Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

H uddled with the other women in a corner of the hut, Ingrid was doing her best to keep panic at bay. Night had fallen not so long ago and, as they had not been given any light, they could barely see their own hands. The darkness did not help her to stay calm. One of her friends was crying softly, not too far from her. Perhaps Helga, perhaps Frida, who was only eighteen and about to marry Magnar, with whom she'd been in love for years. The poor girl would be wondering if he would reject her after this, deeming her ruined.

If this happened, in one dreadful night the Saxons would have taken her innocence and destroyed her life.

The thought lent Ingrid some strength. She could not let it happen.

There had to be a way out of this nightmare, one she had not thought of yet. To her surprise, the men had not raped them straight away upon arriving in the clearing. Instead they had packed them all in a disused hut and bound their wrists and ankles tight to ensure they could not flee while they waited to be used for their pleasure. Why the delay, Ingrid had no idea. All she knew was that she could hear the men carousing outside by the fire, a terrifying sound, because the more they drank and egged each other on, the more determined they would become.

"Why do you think they have not come to us yet?" Helga asked in a whisper, huddling closer to her. Ingrid could feel her friend trembling and wished she could take her into her arms. They would both take comfort from the embrace.

"I know not."

It didn't make sense and she did expect the door to open any moment on the group of lechers, drunk on mead and lust. Would they each take the woman they had abducted, or would they share? Would they take them here, one by one, in full view of the others? Would they make them take part in the degradations? Every dreadful possibility crossed her mind. The men sounded in high spirits at the thought of what was to come. Although, now that she thought of it, the merry laughter and bawdy jokes seemed to have lessened a bit. All she could hear were strange groans and moans. What was going on outside? Had they found other women to assault? Was that why they hadn't come to them yet, because they were already too busy raping other innocents? No. She could not hear any screams or feminine protests.

Suddenly the door opened. Though it was dark in the hut, she recognized the man standing in the frame, alone. Caedmon. The other Saxons she had seen were far less imposing. His body, framed by the fire burning in the clearing, seemed huge. How had she ever thought him slender and elegant?

"You," he said, pointing in her direction. "Come here."

She glared at him, even if it was probably lost in the darkness. But did he really think she would obey without question? Well, he would have to think again. She might have no choice about what was going to happen, but she was not going to make it easy for him.

"How can I go anywhere? I'm tied up." He would know that since he had done it himself, of course, but she could not resist pointing it out. Not that she expected him to feel remorse over it.

Without a word he approached, causing the women around her to scuttle backward in fright. Ingrid forced herself not to move. She would not give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was terrified of what was to come. Only that morning she and Caedmon had broken their fasts together, he had asked her how she was feeling. And now he had tied her up like a slave and was about to rip the clothes from her body before using it to slake his lust. How had she ever trusted him? Disillusion, fear and resentment churned in her gut and she wondered if she would not be sick. Perhaps she should, as she imagined that finding himself covered in vomit would cool any man's ardor.

Or…Should she remind him that she was bleeding? Perhaps it would disgust him?

It was doubtful. He already knew it and he had not let it stop him. He seemed determined to have her, whatever her opinion on the matter, whatever else was going on.

He knelt before her, and then retrieved a knife from his boot. Ingrid's heart almost failed her. As if things weren't bad enough, he was showing her that he was armed. If she was foolish enough to try and fight him off, she didn't stand a chance. The fight would be over in a heartbeat. She would have to submit, or die. Before panic could overwhelm her, he sliced through the rope at her ankles and helped her back up to her feet. She fully expected him to throw her over his shoulder again but he only nodded toward the door, then waited for her to move. The gesture was incongruous, almost like a polite invitation.

After you.

Deciding to spare the other women the horrid sight of their friend being violated in front of them, Ingrid walked to the door without a word of protest. Once out of the hut, she considered running away before rejecting the possibility. In the dark, with her wrists still bound, she wouldn't go far, and then he would make her pay for forcing him to break into a run when his blood was up.

Heart in her throat, she spotted the other men sprawled by the fire. Was Caedmon going to share her with them? Men found this arousing, she knew. No. Taking her by the arm, he led her to a corner of the clearing, stopping only when they were under the cover of the trees, as if to hide her from view.

Despite the direness of her situation, she couldn't help a sense of relief. At least she wouldn't have to endure more than one assault for now. Biting the inside of her mouth so hard she tasted blood, she waited for him to throw her to the ground.

But to her intense surprise, he left her standing where she was and went to lean against the nearest tree, his attitude wholly unthreatening. What was that? He was supposed to pounce on her, was he not? He'd taken her into the woods to rape her, had he not? So what was he waiting for? Or perhaps the mad trance was over and he had reverted to his normal behavior?

His first words seemed to confirm this impression. "Are you hurt?"

Ah, so somewhere in his addled mind he'd understood that she could have been hurt, or at least afraid. Hope surged through her, quickly followed by disgust. Him being concerned for her well-being right now didn't erase the fact that he had earlier abducted her with the intention of raping her.

"No. Not yet," she said with all the venom she could muster.

There was enough moonlight filtering through the trees for her to see him wince. He didn't seem happy to be reminded of what was in store for her. Well, neither did she, so it was hard to sympathize.

"How are the women faring?" he asked, shuffling on his feet.

"How do you think? They are scared. They are worried about their men and children, who will have noted their absence by now and be wondering where they are. They are waiting to be used for your friends' pleasure." Her throat went dry but she thought she had better keep talking. If there was any chance she could make him see that what he was doing was wrong, she had to seize it.

As she spoke, however, Ingrid realized that she was not putting herself in the same category as the other women. Why not? Wasn't she waiting to be used for a stranger's pleasure as well? Weren't her wrists still tied? Hadn't she been abducted by a man who'd told his friends she was his? Yes. But…oddly, fear had receded to the back of her mind.

"Why haven't the women been raped yet?" she asked.

Caedmon winced again. For someone waiting to commit a crime, he seemed to have a strong aversion to anything relating to it.

"I convinced the men we had better wait a moment in case we had been seen by some of the Norsemen and followed. Then the screams of the women would surely draw them to us, and cut their pleasure short. I argued that a little delay could not hurt."

"Well, you were right about that!" Ingrid spat. How could he talk about it all with such calm, expose his twisted reasoning with such composure? Couldn't he see that delaying an assault on innocent women was not something to be proud of? "It makes little difference to us to be raped tonight or in the morning!"

He did not appear at all ruffled by her outburst. He really was mad, she decided, that was the only explanation for his behavior. If he could not see the horror and ludicrousness of what he was saying, or worry about her fear or feel guilt over his betrayal of the woman who had helped him, then all hope was lost.

Suddenly he moved. Sleek as cat, he crossed the distance between them. His eyes were both transparent and dark in the moonlight, a combination she would have thought impossible until now. She shivered and then recoiled. Wasn't she supposed to be frightened rather than fascinated?

"Listen, we have no time to discuss this right now. You are going to go to the Norsemen village and bring back help. I cannot fight four men on my own. If I could, I would have stopped them from abducting you and the women and none of this would have happened."

Stop them?

Ingrid took in a sharp breath as understanding dawned. He had never intended to take part in the expedition. None of this was what it had seemed at first. Relief washed through her, making her weak. Her instinct had not failed her. He really was the considerate, kind man she'd met the other day.

"You…These men, then, they're not your friends?"

"Of course, those bastards are not my friends!" Caedmon spat. She didn't need to hear any more to know he was telling the truth. He had only been playing a role. "I'd never seen them before today but I overheard them discuss their intentions when they walked past me at the river. There was no time to elaborate any sound plans, I just knew I had to do something. I did what I could to incapacitate them but it will not last forever. That's why you need to go get help."

Incapacitate ? What was he talking about now? "What did you do?"

"I found some death caps on the way here and put them in the ale as soon as we arrived. Fortunately the poison didn't take long to take effect. The men should be out of action for most of the night and leave the women alone. I don't think they will want to go anywhere near them while they're emptying their bowels and stomachs. This will give you time to reach the village and hopefully be back before dawn with some of your formidable friends. Then all together we can give the bastards what they deserve."

With those words, he took his knife out of his boot and cut at the ties binding her wrists. Then he rubbed at her skin gently, as if to apologize for tying her up and inflicting her pain.

Ingrid stared at him in disbelief. He had planned all this from the start. That was why he had made sure he would be the one to carry her away and stayed behind the group, why he had stopped to pick the deadly mushrooms while they ran. Yes, now everything made sense. She understood why the men's laughter had transformed into groans of pain as night had started to fall, why no one had been raped yet. Because Caedmon had been there.

He wasn't mad at all, just very clever and brave. He'd never meant to hurt her, but protect her.

"Why didn't you tell me what you intended to do earlier in the hut, in front of the other women?" They would have taken heart from the fact that help was coming.

Caedmon shook his head. "I didn't want to risk the men overhearing me, as I need to appear on their side until the Norsemen arrive. And I didn't want to raise the poor women's hopes up in case…Well, in case my plan doesn't work. But it might, if you hurry."

Yes, it might well work, if she ran. There was no choice anyway, it had to work. She simply could not have the rape of her friends on her conscience. Caedmon had done his part, she had to do hers.

She took his hand into hers and gave it a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Please do not thank me for not taking part in such a vile enterprise as raping women." He stared at her, returning the squeeze. "Will you know the way back to the village?"

Though she had been carried upside down earlier, Ingrid knew those woods like the back of her hand. She was confident she would be able to retrace her steps without getting lost, even at night. The moon, bright and round tonight, was throwing its light over the land and all the clouds had vanished. It was as if nature wanted to aid her.

"Yes. I know where we are. I'll be back before dawn."

On impulse, she placed a hand over Caedmon's cheek. "Thank you, Saxon. I'll never forget what you did tonight."

For a brief moment, he leaned into the caress and she thought she saw him close his eyes. Then he let go of her fingers and took a step backward.

"Go. Make sure you bring back at least three men."

In the end, she brought four. Wolf, Sigurd, Bj?rn and Magnus, the village blacksmith, who'd lent his cart for the expedition. If the expression on the men's faces was any indication, the Saxons didn't stand a chance. They would be ripped to pieces before they could say a word.

Not wanting to warn their enemies of their arrival with the noise of the horse's hooves, the company alighted from the cart some distance away from the clearing and traveled the rest of the way on foot.

Above the horizon, the sun threw its first rays. Dawn was just breaking, allowing them a good view of their target.

As soon as they reached the clearing, however, Ingrid knew something was wrong. She had dreaded being greeted by the women's screams but all she could hear were male grunts. It didn't take her long to understand that the men were fighting between themselves. And there was no prize guessing why. They had recovered from their indigestion and realized they had a traitor in their midst.

Heart in her throat, she started running, the men at her heels.

It was just as she'd feared. Caedmon was facing three of the Saxons. Two of them were restraining him by the arms, and the small, scrawny one was facing him. The fourth one was lying on the ground by the dying fire, either floored by an earlier blow from Caedmon or still prey to the mushroom poisoning. Either way, he was not a threat at the moment, which was all that mattered.

"Let that man go," Wolf ordered, his voice deathly cold.

The men all turned to face him, and that was when Ingrid saw it. The scrawny man was holding a knife and pointing it over Caedmon's heart. Everything within her dissolved. This changed everything. She could have brought twice as many Norsemen and it would still have been of no use. Armed, the Saxon had the upper hand.

"Don't come anywhere near or I'll bleed him like a pig," he warned, waving his weapon.

"No!" The word was torn from her throat. Caedmon could not die, not like this, not for helping her! She would never forgive herself.

Sigurd took a step forward, all menacing intent. He'd never been as patient as the Icelander, and she feared an outburst on his part, one that would have devastating consequences, but he stopped as soon as the man placed his blade against Caedmon's stomach.

"I said don't move or I swear all you'll get is his carcass."

Everyone froze. What could they do now? As soon as any of them made a move, Caedmon would die. No one would be able to reach the Saxon before he used his knife. His two friends were still holding Caedmon captive, so no escape was possible. There was nothing anyone could do to stop the massacre. If the man wanted to kill, he only had to extend his arm to do it. He could spill his victim's guts in a heartbeat. Ingrid stared at the scene in horror. Only a moment ago she had been so sure everything would be all right, that with five men against four they were assured victory. But now everything was turned on its head. They could have outnumbered the Saxons twenty to one, it would still have made no difference. Eventually the men would be overcome, but not before Caedmon paid the ultimate price.

"It's hopeless," she sobbed.

Bj?rn's hands landed over her shoulders, providing the anchor she needed not to sink into despair. "Wait," he said in Norse. "You're forgetting Magnus."

She frowned. What did he mean by that? It was only then she noticed that the smithy was missing. What was up? Did they have a plan she was not aware of?

Wolf put his hands up. "All right. Just tell us what you want."

Ingrid bristled. Surely he wasn't going to agree to the bastard's terms? Who cared what they wanted? Everything within her rebelled. But when Bj?rn's hands tightened over her shoulders in warning, she realized the Icelander was only trying to gain time, until Magnus could do whatever he had been sent to do.

But what was that? She could not understand how one man could overpower three.

"What do you think? We want a taste of your women," the vile Saxon had the gall to say. "We promise you can have them back after. But first, that man is going to pay for what he did."

It all happened in quick succession.

The man raised his hand, with the obvious intent of slashing through Caedmon's middle. He made contact. Blood spurted everywhere. Ingrid gagged and fell to her knees. Then a piece of wood appeared out of nowhere, and knocked the knife out of the man's hand. Wolf cried out, " Nù !" and the four Norsemen charged at the Saxons, three from her right, the smithy from the bushes to her left. She could only stare, while the clearing erupted into mayhem. After a while, she managed to get back to her feet and run to Caedmon. He was lying on his back, gasping for air, his face ghastly white.

Falling by his side, she pressed her hands on his wound. Hot, sticky liquid flooded her hands. No, by the gods, he could not die now!

"Don't move," she urged. "Don't move, don't move."

Ingrid could not say anything else, could not think, except for one thing. Had the smithy not thrown the branch to defect the blow so skilfully, Caedmon would be dead by now, his guts spilled on the forest floor.

"Oh!" she said in a sob. "Just…Please don't move."

"I won't."

Relief washed through Caedmon when silence finally filled the clearing. His plan had worked. The women were safe, the Saxons were out of action, possibly dead. Not that he'd cared if they were. They deserved everything they got.

By his side was Ingrid, pressing her hands on his stomach to try and stem the flow of blood oozing from his wound. It hurt like hell. He closed his eyes to focus on breathing. When he opened them again, an enormous man was standing over him.

"I'm Wolf." The Norseman introduced himself, as if he didn't think Caedmon would remember him. But he did. He was the one who'd had his stallion stolen the other day. "Ingrid explained to us what you did yesterday. On behalf of the men whose wives, sisters or daughters were taken, I thank you. You showed great bravery when you came to their aid."

"Please. I could not stand by when I overheard what the men had planned."

"I understand that. No man of honor could. But you were on your own, with no warning or time to elaborate a plan. Yet your courage and presence of mind allowed each and every one of the women to walk out of this nightmare unscathed."

"Yes," he rasped, "that is all I wanted."

Just then the other men joined them to announce that the Saxons were all unconscious.

"Are you sure you don't want them dead?" Bj?rn asked, his voice little more than a snarl.

"Yes," Wolf sounded as if he was forcing himself to be reasonable. "After all, they didn't touch the women in the end, and the death of four Saxons will not be so easily explained. No one apart from us knows what they intended to do. If they were found dead, it would look like a gratuitous punitive expedition and questions might be asked."

Caedmon could only agree with the Icelander's reasoning but he could see that the other Norsemen were more than ready to risk being accused of summary justice. They did not go against Wolf's decision, however.

There was a silence. Then Sigurd asked. "How bad is the cut on your stomach?"

"I'll be fine," Caedmon answered sharply, hating to have to be in Frigyth's husband's debt. Then he turned to Wolf again. "Your horses. They're in the field by the river, just behind the hut." Last night, before the mushrooms had taken effect, the men had boasted about the theft and told him all he wanted to know. "If you use the ropes binding the women's hands, you can easily get them back."

Wolf nodded, then he and Sigurd went to join the other men who had already gone to the hut to free the women. Ingrid stayed next to him, urging him not to move.

He closed his eyes again. Yes. If fever didn't set in, he might well be fine. But it had been a close thing.

All too soon the clearing was a hive of activity. Wolf and a man whom Ingrid had told him was the village smithy had managed to retrieve all the horses. Demon the stallion seemed as excited to be reunited with the Icelander as any child would be to be returned to his father.

"Magnus will ride back with the women and the Saxon in his cart while we men bring the horses home," Wolf declared to the group assembled in front of him.

"Now, wait!" Bj?rn snarled. "I'm not having my sister anywhere near the?—"

He was not allowed to finished. "He saved the women, it's the least we can do for him. Besides, even if he weren't injured, he would pose no threat to her or anyone. Or have you not understood what he did?" There was no answer and Wolf pressed his advantage. "His wound needs stitching. Ingrid is skilled with the needle, she will see to it as soon as they arrive."

There was no contravening the big Icelander in his role as leader of the village. Bj?rn did not protest further but he threw a lethal look in his direction, as if to warn him not to attempt anything. Caedmon would have laughed if the slightest movement had not caused his stomach to contract. A bad idea, considering the slash currently splitting it in half. Indeed, what could he do in his present state save lie in the cart and hope for the pain to dull? Nothing.

Sigurd placed a hand on Ingrid's brother's shoulder and said quietly, "You can trust the Saxon. He's a good man."

Ah, yes. A good man. As usual.

Caedmon barely repressed a sigh. But at least in this case he had done something to earn the name so he supposed he could not complain.

Without a word, Wolf helped him to his feet. Caedmon would have liked to refuse, but the maneuver was just too painful for him to do it on his own. Besides, he didn't need to lose more blood than he already had. Supported by the Icelander, he slowly made his way to the smithy's cart. A moment later he was settled amongst the exhausted women, who showered him with thanks and blessings. He merely nodded.

"See you at the village," Wolf said, before giving Magnus the signal to depart.