by Robynn Gabel
They came upon another small stream, and Odinørindi leaned his head down, slurping eagerly at the cool water. Seraphina stayed mounted, looking around nervously. The stallion stiffened under her, raising his head, water dripping from his chin, and ears pointing forward as he suddenly focused on the trees beside them.
Before she could turn away, the dull thump of hooves on the forest floor announced the arrival of three riders. They came through the brush, and the leader pulled up his sweat-darkened horse beside her. The other two spread out on either side of her.
Seraphina stiffened. A little voice inside told her to flee. Clenching her hands on the reins, she held her position. The leader’s brown hair was disheveled, naturally curling past his shoulders, and his hazel-colored eyes swept over her, widening as they took in the stallion. She noticed his shirt—split at the chest, the belled sleeves gathered at his wrists, and a leather vest worked with gold trim snugged over the shirt. The son of a landowner from the looks of him, Seraphina thought, one hand unconsciously tugging the tunic over her exposed knees.
“What, prayeth, are you doing out here, girl?”
His two companions were dressed just as finely as he was. A brace of rabbits hung from the leader’s saddle. From Odinørindi’s sudden interest, as he strained against the makeshift reins, she knew at least one of them was riding a mare who was probably coming into heat. She circled him tightly, answering in a calm tone.
“I am the niece of Bratten Smarth. I was taken from my home last night by Norp wegs who raided my village. I escaped by taking the leader’s horse, and I am trying to find my aunt and uncle’s farm. Please move your mares away, as I am not sure I can control him.”
Hearty laughter came from all of them, but the leader’s eyes narrowed as he looked her over.
“So you say. I think you are a serf who has taken her lord’s horse and is fleeing. Dismount now, girl.” The look in the leader’s eyes had grown hard.
“You may think what you may, but I speak the truth. Now, move off and let me continue,” Seraphina demanded.
He reached out to grab her arm. Pressure from her left knee should have cued the stallion to turn away from the leader, but the stud balked, shaking his head. The leader missed her arm and grabbed the reins instead.
“Let go, you oaf!” Seraphina fought, pulling the reins back. The other two men crowded into her, and the stallion went up, legs pawing. The leader’s horse, a wild-eyed gelding, lunged away. They both tumbled from their horses, dangerously close to the stallion’s prancing hooves. She scrambled to her feet, and pain shot up her right leg. One of the leader’s companions fought to control his mare when she turned and backed up into the stallion. Shouts filled the clearing as the stallion’s neck arched, and he shouldered in alongside the eager mare.
“Someone grab that stallion! Duffy, get your mare out of here!” the leader shouted. Seraphina gouged at the hand holding her arm, and he cursed, tightening his grip. She balled her fist and put all her fury into a straight punch at his nose. His free hand immediately tried to stem the instant flow of blood.
“You witch!” the leader hissed. Pulling her away from the frenzied stallion, he threw her against a tree, the side of her head cracking against the rough bark, and for a moment, the world wavered before her eyes.
Grabbing a handful of her hair with his bloody hand and a tender breast with the other and squeezing it with cruel strength, he sneered. “You will pay for striking me, you whore.”
She gasped. “How dare you! I have spoken the truth; I am Lord Forthred’s daughter, you fool.” He pressed her against the tree as shouts and a stallion’s scream rendered the world chaotic with sound.
Her hand brushed across the hilt of the sword at her attacker’s belt as she tried pushing him off. His bloody face leered down at her. Her vision wavered again, and she caught sight of Odinørindi mounting the mare, his hind end swinging around, knocking into the man holding her.
Letting go, he stumbled, shouting, “Get out of the way, you rutting nag!”
The frenzied stallion paid no attention to where he was stepping. A sickening snap, a thin scream of pain, and Seraphina knew the leader of the group would not be chasing after her.
Staring down at the short blade she clutched in her hand, she sucked in a huge draft of air, pushing forward on legs that wobbled and focused all her strength on fleeing. In the woods, she saw the leader’s gelding bring his head up at her approach. The brace of rabbits bounced against the saddle. He edged away until she grabbed his reins. Bringing him alongside a log, she slipped into the saddle, grateful for its support. She sent the horse galloping, the commotion behind her fading.
Throwing away caution, she headed to the pathway that would take her around the ridge. Her head throbbed, and she felt the side of her scalp where something warm and sticky matted her hair. She stared at her fingers coated with the bright red of blood.
In the muted shade and sunlit spots of the forest, she tried to get her bearings, pushing the tired horse on. The pounding in her head increased, creating a dull ache. Where the stream wound around a thicket, she stopped and dismounted. She washed some of the blood out of her hair and took a long draft of the water. Listening, she still heard no sounds of pursuit.
She must get to her uncle’s hold. He had enough serfs to protect them from Einar, and with her warning, they would be prepared, unlike the night before. She headed out again, shadowing the road by riding the edge of the forest. Waiting for a shout behind her at any time, she wished a pox on the landowner’s son.
The pain in her head was a sharp, unrelenting ache. Panic grew, and she worried she had missed the little turnoff that led into a small valley beyond the ridge. Maybe she had been heading away from it all along and soon would be in Grimsby. Without male protection, that would be disastrous.
A black-and-white mongrel came toward her, nose to the ground. The gelding snorted, and the dog ran up, jumping around like he had found his long-lost owner. The horse shuffled nervously at the dog’s antics, and she heard the creaking of a wagon before she and the stolen gelding could slip into the woods to hide.
Seraphina caught the surprised look in the brown eyes of a balding man who had a heavy tan blotched with age spots. He sat atop a rickety wagon full of hay with a thin ox pulling it. He gaped at her.
“Heavens, girl! Who beat you?”
Raising her hand to blood-matted hair, she winced at the tenderness of the gash underneath it. She suddenly realized how she must look, with blood smeared all over her tunic, face, and arms.
Her voice croaked out, her mouth dry, “I am trying to find my uncle’s hold. Do you know Bratten Smarth?”
“Yes, I do. But first, we must get you some water.”
Reining the gelding out of the trees, she headed toward the man. He climbed down, and she saw a weatherworn smile that showed a few missing teeth and a twinkle of kindness in his brown eyes. “What is your name?” she said.
“Croften. I have a little cottage down the road from here,” he replied.
He reached up his hand; gratefully, she took it and slid from the horse’s back. The dog jumped up, putting his paws on her waist, wagging his tail excitedly. Croften gave her a skin of water and a hunk of cheese. Eagerly, she quenched a raging thirst and hunger. She watched him tie the gelding to the back of the wagon, and the hungry horse availed himself of the hay.
He threw a stick for the energetic dog. “Why are you out here alone, Ladye? Fleeing a harsh master?”
“You are the second person to ask me that. Do I look that fearful?” Her hands smoothed down her hair, picking out a twig or two. “My tale is much more fanciful than that and may sound unbelievable.”
He gave her a smile that crinkled into suntanned lines. “It is a way yet to your uncle’s farm. You can tell your tale as we travel there.”
Holding out his hand, Seraphina gratefully accepted it. After helping her get settled on the wagon’s timeworn seat, he turned the gelding loose, patting its rump,
sending it off to find its way home.
She related the events, Croften nodding, concern creasing his full cheeks. Soon, a little path turned off from the main road to run between the trees. Seraphina gave a sigh of relief. The ox labored, pulling the creaking wagon to the top of the rise. She looked over the vast farmstead that rested at the bottom of the hill. The checkered fields were vibrant with the spring green of the first planting. A large stone-cobbled house with a heavily thatched roof nestled in the valley—crofts and a barn around it like chicks close to a hen. Around all of the buildings was a stout rock wall, protecting them. It spoke of her uncle’s wealth as a landowner.
Watching, Seraphina could see no sign of any upset. At the house, there was no movement except for the lazy wisp of smoke from the chimney top. She knew Einar had no knowledge of the countryside and prayed he couldn’t find her here.
“I do not see any Norp weg lurking anywhere. I think you are safe,” Croften whispered.
Seraphina let out her breath. “You are right. Thank you.” He slapped the reins on the ox’s back, and the wagon lurched forward. After reaching the bottom of the hill, they passed through a wooden gate in the wall.
“Aunt Aleen, Aunt Aleen!” Seraphina called as they drew close to the house. Her aunt stepped out of the well-kept house, shading her eyes to see who approached.
“Seraphina? Is that you, child? What are you doing here? Where is your father?”
Slipping off the wagon, fighting against her light-headedness, Seraphina threw her arms around the plump figure.
“Oh, Aunt Aleen.” A sob choked her words. “We were attacked by a band of Norp wegs. They took me and others. They raided the church and killed so many.”
Aleen blanched, a hand going to her mouth and her arm encircling Seraphina’s shaking shoulder. “Child, what is this you say? Slow down—come in. Are you injured? Is your father all right? How did you get here?”
“Croften brought me here.”
Aleen nodded, still looking confused. She grabbed Seraphina’s cold hand in her work-calloused one and drew her through the doorway. Seraphina headed for a chair next to the table, sitting down gratefully. Croften followed them in and sat across from her.
Seraphina watched her aunt hurry over to a barrel in the corner and dip out two cups of water. As always, she looked for some family resemblance between her aunt and her dead mother. But even though Seraphina’s memory of the slight woman with the blonde hair was faint, it didn’t match her aunt’s plump figure, brown hair, and quiet demeanor. The only family trait that they seemed to have in common was their green eyes. Her aunt filled a bowl with water and got a piece of linen. With the wet cloth, she started gently cleaning the side of Seraphina’s face.
“Now, slowly, child, tell me what has happened.”
The front door opened, and her uncle froze at the sight of her. A ruddy complexioned, thick-framed man, his quiet presence had always brought peace to any situation.
“Seraphina?”
“Uncle!”
She stood and flew into his arms, hearing his little “umph” before his arms went around her in comfort. Through her tears, she quickly retold the events, her voice breaking when describing the attack on the people in the chapel. As she spoke, Aleen continued cleaning Seraphina’s face, working toward the wound, until Seraphina winced at the pain. When done with doctoring, Aleen started setting the table; the dull sounds of crockery being set up on the long, sturdy table served as a background to Seraphina’s quiet tale. Two chickens roasted on a spit in the hearth, filling the room with a savory smell.
When she got to the part about how she escaped from Einar, her uncle’s eyes watched her, a myriad of emotions moving across his face.
“Sera, Sera, what have you brought to my doorstep? Norp wegs normally do not come this far inland—but if they do, we will be ready. They will find Angles have sharp blades and heavy staffs. Tomorrow, we go to Grimsby and report this to the magistrate. Maybe now your father will get the protection and support he needs from King Æthelwald. We already had passage arranged for your wedding feast, so we will take you back with us to Seletun. Your father must be sick with grief and your betrothed beside himself with worry.” Her uncle’s sun-leathered skin crinkled into lines of concern.
Seraphina took in a deep breath. “What if Lord Allard does not believe me still virtuous?” Her fingers picked at the rough edge of her tunic.
“If you swear before God your innocence, even he will have to believe. It is by no fault of yours that you have been abducted and without a chaperone. Do not worry about it now; you are with us.” Her uncle reached out, his stout hand covering her cold fingers, squeezing lightly.
The heavy door to the farmhouse opened, and in a moving tangle of arms and flying brown braids, Brenan gave her cousin a hug. Two years Seraphina’s junior, the girl had sun-kissed cheeks, a slim nose, and rich earth-colored eyes that had always held a sparkle of mischief in them.
“Cousin! I thought you were getting married.” Seraphina smiled fondly at the girl who had always looked up to her.
Her uncle spoke. “Brenan, she will tell you all about it during dinner. Aleen, feed everyone now. I will be back after I have informed the men and made sure we are prepared.” He rose and hurried out the door.
Aleen smiled. “Stay for dinner, Croften. That is the least I can do to thank you for rescuing my niece.”
“That is gracious, Ladye. I do not get many meals prepared by the tender hand of a woman. I would be most grateful, but I must excuse myself. I think I can be of assistance in cracking some Norp weg heads, should they show up.” He rose, heading out the door after her uncle.
While they finished putting the food on the table, Seraphina retold her story once again, watching Brenan’s eyes grow large.
“You actually jumped off the ship, on the back of a horse?”
She felt the heat of a blush. “I had to get away and hoped Hadley would be able to join me, but that piece of pig dung vikingr stopped her….”
“Seraphina!” her aunt admonished. “We do not speak like that. We need to pray for those who died and remember we are all made in the Lord’s likeness, even heathens.”
She set her lips in a firm line, staring back at her aunt. “I pray we can rescue Hadley and Iohannes.”
Aleen shook her head sadly. “I fear that may not be possible. The vikingrs are a fierce people and do not give up their captives without great cost. We will have to wait to see what your father and betrothed can work out with them. Meanwhile, let us bow our heads, give thanks to our Lord you are with us now and pray we are all kept safe from the heathens.”
Seraphina struggled to fall asleep. Though she felt safe with family once again, images from the last two days ran through her mind. Pacing back and forth in the little sleeping room, she stopped by a small window covered by a leather hide. She pulled it back, struggling to peer into the darkness. Earlier that evening, she had watched the men gather hoes, scythes, shovels, staffs, swords, and any other implement that could be used as a weapon, and take turns standing guard at strategic points inside the rock wall. Her uncle and Croften only came in for a meal or a quick rest.
Sighing, she dropped the window cover and climbed into bed to snuggle under the covers next to Brenan. Finally, she dozed off, her dreams a mix of images until one came into clear focus. A wild-haired man, covered in blood, his sword blade held high, poised to take her life. There were screams and crashes all around her. . . Then Seraphina awoke and realized she wasn’t dreaming. Beside her in the bed, Brenan’s white fingers clutched at the edge of the woolen blanket she held to her chest. Her eyes were wide in the shadowed room.
“Leave us! Take what you want, just leave us alone!” her aunt’s reedy voice screamed.
Images of Seraphina’s stepmother being thrown to the floor by Einar tumbled through her mind. Should she help save her aunt in the next room or take her young cousin and save her from the same fate Hadley had suffered? The cold handle of the small
flat-bladed sword she had taken from the landowner’s son in the forest, fit snug in her hand.
Putting a finger to her lips as a warning, she grabbed her wide-eyed cousin’s hand and quickly tore off the hide covering the window. Voices bellowed in the other room. She pushed Brenan toward the window. Tears clouded her vision, pain pounding at her heart as she thought of leaving behind her aunt and uncle to deal with the invaders. This was her only chance of saving anyone, she thought, climbing out behind the girl. They fled together, heading toward the small croft where the horses stayed. Seeing torchlight there in the predawn light, she headed for the forest’s edge instead, but an open field lay before it. A man’s cry rose behind them; she knew they had been spotted.
Brenan sniffled as Seraphina tugged to speed her up. They stumbled across the freshly turned earth. The sky was a light blue, the sun not yet crowning the horizon, giving only a faint light to guide their way. The thud of heavy feet gave them warning of the chase. Brenan stumbled beside her, and Seraphina yanked on the girl’s arm, ignoring her cry. She vowed to herself that she wouldn’t lose a family member to Einar’s blade. When she realized they would not reach the forest in time, desperation clawed at her. The only choice left was to make a stand. Taking in a last gasp of air, she halted, facing her pursuers. She pressed a slender blade from her belt into Brenan’s hand.
“Defend yourself, Brenan. These men are animals. Stand behind me, back to back; we will have to face them. We can not outrun them.”
Seraphina held her elbows close by her ribs, both hands gripping the sword’s hilt, bringing the blade up straight and to the side of her face, just as Mepern had taught her. She watched as first Einar and then another man slowed, ringing the two of them. Brenan whimpered, and Seraphina could feel her cousin pressing against her back.
The dim light showed Einar’s shaggy hair was free of a helmet, his only battle gear being the leather tunic reinforced with metal rings. His simple woolen cloak had a plain bronze brooch that held it to his shoulder. If she hadn’t known who he was, he would have passed for one of the countryside’s traveling mercenaries. Swallowing back tears, shame rolled through her. She had failed to protect Brenan.