10. Erik

Chapter 10

Erik

T hey had ridden for most of the day and stopped by a shaded river glen just before night fall. With the men running around setting up camp, Erik took Cherine away from them and made their own sleeping area along a fallen tree, its bark covered with deep green moss and lichen.

Her hands were still bound, and when she asked for him to untie her so she could do her business in the woods, he was reluctant to do. He figured she’d try and make a run for it, even in the darkness, even with nowhere to go. And he’d be lying to himself if he thought she shouldn’t. He knew the moment he would have to give her over to Rolf, she’d be in real danger. Despite the way she eyed Rolf earlier, like a child in awe, he knew that was no guarantee of the way Rolf would treat her.

But there was a part of Erik that wanted to keep her and thought that as long as she was with him, there was a chance she could be all right. Maybe Rolf would grow bored with the idea. Or, just maybe, he and Cherine could leave the Vikings behind and start a new life together. Leaving this violent life had been on Erik’s mind ever since he said goodbye to M?re.

It was probably a silly idea, no matter how many nights he lay awake examining it. It was just one that wouldn’t go away. He kept that thought in his head as he nodded at Cherine and loosened her ropes. His eyes were tight on hers, barely visible from the small fire he had built.

Please come back to me , he thought but didn’t have the courage to say.

Once released, she rubbed at the raw marks the ropes had left behind, then quickly nodded her thanks and ran off into the trees, her ruby red dress flowing behind her.

If you were a bigger man, you would have told her not to return , he told himself as he settled down on the blanket at the base of the log. A soft pile of fallen leaves provided a comfortable bed, and he suddenly felt weary with fatigue. The day had been long, the ride easy yet tiring. He tore into an apple he’d taken from one of the carts and munched on it while waiting for her to return.

Five minutes had passed before Erik started to get worried. Instead of relief at the thought of her escaping the destiny of Rolf’s clutches, he felt foolishly rejected. He thought, perhaps, she would have come back because she wanted him, needed him, maybe even liked him. He swallowed the peculiar sense of loss along with the apple, both feeling too thick to get down his throat.

Then, before he had a chance to wallow in his unwelcome feelings, Cherine was back at his side and settling down onto the blanket beside him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said, noting his widened eyes.

He handed her the half-eaten apple. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

“You Vikings get afraid? Now I’ve heard everything,” she said with a slight smile. She looked devilishly beautiful in the firelight, her green eyes dancing with the flames. It took all of Erik’s self-control not to kiss her right there and then. It was one thing to tie her up and force her into an orgasm, another to desire a soft kiss and jumbled thoughts of romance.

He bit his lip and busied himself by bringing out another apple and a handful of walnuts that he spread out on the space between them.

“So, tell me,” he said, cracking open a nut with only the strength of his bare hands. Her eyes opened wide. The fair maiden was impressed. “Were you betrothed to anyone?”

It was a risky question. He didn’t want to ruin the levity of the mood, but he was curious, wanting to know more about her.

She sunk back against the log, nestling her hair into the dewy moss, and gingerly accepted the piece of walnut he was holding out for her. “In a way.”

His heart sank. “Oh.”

He felt remotely guilty that the man was most likely dead, perhaps at his own hands.

She brushed her hair back behind her ear and exhaled softly. “His name was Pierre. I didn’t want to marry him, but he was the only man available and closest to my age. All the fishermen were too old or taken, and we aren’t…or we weren’t…allowed to marry outside of the estate.”

He nodded, feeling a bit better at that admission. An arranged marriage didn’t seem enviable. “How old are you?” he asked.

“How old are you ?” she countered.

“Twenty-six.”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s fairly old for a peasant to not be married. You didn’t have a lover on the side?” Now, his voice was prickling with hints of jealousy, and he chastised himself for being so obvious about it.

“Not particularly. Women get in trouble for that sort of thing.”

He searched her glowing eyes. “Ah, Christian sensibilities, yes?”

“Yes.” Her brow furrowed softly with remorse. “I had a friend, however. Marc. He was Pierre’s younger brother. And he was my only friend.”

“And you gave yourself to him?”

She looked at him sharply, and he raised one hand in a plea.

“Cherine, I know you’re not a virgin.”

It was hard to hide the shock on her face. “How do you know?”

His cock twitched with the memory of the morning. He lowered his voice, “Because no virgin would give herself so easily to me. No virgin would know her body like the way you know yours. You’re entirely at peace with your primal desires. No wonder you came so quickly.”

She gave him a look of disgust, but Erik knew there was a facet of truth in there. “That is none of your business. And I gave nothing to you. You took it.”

“Fair enough.”

“And to say such crude things to a lady.”

“You’re not a lady, Cherine.”

She looked down at her hands and muttered, “Right. I am but a peasant.”

“No,” he said roughly and reached for her face. He caressed her cheek with his knuckles, and she closed her eyes in response. “You are a woman. A very beautiful, dragon-hearted woman. And you’ll make a man very happy one day.”

He just didn’t know what man.

After they finished their meager snacks, they both settled down into the blanket. The forest was filled with the late-night camaraderie and snores of the men, but still, they had no problem with falling asleep. It wasn’t raining, which was fortunate, since they didn’t have a canopy over their heads. It wouldn’t have mattered to Erik, who was used to weeks at sea on deck, with only animal skins to protect him from the elements.

It was in the middle of the night that Erik awoke with a start. He had been sleeping on his side, between Cherine’s back and the log, and in the dying light of the fire, he could see a silhouette lurking by her legs.

Erik sat up. “Who goes there?”

Cherine awoke at the sound of his voice and, upon seeing the shadowy man, she leaned back into Erik, who had wrapped a protective arm around her. The rest of him was ready to pounce.

He heard the high, humorless laugh and knew it was Ross.

“Ross. Get out of here before I stake you.”

“Stake me?” Ross said, swaying a bit on his legs. “You’d never get away with that.”

“Like hell I wouldn’t.” Erik stared hard at the man, knowing Ross could see his face in the flickering light.

Ross leaned over and ran his hand up Cherine’s leg. Erik could feel her twitch, trying to get away from his touch.

“You walk away now, Ross. Walk away, and I won’t kill you.”

Ross laughed again. He was drunk off his tree, which wasn’t unusual. Erik could barely stand the deviant bastard when he was sober, and that wasn’t often.

“She’s not yours,” Ross slurred. “Why should you get to hold on to that whore?”

“I know she’s not mine,” Erik said, his voice cold as steel. “She’s Rolf’s.”

“Then seeing as Rolf likes me as much as he likes you, he wouldn’t mind if you passed her my way.”

Erik tightened his grip around Cherine, grateful she couldn’t understand a word of what was being spoken.

“Should I take it up with Rolf? I bet he won’t mind,” he continued, baiting him.

Erik didn’t bite though he feared his next words. “Go ahead.”

He could feel Ross’s hidden eye bearing down on him. There was a moment’s pause as he thought it over. Finally, he said, “You should be careful. This new role as hero doesn’t suit you…Erik the Axe.”

Ross gave Cherine’s leg one last squeeze before turning around and stumbling past the embers and into the woods.

“Are you all right?” he whispered into her hair.

She nodded. “I am.” She sounded so small in the night.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he went on, hoping she could hear the determination in his voice. But as determined as he was, he wondered what would happen when she became Rolf’s and he was no longer there to protect her.

Morning came with the songbirds. Erik was already awake, unable to fall sleep again after Ross had left. He had got a fresh fire going and was watching Cherine doze, curled up in the blankets among the leaves. Her skin was so even and fine in the early dawn that Erik wished for his brush and easel that he had at his mother’s place back in M?re. Cherine would make a beautiful painting one day.

When she did finally wake, her black hair cascading down the sides of her face in messy waves, he had brought her water and bread from the rest of the men. He didn’t see Ross out among them, which was just as well. He was ready to do some serious damage to him.

He did, however, see Rolf, who had kept to himself at night. Erik made no mention of Ross’ visit, lest Rolf think that sharing Cherine with him would be a prudent idea. And the more Rolf made suggestive hints about her, the more Erik feared he’d lose his hold on her. Still, Rolf didn’t ask for her, and instead, he conspired with Erik about the best course of action when taking Saint Martin.

It was going to be a bloody battle. There was no way getting around it. They knew they’d lose half their men to the French forces, but that was all part of Rolf’s plan. He knew they’d still win, and the more devastating the fight—to both sides—the more the news would travel. Rolf wanted nothing more than to be the man to fear in France. He wanted the country to cower at his warrior cry.

“I trust I can count on you to be fighting alongside me,” Rolf said. Erik knew that look in his eyes all too well. His leader was doubting him.

“Of course,” he said, not daring to ask.

Rolf slowly rubbed at his beard. “You see, I’m worried about you, old friend. I worry you’ve gone soft.”

“Cherine will stay in the back. I’ll have Knut take care of her.”

“This isn’t about the whore,” Rolf said, and Erik’s chest tightened at that choice of words. “Erik, I saw the way you fought in Criolium. Gone is the fearsome Erik the Axe, and I just don’t know where he’s gone to.”

Erik met Rolf’s eyes, risking he’d see through him. “I killed many men.”

“That you did,” Rolf agreed. “But not the way you have before. You used to be a warrior, and now…you’re practically civilized.”

And is that such a bad thing? Erik thought. He looked away at the rest of the camp, men who inspired the word “berserk.” It was true that he no longer fought with his axe, lopping off as many heads as he could come across. Erik the Axe was a bloodthirsty, ruthless machine who fought for the respect and approval of his oldest friend. But now that he had that approval, a position as second-in-command, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep it.

“A little civility goes a long way,” Erik reasoned, keeping his tone light. “If the men die and we win, what does it matter how they died?”

Rolf chuckled, a deep, rolling sound. “Because killing should be an art. It should be an event. It should be fun. It’s what Odin wants for us, why Valhalla awaits us. You know, I miss those days when I could see the passion in your eyes. My gods, you were quite the sight, Erik. You were something else.”

He was someone else.

“I am sure this will be an event,” Erik conceded. “So, what is our strategy?”

And with that deft change of subject, Erik got Rolf focused on something else. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much strategy to this attack. There was no sneaking or hiding or spies or Trojan horses. They were going to ride up on their horses and attack. And unlike the way the French rulers fought, Rolf would be at the very front, battering down the manor’s front door.

When Erik returned to Cherine, she was huddled by the log, looking put out. As soon as she saw him, she jumped to her feet and ran over to him.

Her delicate hands clasped around his arm, and his heart warmed at her touch. “I thought you had left! I didn’t know what happened to you.”

“I was just talking with Rolf.”

“You left me alone,” she went on, still panicked, perhaps even annoyed. “I could have been attacked.”

He smiled. “I didn’t leave you alone. I had someone watching over you this whole time.”

Erik looked to the trees and waved his arm. Cherine peered over, and a strapping young man came out from behind a tree.

He was a year old than Cherine and had messy black hair that waved around his forehead and stopped at the nape of his neck. Though his attempts at a full beard never took, he sported a goatee and mustache that made his young face look more rugged while his hazel eyes glowed with youth. He was not only a good-looking young man, but an eager one as well, and Erik held him in high regard.

“Cherine, this is Knut,” Erik introduced them.

She raised her brows while Knut did a small bow.

“Knut is one of the few men I trust,” he explained. “He grew up down the road from me in M?re, his mother and my mother very good friends. He doesn’t understand a lick of French, so I’m afraid he won’t be good for conversation. However, he will take care of you during the battle.”

Her eyes widened to emerald pools, fear palpable in them. “Battle?”

“Yes, battle. Saint Martin should only be a few more hours, and then we must take over. You understand.”

“You know I do not.”

“Regardless,” he said, turning from her and placing his hand on Knut’s shoulder, “you will be in Knut’s care. You’ll both stay with the carts, watching over them and each other. And I’m sorry, but…”

Erik reached down and picked up the rope. Before Cherine had a chance to react, he had grabbed her by the arms and pinned her wrists together.

“You bastard,” she sneered, trying to do serious damage with her eyes. “Why are you tying me up again?!”

“Because I don’t trust you with Knut. I also can’t risk you running off to join your fellow countrymen, perhaps even trying to warn them. If you did that, you’d end up killed in some way.”

“Are you going to be the one to kill me?” She glared at him as he finished the knot.

“Now that you’re tied up? No.”

She was back to hating him, and he wondered how long that would last. It didn’t matter, though; the ropes were for her own protection. If she tried to run off—and he knew she would the moment she saw another Frenchman—the others would try and kill her on the spot.

And knowing Rolf’s twisted sense of justice, he knew he’d be the one forced to do the killing.