Danes in the area, or at least that was what Uhtred had been led to believe. Now he could not help but wonder if this was someone's simple way of finishing him off. A fleeting thought brought Alfred's face to mind but Uhtred dismissed it. No, the King of Wessex needed him too much to kill him off now. It must be someone else. And Uhtred had every intention of figuring it out once he made it back.
If he made it back.
Uhtred was already at the larger town nearby when the desperate plea for help came to the steps of the Ealdorman. Uhtred had been sent by King Alfred to scout the area but also help plan defenses since the area was on the border of Mercia, close to East Anglia. Hearing the plea, he offered his men and services to escort the weary villagers from their desolate village to the town, a place that provided better safety.
The village was to be only a day's journey by horseback from the larger town. A welcome respite since Uhtred's patience with Lord Odel, the local Ealdorman, was waning thin.
This was meant to be a simple, uncomplicated journey- he was to explain to the villagers their plea had been heard and space had been granted to them at the larger town, then escort them back.
But when had anything been easy for Uhtred?
Now the Dane-Slayer stood amongst his oathmen that he had brought with him. Less than half their opposition. The air crackled with tension with the change in the wind, the foreshadowing of battle. That tension seeped into his men, their eyes shifty as they awaited the Danes, and their grips on their swords and shields firm.
Although he remained poised, meeting the eyes of his men with confidence and assurance….internally, he wondered if today was the day they would be greeted by death. He swore to himself long ago, he would fight with every last drop of his strength to keep his men alive. They followed him with loyalty that inspired him. He would not fail them. He could not. But still that faint sense of doom could be heard in the brewing storm, echoed within his chest.
Heaven nor Valhalla would have his men today. He would not allow it.
"Lord!" Finan jogged up to stand by Uhtred's side. His sword was in his hand already, a light sheen of sweat on his brow.
"It is done? Where is Osferth?"
Finan nodded. "Aye. The pathetic priest went catatonic when we told 'im of the comin' Danes. One of the women stepped up and started givin' orders. It appears this is not the first time they've narrowly escaped a raid. Everyone's headed in the direction of the hill. We made sure to arm the few elderly men left and gave some of 'em older boys bows and arrows they use for huntin'. 'S not much, but if any Danes get behind us, they have some way to defend themselves."
"But do they have the fortitude to kill?" Sihtric murmured from Uhtred's other side, his gaze straight ahead where they knew the Danes would be coming.
Finan sighed but said no more.
The sounds of mayhem within the village had decreased over the past several minutes. Uhtred looked over his shoulder at the village, its scattered buildings, pens and gardens. Evidence of prior raids still stained the village. At the furthest end, he could see the villagers fleeing, some on foot and some on horses. He had made the decision to lend the horses of his men and his own to help carry those that needed it. Now he stood on the ground, surrounded by his oathmen in front of the village, a wall of men to protect the defenseless. They were to be the rock to break the wave of Danes and their destruction. Or so he hoped.
"And Osferth?" Uhtred shifted to follow Sihtric's gaze, seeing shadows move amongst the trees. The Danes drew closer.
"I told 'im to stay and help since the priest was useless."
"He can guard their backs too. That was wise."
"I try, lord." Finan quipped.
Uhtred would have rolled his eyes any other time at Finan's tease but not now. Not with the song humming in his blood readying him for battle.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Finan and Sihtric tap swords like they did before any fight. It warmed him to see the friendship that had grown between the Irishman and Dane. Unlikely companions but brothers by choice.
Up ahead, he could see the first Dane emerge from the surrounding forest. His flaxen colored hair hung loosely over his shoulders, his chest bare of armor or tunic bit riddled with tattoos and scars. A mighty axe was held in both hands but it was the bloodthirsty grin on his scarred face that made Uhtred swallow thickly.
The dim sound of movement behind him drew his attention away as more Danes slowly emerged from the forest. What he saw made him want to swear a black oath while simultaneously gape like a fish. Could the gods, for once, not mock him?
A young woman jogged towards them along the main dirt road that ran the length of the village. A sword and sheath were strapped to her hip over her green dress. A quiver hung across her back and one of her hands clutched a bow.
She jogged directly towards him, only stopping when she was within just out of arm's length. Her thick braid of golden hair swung along her back as she swiveled her head to glance at the approaching Danes then back to him. "Where do you need me, Lord Uhtred?"
For a moment, he stared at her stunned. She was dressed Saxon but the way she carried herself and her weapons spoke of something more. What truly made him pause, to sharply inhale in awe, was as she stood there in the sunlight, her eyes were the same color as the stone in Serpent Breath. Never before had he seen eyes like hers. He wondered if it was a sign from the gods. Freckles colored her pale face like stars in the night sky. Not even the small scar at the corner of her plump, bottom lip or on her cheekbone could detract from the beauty she simply was.
Before he could answer, one of his men nearby spoke up, redirecting attention to himself.
"Edlynne, what are you doing here? Go back and help your mother!" Werian hissed. His shrewd gaze darted from the incoming Danes to her and back, as if debating forcibly dragging her away from the impending fight.
She barely spared him a glance before meeting Uhtred's gaze. "Osferth said you needed all the help you could get."
The overflow of determination in the set of her soft jaw and in the brightness of her eyes surprised him. Even her stance was loose as if they were just casually speaking and not preparing to fight for their lives. She was taller than most Saxon women, her eyes at height with his chin. Her body was svelte, even obvious through the dress that appeared a size too large on her lithe frame, and with curves in all the right places that could easily draw a man's eye.
As he stared at her, blue eyes meeting amber ones, he questioned why the Norns would orchestrate this meeting between them….and why he felt as if a thread had woven around him and now bound itself to her.
A swift shake of his head was his attempt at dislodging the foolish thought and to focus on the present moment. "Girl, you need to return. I cannot watch you during the fight." Uhtred demanded, nodding back in the direction of the deserted village. "Guard the women and children with the others, you have no place here."
He witnessed the spark of a flame burn in her eyes, but as she opened her mouth to reply, Finan's comment silenced her words.
"It's Haesten."
Uhtred's gaze slid away from the woman behind him and to the growing party of Danes approaching. At least twice as many as his own men and then a few more, were all he could see on foot. But it was the one on horseback that captured his attention. With a smug smirk on his ugly face, Haesten gazed across the space between his warriors and the village, locking eyes with Uhtred.
Once Osferth had drunkenly confessed he thought Haesten looked like a deranged hog, with his squinting, piggy eyes, the wild hair around him like some kind of untameable mane and the two small tusks tied into his beard on either side of his chin. Uhtred and his men had laughed loudly before pouring Osferth another cup of ale.
The memory flickered across Uhtred's mind as he stared down the dirt road and met the man's gaze. He could slightly see the resemblance, even if he personally thought the Dane was a weasel.
"Is that you, Uhtred?" The Dane called out, narrowing those wily eyes. "Or do my eyes deceive me?"
"It is I...and what are you doing here, Haesten?"
The Dane gave a lazy shrug. "I am merely on a stroll with my companions on this pleasant day."
Uhtred heard Finan's scoff coming from his right but he ignored it, focusing on the Dane who lied as much as he breathed. "Dressed for battle?"
"You never know when an opportunity arises." Haesten chuckled, his gaze trailing over Uhtred's men. "I am surprised to find you here. I figured you would still be licking the boots of King Alfred, or wiping his ass."
The Danes laughed, a few beating their axes or swords on their shields.
Haesten continued, a malicious glee radiating from him. "I do wonder, does the shit of a king stink as much as a common man? And with how often King Alfred is sick, I bet it must be….well, I am certain you can tell us."
"Haesten, take your warriors and leave." Uhtred commanded, ignoring the insult. He had no patience to banter insults and jabs with a weasel like Haesten, whose mind was as thick as a fart.
"Or what, Dane-Slayer?"
"Or we will kill you."
Haesten sucked his teeth. "I doubt it. I see your woman hiding behind you. Perhaps I shall take her as my own after you are dead. I am in need of a woman to hump." Haesten grinned, then loudly called out to his men. "Any man who brings me Uhtred's woman will get their turn with her after me!"
That brought a riotous cheering to the Danes, several shouting insults in their language and a few making crude gestures. Meanwhile Haesten sat above them looking far too pleased with himself.
"Ah, shite." Finan mumbled, peeking over his shoulder. "Shoulda left when ya had the chance, lass."
Uhtred looked back at her and was shocked to not see fear in her face, only that silent determination she carried and a hint of excitement in her eyes. "Stay behind me." He ordered.
Another round of cheers sounded from Haesten's warriors. The sound of Danes readying for glory or Valhalla.
Uhtred pulled his sword from its sheath across his back. The sword sang its blood-song as it emerged, ready to spill blood and entrails on the hard ground. No longer did he try and still his racing heart but allowed it to gallop like a horse across the fields. It only pushed him further and faster. Shoving aside all doubt and concern, he directed his attention at the Danes. It was too late to change anything. Now he must focus on keeping himself and his men alive….and this strange woman.
Suddenly, her soft voice drifted to his ears as she whispered, just barely audible, from behind him. Yet it was what she spoke that almost made him lose focus.
"Æsir, heed my prayers.
Odin All-Father, bless us with your wisdom and cunning.
Great Týr, let not our enemies beat us but allow justice to prevail.
Share with us your profound strength, O mighty Thor.
Let us bring honor to ourselves that we could be called amongst the einherjar if the Norns sever our life thread.
Keep the gates of Valhalla open for us, so we may feast amongst those who come before us and in the presence of the gods."
Uhtred met Sihtric's own astounded gaze before looking back at her. It was not just that she called upon the gods that surprised him, and Sihtric too apparently. But it was the perfect Norse spoken as she prayed that shocked him the most. No Saxon woman would pray to the gods of the heathens, and equally only a rare few spoke Norse beyond a few scattered words.
His intrigue in the woman tripled after hearing her prayer. It felt every moment he spent in her presence, only brought about more questions as to who she was.
Questions he was inclined to seek the answers to.
Eyes closed, she took a deep breath at the end of her prayer. Then in a single, fluid motion, that bespoke years of practice, she grabbed an arrow and notched it. Only then did her amber eyes open and meet the slightly startled and dazed ones of Uhtred.
She gave him a slight head nod and he found himself returning the action before realizing what he had done. It was then the sounds of chanting, jeers and swords or axes banging on shields filled his ears once more. He blinked in startelement as he turned back around. He had not even noticed how her voice drowned out all else as he avidly listened to her prayer.
"Final chance. Do you wish to surrender, Lord Uhtred?"
"I would never surrender to a rat like yourself, Haesten!" Uhtred shouted back. "My men are worth three times as much as those pathetic creatures you call warriors!"
"Attack!" The Dane warlord bellowed.
With war cries on their lips and weapons drawn, the opposing Danes charged. The sound of their movement was like thunder rolling over the grassy fields, deafening all but the brewing storm.
Uhtred gripped his sword tighter, planting his feet into the hard ground beneath him. His shield was heavy on his arm but a familiar, comfortable weight he embraced. His vision narrowed onto the enemy, deciding who would die by his sword first. Bloodlust ran rampant through his veins like a wild stallion. Serpent Breath sang its siren's call, beckoning them forward to meet their doom.
"We're with you, Uhtred." Finan murmured from his side, his gaze never wavering from the rapidly approaching Danes. "Until death."
"That will not be our fate today, my friend." Uhtred answered. Somehow he knew it deep in his bones. Like a whisper into his ear from the breeze tugging at his hair, the winds were in their favor. The gods smiled down upon them today. Perhaps the woman's prayer had some merit to it after all.
A single arrow flew overhead, planting itself into the eye of a running Dane. An anguished scream shot through the air like a lightning strike. But no one paid any heed to the dying man as another arrow flew by. This one landed in the thigh of a warrior, causing him to tumble forward due to his own momentum and the injury. Another arrow immediately followed, catching a Dane in the face, dropping him to the ground.
Arrow after arrow was released on the encroaching raiding party. Most of the arrows found their mark, either killing or maiming its victims.
But it did not stop the fight.
With his own war cry, Uhtred led the change of his men. Blood roared in his ears, drowning the sound of his pounding feet and his panting breaths. Only the song of battle could be heard….and he answered with a savage zeal.
He swung his sword at the first Dane he encountered. The slim Dane blocked his swing with his own sword but stumbled back when Uhtred immediately followed his swing by knocking him with his shield. In that quick moment, Uhtred plunged his sword into the Dane's innards.
Without waiting, he spun on his heel, raising his shield just as another sword descended towards him. He parried with the towering Dane briefly before an arrow struck the back of the Dane's thigh. The Dane fought on, barely missing a step even though an arrow skewered him through his left thigh. The Dane rained down blows with his powerful two-handed axe. It was now Uhtred recognized him as the berserker that first emerged from the forest.
Only due to instinct did Uhtred suddenly lunge to the side. He spun, drawing his shield close as another Dane had snuck up on him, attempting to stab him in the back.
The berserker laughed as he watched his comrade fight, his voice like rolling boulders. "Ha! The Dane-Slayer may best you yet, Harald!" He jeered in Norse.
Finally, an opening showed itself and Uhtred swung his sword at this Harald's thigh, slicing down to the bone. The Dane dropped to his knees with a roar of pain and fury. But before his knees even hit the ground, Uhtred had slid his sword through the man's head, almost cutting it in half.
Swiftly, he turned to re-engage the massive Dane, momentarily surprised he had held back. Instead he found the berserker dropped to his knees with a bloody grin on his downturned face and two arrows sticking out of his bare back.
A loud curse in Irish wrenched Uhtred's attention back to his men.
With dirt, blood and brains on his face and sword, Uhtred returned to the fight without wasting a moment.
He parried and blocked, he struck and dodged. There was no thought besides the battle. No time for remorse or fear. He killed. And did his best not to be killed.
Except always in the back of his mind was the woman- the archer. Like an itch he could not scratch or an annoying fly, she lingered in his mind.
At one point, he saw she had dropped her bow and was fighting off two Danes. She managed to block their hits and dance away from their swings. One reached out to grab her, but she thrust her sword into his gut. Just as she yanked her sword back, a third Dane approached from behind and kicked the back of one of her legs. She stumbled, barely catching herself before the Dane attacked in a rage.
A tremor of fear burned through him. Uhtred tried to race to her aid, unwilling to see her fall, refusing to let her become a captive. But the pain-soaked shout of one of his men as he fell at Uhtred's feet, stopped the Dane-Slayer. He was forced to divert his attention to the Dane that struck down his man. Furor revived in him as he stepped over the body of his oathman. Lifeblood begged to be spilled.
Once he secured the death of the Dane, a new red stain coating Serpent Breath, he glanced up once more and felt an overwhelming wave of relief course through him as he noticed Sihtric standing by her side as they continued to fight, each their own man. With a quirk of his lips, he dove back into the battle with a shout, thrusting his sword into a Dane that attempted to get behind Finan.
As the skirmish wore on, Uhtred found his gaze returning to the woman in between opponents. Relieved when he saw her still standing, still fighting, but also in shock because she moved like a Dane….like a shieldmaiden.
But he did not have long to process the thought for another Dane would appear in his vision.
He was unsure how long the skirmish lasted, for battle warped time and made it both longer and shorter simultaneously. It was not until he was yanking his blade from the ribs of a man now at his feet, that he heard Finan's shouting.
"Haesten, ya coward! Get back 'ere and fight! I'll scalp ya hairy arse!"
Uhtred looked towards where he had last seen Haesten, still seated on his horse. Now though, the warlord was fleeing. Having turned his horse around, he kicked it into a run and made for the surrounding forest, leaving his men to die alone.
Without removing his eyes from the cowardly weasel, Uhtred spit onto the ground, hoping to shed the lingering taste of blood and betrayal.
"Ya alright? Ya injured?" Finan came over, clapping a hand on the Dane-Slayer's shoulder. He was breathing heavily, blood splattered all down the front of his leather armor.
Uhtred took a deep breath, giving himself a minute to take stock. He could feel a sluggish trickle of blood soaking into his tunic sleeve from a sword slice he had deflected and the sensation of both wet and drying blood on his face, evidence of those he had killed. His shoulder ached from the barrage of hammering against his shield he had endured. Overall he had escaped major injuries, something he was grateful for. "I am well. You?"
"A few scratches but nothin' else."
"Good. The men?"
The two men surveyed the area, noting the many bodies sprawled out or contoured on the ground as if still in the throes of dying. It appeared several of his oathmen were still upright. A surprising and pleasing realization. Maybe they would stop squalling and complaining like fishwives now when he forced them to practice and train. One of his men was still locked in combat with the last Dane further away, as if they were so absorbed they had not realized the overall fight was over and the Danish warlord fled. Another Dane crawled amongst the bodies, blood pouring out a missing eye. One of his oathmen walked over, lifted the Dane's head by his matted hair, and sliced his throat.
Uhtred turned away from the sight. "Sihtric?"
"I last saw 'im over there." Finan gestured in the direction of the village behind them.
Uhtred surveyed around at the carnage before shaking his head. He needed a moment before taking the tally of his men lost and those injured. "Let's find him."
"If we are lucky, a Dane killed that rat bastard and we can finally be done with 'im."
"You are just mad he won that bet. What? He cost you four silvers?"
"And I had to pay for his time in the brothel." Finan grumbled, wiping sweat and blood off his face with his dirty sleeve.
Uhtred was weary from the fight, his breath coming in uneven and his legs demanding a respite, but he still managed to hoarsely laugh and smack his friend's shoulder.
They walked towards the village, leaving the battlefield behind them. As they got closer, they could see Sihtric sitting and leaning against the side of a house. Beside him was the woman, cutting off a strip from the hem of her dress. Without a word, she wrapped it around Sihtric's calf, making him wince.
"Sihtric? Are you hurt?"
The Dane glanced up, seeing his companions approach. "No, lord." The woman must have intentionally tightened the wrap further causing Sihtric to hiss through his teeth. "It's just a scratch, lord. I knocked one of them down and he got me with his sword as he landed."
"If you are certain. We will still have Osferth clean it when we return."
"Yes, lord."
The woman finally sat back on her heels and turned to face them. Bright amber eyes met keen blue eyes and Uhtred felt unable to look away from her. His gaze scanned over her with pinpoint accuracy, searching for any kind of injury. At least, that was the excuse his mind conjured to explain away his blatant staring.
"I am unharmed." She softly murmured. Golden strands of hair stuck to her face and neck, glued there by sweat and blood. A blossoming bruise colored the side of her jaw. Her green dress now carried splatterings of blood on the torso and arms. When she shifted, a long rip in her dress could be seen, giving him a peek at a pale, toned thigh.
Uhtred grunted his acknowledgement since words seemed to suddenly fail him.
"Ya fought well. I didn't think Saxons trained their women to fight."
Her sharp gaze shifted to the Irishman. She seemed to hesitate a brief moment before replying softly. "I was not trained by Saxons."
"Danes trained you, did they not?" Sihtric commented, massaging the palm of his sword hand.
She bit her bottom lip, dropping her gaze away from them. Shielding her thoughts and words. Hiding away her truth.
"Are ya a Dane, lady?" Finan dropped onto the ground next to Sihtric with a groan. Even though his tone and actions were casual, Uhtred could see the intelligent gleam and intrigue in Finan's eyes.
She shook her head, uselessly attempting to brush dirt and blood off her dress.
"But Danes taught you to fight?" Uhtred probed, squatting down. His question came out more of a statement for he had seen her fight. Saxons did not move like that. Like they were born with a sword in hand.
"Yes."
"How?"
Those amber eyes scanned around, seeming to make sure they were alone. "Only few know of my training and by whom. I beg that you keep this information to yourselves."
"Our lips are sealed, lady." Finan cheekily winked.
"Thank you." She murmured as she looked over Uhtred's shoulder.
The Dane-Slayer glanced over, seeing one of his oathmen approach. Then it hit him that this was the same man that spoke so informally with her earlier, that called her by her name. A spark of jealousy ignited in his chest, catching him off guard, as he wondered how Werian had met the woman and become so friendly.
"Lord Uhtred." Werian said, walking up with a limp in his step and a bloody gash on his cheek. Although he spoke to his lord, his eyes lingered on the woman.
A flash of annoyance shot through Uhtred like an arrow. His voice came out more snappish than he meant but he felt no remorse. "What is it?"
"We were blessed by the LORD in this fight. We only lost four men to the Danes, with only Odar's injuries appearing life-threatening at the present. Stabbed in the side."
"That is good news indeed." Uhtred replied, running a hand over his mouth. Four men. He despised their loss, but it could have been far worse. The odds were against him and his men with the Danes being in greater numbers. Somehow they found favor and won. It was as simple and complex as that. They cheated death to live another day.
The Saxon bowed his head to his lord before speaking again. "With your permission, I will seek out the villagers and return with some of our horses. I saw an abandoned wagon nearby that we can place the injured in and find a healer."
"Good. Take Renweard with you."
"Thank you, lord." Werian returned his gray eyes back to the woman. "Edlynne, I will see you back to your family."
"Of course. I know a shortcut through the woods, that should lessen our distance."
"Excellent." Werian smiled at her, his short beard twitching with the movement, then started to limp away, calling for Renweard. He thrust a hand through his cropped, black hair, his other hand on his sword at his hip.
Edlynne gave a brief smile to the three men before rising to her feet with a quiet sigh.
Abruptly, Uhtred mirrored her movement, rising to his feet also. He reached over, wrapping a hand around her upper arm and halting her leave. "Who trained you?"
A teasing smirk grew on her face, even as her voice remained low as not to be overheard. "You did not think you were the only Saxon raised by Danes, did you?"
With that, she slipped away from him like a waking dream, leaving him in a confused daze.
He watched as Werian waited for her. As she came to stand before him, he placed a hand on her shoulder, seeming to ask her something. She shook her head then side-stepped him, forcing his hand to drop. With a short statement, she hurried to grab her abandoned bow and the few arrows nearby. Werian helped her gather arrows, always keeping an eye on her.
"Ah, shite. I know that look."
Uhtred looked over at Finan then Sihtric sitting side by side with matching grins. "What do you speak of?"
Finan pointed at Uhtred. "That look. The one ya are wearin'."
"What look?"
"The one that says ya about to do somethin' stupid."
Uhtred scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I do not have a look."
"Aye, ya do. Ya should leave her alone."
"Do not tell me you are not curious about her."
"I am, but this is her secret apparently. We should respect that."
Sihtric spoke up, his brow furrowed as he watched her. "I wish to know who trained her. There is something that feels familiar about her….like a ghost from a past life."
Uhtred gestured at his fellow Dane. "See! I am not alone!"
Finan sighed and rolled his eyes, thumping his head on the wall behind him. "Hild and Beocca would be disappointed in the both of ya."
"Have you not heard? Stupid is in my nature." Uhtred quipped.
"Oh aye, we know."
Uhtred chuckled, turning back to watch the woman and his two oathmen head in the direction they had sent the villagers to hide.
"Edlynne." Her name rolled off his tongue in a breathy whisper. The taste of it like cold mead after a hard day's work.
She had piqued his curiosity. A dangerous thing for he could be relentlessly persistent when he chose to be. And he had every intention of finding out about their shared pasts. He wanted to hear and know her story. To learn more about her and who trained her as a shieldmaiden. But overall, he needed to know why it felt as if the Norns had weaved their life threads together….and what it meant.
It would be at least a two day journey to the nearby town once they started. It would be slow moving with the villagers and now injured men. He had plenty of time to question her.
Or so he thought.