Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

I n the morning, seeing that Ingrid was restored to her usual self, Caedmon decided to leave. The sun was already at its zenith and he wanted to reach the town before the end of the afternoon, and give himself time to see if his grandmother was still there, and find a place for the night if she was not. There was no reason to linger in the village, anyway.

He'd gone to see Frigyth earlier that morning to say goodbye, and the meeting had not gone how he'd imagined—or wanted—it to go. To his utter mortification, she had laughed and jested about him still being here.

"You never came to the village to see me , did you," she'd chided, a smile on her lips. "You came to see your sweetheart, Ingrid! This, I didn't see coming, I will admit. How did you two even meet?"

There was no way he could answer that question, as, of course, he and Ingrid were not sweethearts, and they had met the moment she had taken his arm and announced to the world that they were lovers. He could not admit as much without making a fool out of both of them. Fortunately, Frigyth's youngest son, Moon, chose that moment to come crying that he had a splinter stuck in his foot. While her attention was wholly on the little boy, Caedmon watched her, marveling at how content she appeared to be in her new life. Growing up with a drunkard father, she had always had a haunted look, which he'd hated and had done his best to wipe from her face. Often he'd succeeded.

But now, that look had completely disappeared, thanks to someone else.

"I don't know if you knew my youngest sister, Birgit, married a man from Mercia and now lives there?" she asked once Moon had stopped crying.

"No," he confirmed. He'd not seen or heard of Brigit since he'd left for London. But he already knew the third sister had come to live in the village and had married a Norseman herself, who happened to be none other than Ingrid's brother. He'd seen the two of them the day before with their three children. Dunne looked happy with her own husband, he had to admit. The haunted look had gone from her eyes too. Damn these Norsemen. How were Saxons like him supposed to compete when they strutted about with their muscles, their braided hair and their fierce demeanors?

Women seemed drawn to them like moths to a flame.

"Thank you, Mama." The little boy placed a kiss on his mother's cheek and, to Caedmon's surprise, another on her stomach, before running back outside.

"I'm expecting another child for the autumn," Frigyth explained, blushing slightly, when he arched a brow. "We told the children last night. Moon is ecstatic to have another little sister or brother."

Bile in his throat, Caedmon did what was expected of him. He offered his congratulations on the upcoming babe, and pretended to be happy for her when his chest felt hollow with despair. Why had he come back? Was he such a glutton for punishment? Right at that moment, Sigurd entered the hut and Caedmon had to watch as he kissed his wife full on the lips and placed a gentle hand over her stomach.

"You look beautiful this morning, Birdie," the blasted man said, stroking her with what Caedmon could only describe as reverence.

What made the whole thing worse was that it was obvious he was not trying to make him jealous. He simply loved his wife too much to keep his hands off her.

Yes, all in all the whole thing had been excruciating.

"I should get going," he declared, before emptying his cup of ale. He allowed the taste to linger on his tongue a moment before swallowing. Damn, Ingrid's ale was remarkably good, both light and floral.

But yes, he should go, before he went mad.

"I will accompany you," Ingrid said, standing up herself. "I will go as far as the meadow before the river. There might be some wild garlic left for tonight's broth."

She took her basket and they set off together. Above them a light breeze ruffled the trees' highest branches, the rustling sound mingling with the birds' chirping in perfect harmony. Sunlight weaved its way through the leaves, and the air was scented by nature in full bloom.

It was a perfect spring day, full of promise. So why could he not enjoy it? That was one of the reasons he had left London. After so long spent in a town, he had wanted to be surrounded by nature. And now that he was, instead of making the most of it, he was seething inside, reliving his painful encounter with Frigyth over and over again.

He turned to Ingrid and saw that she was doing what he didn't seem able to do, lifting her face to the sun, smiling at the birds in the trees. At one point she stopped to gather a bunch of cowslips. Bringing the yellow bells to her nose, she took a deep inhale. When she stood back up, her eyes were aglow with pleasure. Dear God, how had he ever thought her plain?

He rubbed the back of his head pensively. It had been years since he had found a woman beautiful, or rather, attractive. That he could see Ingrid's appeal whilst mulling over Frigyth's rejection was more than a little disconcerting.

"Are you all right?" Ingrid asked, and he realized he must be scowling.

He nodded. "Of course. But I never thanked you for your help the other day. I'm not sure the accusation of theft would have been dismissed so easily without your intervention."

The flowers bobbed their delicate heads when she waved his thanks away with a flick of her wrist. "'Tis nothing. You would have done the same for me. And you did me a great favor in turn."

"I did nothing to alleviate the pain of your suffering," he reminded her. " That would have been a great favor. I only made sure you had something to eat when you woke up."

She gave a small, defeated smile. "No one can do anything about the pain. But they can feed me and make me more comfortable. They can stay and look after me, make sure I'm all right, all without me having to ask for anything. I truly appreciated what you did."

"Well, I'm glad."

She glanced at the clearing to her right and then planted her amazing blue gaze into his. Like him, she seemed at loss as to what to say and reluctant to part ways.

"I'll leave you here, I think," she said eventually. "Goodbye, Caedmon. Come say hello if you ever visit the village again."

"Goodbye, Ingrid. I will."

But he already knew he would not visit again. What would be the point, other than cause him more pain and show him what he could never have? Frigyth had never wanted him as a husband, and now she didn't even need him as a friend. He had better try to build himself a new life well away from her.

He set off for town with renewed determination but as he approached the river Caedmon found that he was parched. He knelt by the water and took a long drink. It was refreshing, but not as good as Ingrid's ale. The thought made him smile.

The little Norsewoman had made a lasting impression on his mind and he already knew he would not be able to forget her, despite their short acquaintance. She had been surprisingly easy to be with, making no demands, thanking him for doing nothing more than roast a rabbit for her when she was out cold with pain. Her heartfelt gratitude, her irrepressible appetite for life and her penchant for mischief, combined with her beauty, had been an intoxicating combination.

And, of course, there had been her outrageous jest about the two of them sharing a bed. To his shock, the suggestion had stirred his interest. For a shameful, inexplicable moment, he had even considered agreeing to the suggestion.

Should he have? Perhaps. As much as she'd claimed to be jesting, there had been a glint in her eye telling him she would not have been averse to it if he'd played his cards right. And who knew, a woman like her might have put an end to the endless cycle of disappointing conquests. She was so different from the women he'd met in London that she might well have been the solution to his problem. Dunne and Frigyth had found happiness with men from the village, why could he not do the same with a Norsewoman? Perhaps, being different from the women he was used to, she would expect different things from him, see him differently?

No, he was getting ahead of himself. They'd met two days ago and, even if he found her beautiful and desirable, he was neither ready nor willing to get settled with anyone. It might be that he would never be able to do so.

He splashed some water into his face, determined to put such foolish thoughts from his mind. It was then that he heard the voices. A group of men was coming toward him. At the moment they were hidden behind the bushes and didn't seem to realize someone could hear them. But hear them he did.

"We stole their horses and that was a great satisfaction."

A chorus of agreement followed the declaration. Then there was a sinister laugh and a second man spoke.

"Yes, but having had their beasts between my legs, I now feel in the mood for a different kind of ride, if you know what I mean. So we'll steal a few of their women. There are some rather comely ones in that village, I think you'll agree. Why should the savages be the only ones to enjoy them?"

"Aye, you said it!"

From his place by the river, Caedmon froze.

The bastards who'd stolen the horses the other night now wanted to commit an ever bigger crime. They were about to raid the village and abduct as many women as they could carry. His gaze darted to the meadow in the distance. He'd left Ingrid there on her own, looking for wild garlic. She would be the first one the Saxons encountered. They would take her.

And they would rape her.

His decision was made in the blink of an eye. He would go with the men, pretend to want a Norsewoman for himself. That way he would make sure to be the one abducting Ingrid, and protect her. She would be safe with him and, as soon as they'd reached the scoundrels' lair, he would let her go, so she could go get help for the other women. From what he'd heard there were at least four Saxons behind the bushes. As much as he wanted to rip them to pieces now, before they even got to the women, on his own he could do nothing to stop them. But he could at least ensure Ingrid was not hurt and the others got help. It was not ideal, but it was the best he could have hoped for.

He stood up and walked over to the men, doing his best to appear calm when his blood was boiling with a rage such as he had rarely felt. He would have to appear like the worst kind of bastard when all his life he'd been praised for being a good man. The irony was not lost on him. Would he even be able to do it?

He could only hope so. Too much depended on him.

When he broke through the bushes, the startled men turned to him with scowls on their faces. He didn't let it worry him. He was not in danger of being raped. He could face them.

"Forgive me, but I was by the river having a drink and I could not help overhearing your conversation." The word made him cringe inwardly. That had been no conversation! Nevertheless, he had to hide his disgust or his plan would never work. "I was wondering if you'd let me come with you."

The four men looked at each other uncertainly. It was obvious they didn't quite know what to make of his offer. That was good. Confusion was better than anger. They were all younger than him, he noticed, something that would also play in his favor. If he could impress them, they would be less suspicious of his motives.

"Let him come. The more the better. There is always strength in number," a rather scrawny-looking individual said. Caedmon repressed a sneer. Of course, he would prefer to be surrounded by burly friends. On his own he would achieve nothing.

"Why would you want to come with us?" The man nearest to him, who was also the oldest, was not so easily won over.

Caedmon knew nothing would convince him more than proving he was as vile as they were so he palmed himself crudely. "Why do you think? I have a taste for blonde women with fair skin if you must know and I have been too long without."

The other three laughed and made rude gestures. One of them, a tall, gangly youth, slapped him on the back. He'd been accepted into the group.

"Well, then, my friend, let's go."

One last bunch of leaves and then she would go. Pleased with the product of her gathering, Ingrid looked at her basket. It was almost full. She had more than enough wild garlic for an excellent broth.

Smiling, she took the path leading to the village and found herself wondering where Caedmon was now. Had he already reached the fork in the road, and turned right at the gnarled oak? Perhaps. With those long legs of his, he would be eating up ground. Just before she reached the edge of the forest, she encountered four of her friends, on their way to the river.

"Ingrid!" Helga, the healer's granddaughter, and named after her, greeted her. "Want to join us? We're going for a dip in the water."

"No, thank you, I was just getting back to?—"

There was no warning. One moment she was talking to the women, the next a swarm of devils had descended upon them, shouting and brandishing sticks.

Mayhem broke loose in the clearing. The women screamed and started to run in all directions, the men gave chase, catching them up before they could go very far and throwing them to the ground. Horrified, Ingrid recognized one of the attackers. Caedmon. There was no mistaking him, after two days spent in his company, she knew his every feature, even if she had never seen such a frightful expression on his face before.

What was he doing here, in the middle of a group of attackers?

The shock was so intense that for a moment she couldn't move. Taking advantage of her immobility, a scrawny man seized her by the wrist and started to draw her to him. How dare he? Shaken out of her trance, Ingrid kicked him. Her foot connected with a hard shin, the pain of the contact causing both the man and her to scream at the same time.

Then, just as she braced herself for retaliation, she heard Caedmon's snarl right in her ear.

"I'll take this one."

A moment later she found herself with her face pressed against his chest.

I'll take this one ?

Had he just said that? Yes, he had, she wasn't dreaming, the men really meant to abduct her and her friends, and the Saxon who had slept under her roof, eaten her food, looked after her, really intended to rape her , who had come to his aid only the other day, in preference to the others. Fueled by rage and fear, she started to pummel at his chest. It didn't take her long to see she was inflicting little, if any, damage.

"Let's go, before the savages come running after us!" the man who was holding Helga cried out.

A moment later Ingrid was thrown over Caedmon's shoulder and held in place by iron arms. No matter how much she ranted or however much she tried to disentangle herself from his hold, she could not move. From her upside down position she saw that the other women were treated in exactly the same manner.

Then the men started to run. Caedmon was the last in the group and going slower than she had expected. Either he had no idea where he was going or she was heavier than he had expected and he was finding it hard to keep the pace with the others. Good, she thought savagely, wishing she weighed twenty more pounds.

Suddenly he stopped and knelt down. It took her a moment to understand he had seen a cluster of mushrooms and was picking them.

He was mad, he had to be. Who in their right mind stopped to pick mushrooms in the middle of an abduction? The realization froze the marrow in her bones, because if he was really mad, then there was no telling what he would do to her. Oh, of course, she had already guessed he would rape her…Men did not abduct women to shower them with gifts and massage their feet. No, unfortunately, she was under no illusion as to the men's intentions. The women would be taken to a secluded, grimy place and then they would be raped, probably more than once, probably by more than one man. That was bad enough.

But if they were also mad, then they might do worse than that. They might well cut them with their knives during the assault or kill them afterward.

She tried to scream, even though all the air had been sucked out of her lungs by her position, tried to hit Caedmon, even if she could tell her blows had no effect. But she could not just give up, make him think she did not mind being treated like a victim, because she did mind.

"Let me go, you monster!"

No answer, no reaction. He didn't even slow down. Ingrid stopped struggling to focus on breathing. Her vision had blurred, and her head felt ten times lighter than usual, or heavier, she wasn't sure which. She already knew she would collapse when he finally placed her back on her feet, and be unable to fight him off.

It was her worst nightmare, come true. Again.

Tears pooled in her eyes when she imagined him pouncing on her.

No, not him!

Where was the kind man who had knelt by her pallet and told her he had prepared everything she needed last night?

She had only left him in the meadow a short while ago. There had been no sign of madness in him then, he had seemed perfectly normal. So what had happened? Ingrid had once heard Wolf talk about a man he'd met in town who was seemingly in possession of two identities. He could be perfectly amiable at the start of a conversation and then turn into a veritable fury for no reason that anyone could discern. Was Caedmon one of these men? Thoughtful guest one moment and evil rapist the next? And where had he found his friends? He'd come to the village alone, or so it had seemed. Had it all been premeditated? Had he been sent ahead to assess the lay of the land, establish the best place for them to strike?

It was better not to try and make sense of it all, and instead pay attention to where they were going. She wanted to be able to retrace her steps in the unlikely event that she managed to escape.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached a hut in the middle of the forest.

This was it, the place where their ordeal was to take place. It took Ingrid all her determination not to faint.