Avastra's Imagination

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

The port of Jorvik looked sullen and grey under the overcast sky as the ship approached. Eight days had passed since you left Ulvehi, a fast journey across the Western sea. You glared at the town as sails were pulled down and oars were put out to guide the longship up the mouth of the river Ouse. Ulvehi's, and your father's, banner were raised high and Asgeir wasn't challenged as the ship passed the chains that protected the port from attacks.

Instead a man was waiting at the dock, raising a hand in greeting as the oars gently brought the ship to a halt.

"Asgeir of Ulvehi, what are you doing here? They told me one of Agnar's ships had been spotted, but this is a surprise!"

The man spoke Norse with an accent you couldn't place, but Asgeir seemed to know him well. They embraced once he'd jumped off the railing and landed with a thud on the planks of the dock.

"Good to see you, Ulf," Asgeir smiled, "It's been a while hasn't it?"

"Many years I think, I didn't think we'd see you in Jorvik again. What made you brave the journey?"

"No bravery," he grimaced in return, "Don't we own the Western sea these days?"

Ulf chuckled as the gangway was laid out and Asgeir gestured up to you.

"Jarl Agnar's daughter is to marry Ealdorman Cuthbert of Ripon and I've been charged to bring her to him."

Ulf looked up at you and bowed his head, "You're in luck then, he's in town for a few more days. The king has just left Jorvik, there was a council on how to deal with King Malcolm of Scotland, he's causing trouble."

Asgeir frowned at Ulf, "How much trouble? Are the roads safe? The Jarl will not leave his daughter here if these lands will be Scottish."

"Agnar was always too cautious," Ulf scoffed, "The northern forces will deal with Malcolm, and the king is sending reinforcements from the south. But come, you and the Jarl's daughter can stay with me until the Ealdorman is ready to receive his new bride. Save you braving the new inn, my beds are softer on the backs of old men, Asgeir."

Ulf held out his hand, pointing away from the docks, and led the way. Asgeir shouted orders for a few of the men to follow, while the rest secured the ship.

You walked next to Asgeir, Ravn close on your heels, as you looked around the new city. The area closest to the port was much like Skiringssal, or Sigtuna, filled with a clutter of wooden houses, workshops, and shops, but the Anglo Saxon Christian presence was much stronger here. Most people seemed to have simple crosses around their necks, and small groups of monks crossed in front of you as you passed a large church.

"I didn't realise Jorvik was so Christian," you said to Ulf in Norse, and he glanced back at you.

"King Cnut is Christian, and so is York. Many of the remaining Norsemen have converted, or been born into Christianity now. The Danes are Christian too, but some still hold to the old gods."

"I remember coming here as a young man," Asgeir added, "Jorvik was a Norse city then, and the only Anglo Saxons we saw were traders from Wessex or Mercia.

"Cnut stabilised trade, and the Norse in Jorvik find it easier to accept a Danish king than one from Wessex, so the north is calmer now than back then. But the Danelaw is fading, strangely enough under a Danish king, we'll all be English soon."

"What do you know about Cuthbert of Ripon?" you asked, and Asgeir gave you a sharp look, the meaning clear.

"Not the most powerful man in these parts, but he's rich and has an extensive trade network with connections in Frankia. He only has daughters by his late wife though, so he'll be keen to have sons quickly enough."

"So his wife died then," you said, not bothering to keep the disdain out of your voice, "Last we heard she was still alive and he was just waiting for her to pass before finding a new brood mare."

Asgeir inhaled sharply, grabbing your arm as Ulf stopped and turned to you.

"My house is here," he replied in a low voice, pushing open a door in a low wooden wall, "and you should keep your opinions to yourself. Christian men expect their wives to be silent and meek. You'd do best to remember that, and forget your Norse customs."

"Silent and meek is not how I was brought up," you replied, shoving at Asgeir's arm as he ushered you inside.

"I know, that's why I'm warning you," Ulf said, "Do you not think I was raised by a Norse mother? She ruled our household, ruled the men, thralls, beasts, and my father too. But Cuthbert is not Norse, and you will not fare well in his household if you don't hold your tongue."

"You see what you're forcing me into?" you hissed at Asgeir as Ravn gave a low growl, sensing the tension.

"I serve your father," he replied, but his face was unhappy as Ulf led the two of you further into his front yard, leaving the men that had followed from the ship behind. You cursed them all under your breath, and the people in Ulf's household gave you odd looks as you stomped through the house.

Asgeir sent word back to the ship, and Ealdorman Cuthbert, and soon a messenger came back with an invitation for the very next day. It seemed the high ranking Anglo Saxon was keen to meet his new bride, and move forward with the wedding quickly. And you were equally keen to postpone the whole thing as much as possible, praying to Freya that Pero was safe, wherever he was.

But no amount of pleading with Asgeir helped the next day. He just shook his head and ordered you into the carriage that had been readied for the short journey across to the Ealdorman's home in York.

You already knew this lord had his main seat at Northmere Hall west of York, it was where he'd been preparing to travel too when word came of your arrival. But in York he resided at a large house near the church that dominated the centre of the town, and it was to this place Asgeir and the retinue of Norsemen that had come on the ship escorted you the next day.

Being led into the smokey hall felt like being led into a prison, many times worse than when you'd first met Grim. All your fears about Cuthbert of Ripon seemed to come true, as he pushed himself up from the high seat at the top of the great hall. The lank, grey hair was combed back in greasy strands, and the heavy wool cloak looked like it dwarfed the short man. As he stepped down, the sheath of his sword clanked against the high seat, making him stumble and curse. He was built like a man who had spent too many winters at the feasts, and not a single summer raiding.

But Asgeir bowed low and introduced you, and the old man let his gaze drift over your form. He seemed to take no notice of your face, or to the words Asgeir was saying. Instead he inspected your body as if he was appraising a cow, mumbling something to the man standing next to him.

You recognised him as the envoy who had been at Ulvehi last year, Edmund. He must've lied to your father to get him to agree to this marriage, and you wondered to yourself what Assar and Saga would say if they saw who their Jarl thought was a suitable groom for his daughter. But of course, your father had never met the Ealdorman, all he knew was that there was money, and a trade network to use.

The small carved dog Pero had given you pressed against your chest, hidden underneath your clothes, and the rounded shape of the bone against your skin made you feel less alone as you tried to ignore the eyes of the men and women studying you from around the edges of the hall, and the old man leering at his new bride.

Cuthbert had made his way down from the dais, and across the stone floor to where you were standing just in front of Asgeir.

"So, she looks healthy enough," Cuthbert remarked, "Wide hips, clear skin, and I've been told she has all of her own teeth even."

Looking over at Asgeir he nodded, "You can send word back to your master that I'll accept her as my new wife. She'll give us heirs that can continue to build what their fathers have founded."

You bit your tongue, forcing back the rage that filled you as the despicable man spoke of you as if you were a new thrall. What would Pero think if he could see you now? Reduced to the same status as he was, only disguised as a marriage? The old Pero probably would've thought it was fair; the Jarl's daughter getting a taste of what her own family's thralls suffered. But your Pero, he would take this man's head for even suggesting he could own you.

The thought almost made you smile as you imagined your strong mercenary cutting down the Ealdorman. And there would be no heir to this old man, no matter how hard he tried.

Behind you Asgeir nodded as the English words were translated into Norse.

"If it pleases the Ealdorman, we can begin preparations for the wedding as soon as possible," he replied, and the translator passed the message on to Cuthbert.

"No need," Cuthbert said, shaking his head, "All is already taken care of. We will do the betrothal ceremony now, and then we will have the wedding tomorrow. I have already alerted the monks at York Minster. The feast will be lacking, of course, but as my third wife, that is hardly the most important part."

"Now?" you said, "It's too soon, I-we are not ready."

Cuthbert looked at you with a frown, "Why isn't she ready?" he asked, turning to Asgeir, "She's been wed before, has she not? I was told she was a widow."

The translator quickly relayed the message, but before Asgeir could get the full message, you shook your head.

"I am not ready. We have just arrived to Jorvík, we need time to prepare for a wedding and-"

"Lady, I don't wish to be crude," the Ealdorman cut you off, "and I know you might not be familiar with our traditions, but I was told you were wedded to a Christian man and converted. And as a widow you are sure to be familiar with all the duties of a wife."

You opened your mouth to contradict him, but he held up his hand and snapped his fingers, "In my household, as in any Christian household, a wife holds her tongue when her husband speaks. As I said, I don't wish to be crude, but a son and hair must be produced, and God will only see that happen in the marital bed, and I have no wish to wait."

"But I do," you replied, finding your voice again as the translator furiously whispered to Asgeir. His hand shot out to close around your arm, as Cuthbert frowned, "I do not know you, you do not know me. I ask you for some days to at least become familiar an-"

"Silence!"

The order rang out across the hall and as one, everyone stilled. Asgeir's grip on your arm tightened and you heard him hiss behind you as the translator relayed what was being said.

"Do not anger him."

"No, lady, do not anger me!" Cuthbert spat, "Listen to your father's servant and hold your tongue."

He waved behind him, and a priest hurried down from where he'd been standing behind the high seat, followed by Edmund, the envoy.

"Ordgar, oversee the betrothal, and Edmund, go to the church, tell Bishop Godwine we are doing the wedding today."

Edmund bowed and passed you as he hurried through the hall, Cuthbert looking back at you.

"And tell him the bride might not be willing, but he knows my support," he called after him.

"Asgeir, please! I am not ready!" you said, turning to your father's envoy in this whole shamble with a desperate plea, but his face was drawn, and he shook his head.

"Your father's will stands, you're to marry the Ealdorman, and it's up to him to decide when."

"Nidingr," you spat at him, "Traitor, the Norns will curse you."

"You father…" he replied, but you shoved him away, making him lose his grip on you, there was no help coming from him.

Instead Cuthbert grabbed your arm, his grip strong despite his short stature, and pulled you around to face him.

"Speak the words, Ordgar. Asgeir will answer for her."

Ordgar, the priest, nodded and drew a deep breath and called loudly enough for all in the hall to hear.

"Give hand to hand and faith to faith. Who speaks for this woman?"

"No one!" you spat in reply, but Ordgar looked past you as the translator mumbled to Asgeir.

"Before witnesses I pledge her hand, her kin hears this pledge," he said, his voice low, but it seemed to be enough for the priest.

"My Lord Ealdorman?"

"I pledge before God and these witnesses that I will keep her lawfully as wife," Cuthbert replied.

"Does my voice not count at all?" you asked loudly, "I do not consent."

"In my household, you consent whether you want it or not," Cuthbert replied sharply, and the priest made the sign of the cross over your joined hands, "Now, the bishop will join us, and then you are mine, as your father wanted."

He let go of your hand and drew back, his men moving forward and preparing for the departure to the church, leaving you standing alone in the middle of the great hall.

Asgeir came up behind you, holding your cloak that had been left at the door, "Lady, he is powerful, do not anger him. Let him wed you and then you can have an easy life, just carry his children and he will be happy."

He spoke in a low voice, in Norse, as he helped the cloak over your shoulders.

"You carry his children then, I do not-"

"His first two wives did not die natural deaths," Asgeir mumbled, taking hold of your arm again, "I cannot protect you here."

"Then why did you bring me?"

Asgeir flinched at the hatred in your look, and you turned away before he could reply. The Ealdorman's men were approaching, and without words they ushered you and Asgeir to the waiting wagons.

The ride to the church was short and silent, and your wagon drove an extra lap around the town to give Cuthbert and his household time to arrive first and prepare the bishop. Asgeir sat next to you, but you turned your head away from him, and willed the tears clinging to your lashes to not fall.

"I am sorry," Asgeir mumbled, as the wagon circled the church, "If I could take you back to Norway, I would. But as it stands, both you and I, and the crew, would be dead before we cleared Jorvik harbour."

"Did you know?" you asked him, still staring through the lattice window of the wagon, "Did you know what kind of man he was?"

You felt Asgeir take your wrist, making you turn to look at him.

"No, and I swear it on the old gods, had I known, I would've sailed us both up to Upsala, for protection from these Christian traditions. I have known you since you were born, and I've served your father even longer. Never did I think I would bring you into this much danger."

"Then tell my father, when you go back. Tell him and make him come, or tell Assar and the Steinvikr men."

Asgeir nodded as the wagon pulled up in front of the church, "I will, I promise."

"And find Pero Tovar. If you want my forgiveness for this, find him and make sure he is safe."

"Your…your father will not allow a thrall to marry you…" Asgeir shook his head, looking pained as your nails dug into his hand.

"I don't care about marriage, or where I live or how. The only thing that matters is that Pero is safe, and with me. We can settle at the end of the eastern rivers for all I care, just help Pero find me. And then my father can pretend he never had a daughter for all I care."

The door of the carriage was pulled open, and Asgeir looked at the man who was reaching in to grab your arm, and then back at you.

"The love you have for him…it's clear. I'll try, I promise."

Someone tugged on your arm, and you glared at the guard as he pulled you from the carriage, making you stumble before you looked up at the scene outside the church. The dark stone building was the largest you'd ever seen in your life, and the imposing height of the tower drew your gaze upwards, towards the rain heavy clouds racing past just out of reach of the cross that topped the building.

The heavy wooden door stood open, and the armed men that formed a guard around the church yard urged you on, through the curious crowd that had gathered, pulling your gaze from the sky above and into the dark interior. Asgeir followed, his head bowed, as the rest of the men from Ulvehi formed up behind him.

Vaulted ceilings rose above you inside the church, hazy with smoke from the incense, a scent you recognised well from Sigtuna, together with cold stone and wet wool. Candles burned before the altar in wavering gold flames, their glow catching silver chalices and the dim red paint of ancient saints upon the walls. In the distance you heard monks chanting, Latin incantations hummed through the dark. The windows of the great church were small, letting in only a smidgen of daylight on this glum day, and the dim mood of the nave seemed to suit your own.

Reluctantly you walked down the aisle to the waiting bishop and your supposed husband to be. Asgeir followed behind, and two of Ulvehi's hirdmen, the rest remained outside. Cuthbert looked impatient, and the bishop looked bored, picking at his nails with a dull face as you approached.

"Godwin, read the words," Cuthbert said before you'd even reached the altar, and the bishop turned, facing the large altar piece where the fat, yellow wax candles waved in the draft.

It was as if you left your body, rising above the scene in the church. The foreign Latin words washed over the empty form without meaning as you looked down at the woman standing behind the priest, next to the man who was meant to soon be your husband.

This was not you. This was just your body being subjected to the will of these men. A shell that meant nothing. Your true self was floating in the rafters, searching for a way out so that you could look over the Western Sea and see if a scarred mercenary was coming for you.

Below, on the cold stone floor that made your back ache, words were spoken, promises made on your behalf that held no meaning. You searched the horizon for that ship as your voice answered the bishop's question far below, and when your hands were joined with Cuthbert's, he had to hold them tight, your limp grip slipping through his fingers. The words spoken were not a promise to anyone, they held no meaning to you. The man you called husband was somewhere else, and as you searched the horizon for him, meaningless figures moved on the church floor far below.

You sat through the meagre wedding feast in a daze, seeing it all as from above still. Your hands were cold, and you tucked them inside your dress. The small bone dog was warm where it was hidden against your skin, and you stroked it with your thumb, caressing the small scar across its eye. You were still searching for him, even as the evening turned to darkness. Spring evenings here in England weren't long and light as they were in your home, but as your body went through the motions of standing up and following the man they now called your husband, you still searched the darkening horizon for the ship that had to be coming.

But not even your mind could protect you from the wedding night as the heavy oak door of the bed chamber closed. The thump cut through your daze as Cuthbert unbuckled his sword belt. He leaned it against the wall by the fireplace and turned to you, setting aside his gloves with the same care he had shown his sword.

“If you are wise,” he said, “you will give me a son quickly.”

You said nothing, trying to return to where you could search the horizon, but your mind was frozen as you watched him hang the cloak over a chair and pull his tunic over his head.

Outside, somewhere far below the chamber windows, drunken voices still echoed through the hall. He crossed the room toward you as though approaching some long-awaited inheritance.

"On the bed now, wife."

The wind tugged at his clothes again as Pero stared down at Thorsten's broken gaze, and behind him Assar stepped closer and looked down at the corpse.

"I never liked him, good riddance," he said, "I would've killed him myself if you hadn't."

Bending down he snatched the money purse hanging at the belt and shoved it into Tovar's hand, and Pero looked up, pulled out of his daze.

"Thank you, I…"

"Take the silver, keep her safe," Assar said, "She loves you, so keep her safe. Now you'd better run, hide in the forest, head south."

"I have a ship to England waiting. Thank you, I owe you my life," he said, hastily sheathing his sword and giving Assar a short bow,

"You'd better run fast, Tovar, she'll sail any moment with this wind," Assar replied, waving him away, "Run! And tell her I'll see her in Valhalla!"

The wind chased Pero as he bolted through the back streets, back towards the dock. In the distance he could hear shouts going up as people caught sight of a dark haired man with a blood stained tunic and a great long sword in his hand. But he didn't have time to try to avoid them, or stay hidden. The wind was strong, and he knew the ship would be pushing out from the dock at any moment.

The air seemed to escape his lungs in short bursts, a burning pain with every breath he took as he ran, skidding across the muddy ground. The harbour came into view, and he pounded across the wet planks, making people jump out of the way at the sight of his face. At the end of the dock he saw Godric waving at him, shouting something. The ship was still there, and Godric standing on the railing as ropes were cast onto the ship.

"Run! Run!"

Tovar jumped over a crate, the great sword tight in his hand, and stumbled the last few steps. Throwing the sword over the edge of the railing, he leapt, grabbing hold of the slippery wood. Hands grabbed his arms, scraping his nose as he was tugged onto the ship, and with a groan he tumbled onto the deck, rolling onto his back as he gulped big lungfuls of air. Around him oars creaked as they were pushed out, Aelfric calling for the sails to be raised.

"Dammit, man, get out of the bloody way," he snapped at Tovar, kicking his sword out of the way, "'If I get hanged for whatever you did, I'll be haunting you in the next life."

Tovar scrambled to his feet, grabbing his sword and moving to the edge, slumping down next to Godric who was hunkered down against the hull.

"You had me worried there, Tovar," he said, clapping him on the shoulder, "Letting me risk all that, only for you to run off and get yourself killed over a sword."

"I'm sorry," Tovar panted, leaning back and drawing another deep breath as his racing heart began to slow down, "That man…if it had been any other man with my sword, I would've left it. But him…he's hated me since the first hour, and he was the one who betrayed me. I couldn't leave it with him."

"What happened? Did you…kill him?" Godric lowered his voice, making sure none of the other men on the ship could hear their conversation over the rush of the wind and creaking wood, "And how were you even able to call on the aid of someone like Saga of Steinvikr? She only told me she knew you and that you needed help escaping."

"She is the cousin of the daughter of the Jarl of Ulvehi, my wife."

Pero smiled at the word, wife, as Godric's mouth fell open. It felt good to say it out loud.

"You married the Jarl's daughter? How did he allow that?"

Pero almost laughed out loud, "He didn't, he doesn't even know it. When he found out his daughter had…"

He paused, he didn't even know how to say it. How could he explain what had happened in the past two years at Ulvehi? The anger he'd felt at first, he knew Godric would well understand that. But the rest? The slow growth of trust and friendship, and the early tender feelings he'd had. The growing need to first protect you, and then to be near you, to touch you. It had moved so slowly, and settled so deeply, that looking back he could hardly understand how he'd looked at you with hatred.

"Tovar?"

Godric looked at his friend, who had suddenly gone quiet, staring off into the distance past the ship's hull.

"She's my wife, because she said she's my wife. Not because a priest said it," Pero replied, "She carries my child, and she's been taken to England to marry against her will. I have to find her again, and keep her safe. Both of them."

Godric looked at Pero with wide eyes, "I think you need to start from the beginning, friend. We have at least a week's journey, and I'll need a good story to keep me entertained."

It wasn't an easy journey across the ocean back to England. A late spring storm rushed in from the north, and flurries of snow bit the faces of the men sailing the ship. Pero and Godric huddled down as best they could in the open hull, but shivered their way through the journey. Godric was less used to sea voyages than Pero, and when the storm hit he spent as much time hanging over the railing as he did hunkered down. Pero grabbed hold of the belt around his waist, hooking his arm through it to keep the man from falling overboard. They didn't sleep many hours as the storm raged.

As the ship finally made its way up the Ouse, both men stood by the railing, looking with relief out over the green lands they'd been taken from two years earlier.

"We're a lot further north, but I can make my way south along the coast once I've helped you find the Ealdorman," Godric said as they watched the green banks of the river flow past, "I've got family further inland, I don't think I'll be settling near any rivers or oceans again."

"Thank you, Godric," Pero replied, "I'll make sure you don't leave empty handed."

"I'm not doing it to get paid, Tovar," the other man protested, but Pero shook his head.

"I know, but you should have some of Thorsten's silver too an-"

He cut himself off as he saw Aelfric, the ship's captain, approach them where they stood at the bow of the ship.

"Jorvik is less than half a day's row up the river now, and I want no trouble there, so I'm letting you off here," he said, pointing to a small shallow beach just up ahead.

"I paid you to take us to York," Godric protested, but Aelfric shook his head.

"I know you caused some sort of trouble back in Skiringssal, and odds are I'm not able to go back there any time soon. Which is fine, I can trade in Hedeby or Ribe. But I don't want trouble in Jorvik, so you leave us here, or not at all."

Tovar nodded, and put his hand on Godric's arm, "Calm, friend, he's right. We shouldn't be seen in York, it's best if we leave them here."

Aelric looked relieved, eyeing the large sword that Tovar had hanging from his hip, "Thank you for understanding. I'll make sure no one knows you came across on my ship."

"Thank you," Tovar replied, and Aelric gave him a quick nod before retreating to the rudder of the ship.

It only took a few more moments before the ship pulled up alongside the low bank, and a simple plank was put out. Tovar and Godric made their way off the ship, and as soon as their feet touched the ground, Aelric shouted an order and the plank was pulled back in. It was only a moment's work, and then the oars came out and the ship was on its way again.

"England, at last!" Godric said, sinking down to his knees with his hands on the grassy bank, "I'd given up hope, never thought I'd see it again."

"We're not safe yet, amigo," Tovar replied, looking around them, "We need to find a village or a hamlet and buy supplies. Then I need to find out where I can find this Ealdorman. And I'll need your help. This," he pointed to the scar that cut across his eye, "is far too easy to recognise and remember."

Godric pushed himself up, nodding, "Agreed, and remember we're still in the Danelaw, plenty of Norsemen around here."

"Yes, and even if word of our escape hasn't made it here yet, the Jarl will send men after me, I'm sure. And I intend to be far away by the time they get here."

He pulled the cloak he'd bought from Aelric around his shoulders, pulling up the hood too, "Let's move, if we follow the river we should find a village."

The smokey air of the hall of Ealdorman Cuthbert's home in Jorvik stung your eyes as you bent over the bowl of stew that was your dinner. Around you the household bustled, the Ealdorman entertaining another set of important men from around Jorvik. He'd been sitting next to you, but now he'd moved down the table, drinking ale with some of the men. The men were raucous, and you knew too well how this evening would end, just like all the others had in the two endless weeks that had passed since your wedding.

You would try to take any opportunity you could find to slip away early, but Edmund, the man who had served as the Ealdorman's envoy to Ulvehi, would stop you before you could exit the hall, or catch up with you as you hurried away. Edmund was, you'd quickly learnt, much more intelligent than his master. He missed very little, and seemed to always be nearby, always listening and gathering information. Information he then passed onto Cuthbert, and you were sure he made all the servants share any, and all, of your secrets.

He was also cruel, and seemed to take dark satisfaction in seeing you humiliated. Once the wedding night was done, he made sure you had no privacy in the Ealdorman's house. It wasn't that you weren't used to the habit of sharing sleeping quarters with family, and sometimes thralls. You'd grown up hearing your parents' intimate moments as you slept in your bed in their room back at Ulvehi. It wasn't until your brother married and moved into a smaller longhouse with his wife that you had your own bedchamber, and even that you'd shared with Amina.

But here in Jorvik, the girl assigned as your maid slept on the floor in a corner, and Edmund had his bed in another. As the Ealdorman's closest advisor, he was given the honour of having his quarters in the same room as his master. And he treated the room as his own, walking in when he must know you would be undressing, the maid doing nothing but obeying him as he yanked open the door. Commenting on your body, he would urge you to become pregnant quickly, as you tried to pull your tunic up to cover yourself.

"Make sure his seed takes, or I'll have to find another broodmare," he grinned, "Wasn't that what you called yourself?"

"Get out!" you spat at him the first time it happened, as you tried to wrap the tunic around yourself, yanking it from the hands of the maid. She, the useless thing, was staring down at her feet as Edmund approached.

"No, I stay as close to my lord as he needs me, and make sure his wife does her duty as a good Christian woman."

Pressing your lips together you scowled at him, but held your tongue. The last thing you wanted was for Edmund to force you to convert, if he found out you hadn't confessed to their weak god. He smirked, tilting his head as he made a show of looking up and down your half naked body.

"Get her ready for the Ealdorman, he'll be here soon. And if you're not with child soon, maybe I'll fuck you too. Who would know if it was his son or my bastard that you whelped?"

He cackled, and retreated to his bed in the corner as you quickly pulled your sleeping clothes over your head, pressing back the tears that threatened to overflow.

You'd thought then, that first night after the wedding, that you could tell Cuthbert about Edmund's behaviour. Your father would never have allowed anyone in his household to speak to his family in that way, but you quickly learned that your new husband was indifferent to any of your discomfort. And worse even, Edmund had him under his thumb, in some way controlling him, but you'd yet to find out how. Cuthbert did what Edmund suggested, deferred any decision to him, and conferred on all issues. It was only outwardly that it looked as if the Ealdorman was the leader of the household. Behind closed doors, everyone knew who held the real power.

So as you sat at the table with your cold stew, you glanced over at Edmund, looking for a moment to slip away when he wouldn't notice. Cuthbert called for more ale, the feast growing more rowdy, but Edmund still had his eyes on you. It was a small comfort that tomorrow you would leave Jorvik and head to Northmere Hall with a Cuthbert and a retinue of his men. Edmund would remain in town and handle the trade. You presumed it was to begin setting up the lucrative trade network into Norway that your marriage had granted them, but you didn't know. You weren't told anything anymore, except where to be when Cuthbert needed you.

Eventually, after you'd stood up twice, only to be waved at by Edmund to sit down again, did Edmund come up to you at the end of the long evening.

"The Ealdorman wishes you to retire to the chambers, my lady," he said, always the same unpleasant tone to his voice even when he was addressing you in the correct manner, "He will join you shortly."

Standing up, you turned without a word and left the hall, and like a shadow, the maid followed. Perhaps you should try to win Edmund over, when all you wanted was to drive your knife into him. He was powerful, and it didn't serve you well to have him as your enemy. Right now he only treated you with the same disdain and malice he did everyone he considered beneath him, but if you weren't careful, you were sure he would turn truly vicious. No one had guessed your state yet, but you counted the weeks, and soon you would show. And then Cuthbert was sure to claim the child as his own, but you knew Edmund would count the weeks too and realise that it didn't add up. If he wished too, especially if the child turned out to be a girl, you had no doubt he would use that against you to his own benefit somehow.

Pulling the curtains around your bed tight, shutting out the world for just a little bit, you bit down hard on your tongue. Panic was digging into your chest as you faced another night with the Ealdorman. He would be here soon, and his sour breath and foul body would claim you again. It was hard enough to sustain the hope that Pero would find you during the days, but at night, after the man they'd forced you to marry was done with your body, it was as if the darkest pit opened up in your mind. There was no hope there, no light, and only one escape. You found yourself praying that Northmere had high towers, or a deep moat. If your mercenary didn't find you soon, there would be no other escape.

The damp was seeping through the thick wool of his cloak as Tovar peered out through the gathering dusk. It had rained a fine mist for two days as he'd waited for Godric outside the small hamlet they had reached after a day's walk. Jorvik was just over the next rise, and before the rain came, he'd seen the square tower of the church at the heart of town. Godric, ever the well of information, had said it was called a 'minster', not a church. Tovar didn't care, he just wanted to rush into town and tear every house apart until he found you, careless as that would be. But he'd tampered his urgency, and sent Godric ahead. If it wasn't for his scar, he would've risked entering York himself. There was very little risk that anyone from Skiringssal or Ulvehi had made it across to York before them, but someone could follow. And he didn't want anyone to remember seeing a brown skinned man with a vicious scar asking questions about the daughter of a Norse Jarl. So he'd stayed behind, seeking shelter in a small copse of trees a short way from the road. An ancient crumbling structure gave him some protection, but his two nights had been unpleasant and cold even though it was early summer. He shivered as he kept watch, staying out of sight.

Godric has set out two days ago, and had agreed to not return until he had information. He was going to ask around for you, claiming to be carrying a message from your father, an urgent message about his health if anyone asked. And now, just as the last light faded, Tovar spotted a cloaked figure hurrying down the paved Roman road that led east from York. But there was someone else, a second man, and Tovar quickly retreated behind one of the trees, his hand closing around the sword at his side.

In the dusk he saw the two men approach, stepping away from the road and walking towards the copse of trees. Both had their hoods up, and slowly Tovar unsheathed his sword, rolling his shoulders.

"Tovar!"

Godric hissed through the trees, a branch snapping under his foot as he tried to find the spot where he'd left Tovar, "Tovar! It's Godric, and I've brought someone who knows you."

Tovar lowered his sword and stepped out from behind the crumbling wall with a low whistle.

"Here, Godric," he said, "And who do I know in York?"

The man was two steps behind Godric as they approached, and he slowly pushed back his hood.

"Asgeir, of Ulvehi," he replied in Norse, and Tovar's sword flew up as he cursed loudly.

"Godric, you fool!"

"Hold, Tovar," Godric said, raising his hands as Tovar glared at Asgeir, "He's told me where your wife is, he knows where they're taking her."

"I can't trust him, he was the one who took her to York. He serves her father. I should kill you right now for what you've done to her," he spat, the last part in Norse at Asgeir, who raised his hands too, holding his palms out.

"I have no right to claim your trust, I know," he said, "But for her, I will tell you what I know, and help if you let me."

"Why?" Tovar asked, taking a step closer to Asgeir, the tip of his sword dangerously close to the other man's chest, "Why would you help a runaway thrall?"

Asgeir's hands dropped as he shook his head with a groan, the old man slumping before them.

"I've served her father since before she was born, I've lived my whole life at Ulvehi, and I owe everything I have to Jarl Agnar. I thought he knew it was the right choice to send her here, to marry this English lord. But now that I've seen the life that she must face...and that man…" Asgeir shook his head again and looked up at Tovar, "I watched her grow up, I remember the young girl she was, and I've seen her forced to marry once already. This life, as Christian wife, is not a life I would want for my own daughters if I had any. I should've left for Ulvehi weeks ago, after the wedding, but I…I couldn't leave her here. May the Gods forgive me for going against my Jarl, but I was trying to find a way to get her back."

Tovar stared at the man, his sword still pointed at the man's chest as he considered what he'd said.

"Where is she now?" he asked after a long pause, his sword arm dropping slightly.

"On her way to a place called Northmere Hall, north of here, and outside of a village called Ripon. They left yesterday."

"Yesterday?" The sword dropped to his side, "How do I find this place? How many guards does it have?"

Asgeir looked relieved as Tovar sheathed his sword and bent to gather his few possessions.

"I don't know exactly, but the old Roman road west goes through Ripon, and Northmere is just on the other side of the village. They can't make the journey in one day, so they must stop overnight, probably at his thegn's hall at Hartham. The man is called Uthred and he was at the wedding, but left to prepare for their arrival a few days ago.

"And guards?" Tovar asked impatiently as he adjusted his cloak and pulled up the hood, leaving the shelter of the trees and walking towards the road into York, Asgeir and Godric following.

"I don't know, but he left Edmund, the envoy, in York to oversee the trade and it seems like most of his men stayed behind. Probably to protect the goods and silver.

"Are we leaving now?" Godric asked, hurrying after Tovar and Asgeir, "We need horses, supplies."

"I can't wait," Tovar replied as he turned down the road at a brisk walk, "I need to catch up to them on the road. I will never be able to get her out of a lord's castle, and she might not be allowed to leave for a long time."

"Godric is right, we need horses," Asgeir said, "I can go into York and get two from the lord's stable, no one will question me if I'm to bring Godric's message from her father to her. I'll meet you at the Ouse crossing beyond the north gate in an hour. Godric can show you how to skirt the outside of town while I get the horses."

Tovar looked over at Asgeir as they picked up their pace, "If you betray me…" he said, but Asgeir held up his hand.

"I've seen your skill with an axe, Tovar. I have no doubt you are even more deadly with your own sword. And I won't ask how you got it back."

Tovar gave a short nod, whether he was satisfied or not was hard to tell. He didn't have much choice but to trust Asgeir. But if the man turned up with half the city guard, he would take down as many as possible, beginning with Asgeir.

The dusk had settled into night by the time Tovar and Godric reached the river crossing just north of York. The city gate was visible only thanks to the torches that glimmered on each side of it. Slipping past the city hadn't been difficult, as the darkness shrouded the small farms and hovels that clustered up against the city walls, the inhabitants had retreated indoors to get out of the drizzle.

Tovar shook out his cloak and stared at the gate, willing Asgeir to hurry up, the hour was almost up judging by the bell of the clock tower, and then glanced at Godric.

"We should say our goodbyes, amigo," he told the Anglo-Saxon, "You've been a good friend, but you are no fighter. If you leave now, you can take shelter without being seen with me, and then head south in the morning."

"Tovar…I want to see you reunited with your wife," Godric said, but he was also glancing out into the pitch black darkness of the road leading away from York with an anxious look.

"Don't try to convince yourself," Tovar said, chuckling despite himself, "A ride through the darkness, speeding to catch up with a lord and his armed guard? That is not something you want to experience."

Godric opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it, looking over his shoulder at the dark road again.

"I…"

"Here, take this silver, and go south," Tovar interrupted, "What's the name of your family's place?"

"Merewic, it's a three day ride south."

"Merewic, I will find you there if I can, or send a message."

He pushed part of the silver he'd taken from Thorsten into Godric's hand, grabbing his shoulder with the other, "Go, stay safe. And thank you for everything."'

Chapter 18

Breakfast passed in a bit of a blur for you both. After the revelations of the early morning, and combined with the cheap whiskey so early on, you admittedly could have been slightly more on your game when it came to scouting out the area. But the full continental spread soon saw you right, and eventually you were back on top form, searching the room for anyone untoward. 

You weren’t alone in your search either. Before leaving the room this morning, you and Jack had both equipped yourself with Statesman tech that would see to it that Ginger, Astrid, and Tex were all able to keep tabs on your movements, scan the areas, and keep a line of communication open between you if you got separated. You’d blinked a few times as you got used to the contact lenses which were also live camera feeds back to base, and struggled to get the discreet comms devices embedded far enough in your ear. Normally you went down the more old fashioned route, and had slightly bulkier devices that didn’t require going in as deep. But they also had a myriad of wires to function, and with today involving a spa at the very least, there was no room for the older model. 

But within moments of getting used to the devices, they fired up on Statesman's end, and you both got a clear line back to base. It was at the very least reassuring, even if a bit of a nuisance, that you had your team on your side. 

“Do we even know what we’re looking for?” Jack asked between mouthfuls of toast, joining you in making short work of your breakfast.  

Ginger had done as much digging as she physically could. You knew that your two victims from the other night worked in the same place, were having an affair, and there had clearly been trouble in the relationship leading up to them coming here together. It looked as though they were both taken advantage of being emotionally vulnerable, and were offered something to help perk them up. 

What you hadn’t figured out was who supplied them. All you knew was that this mystery person was definitely at the resort at the time of them receiving their narcotics. But if that was a man, a woman, someone tall, short, slim, fit…none of you had a clue. 

“Sounds dumb but anything out of sorts. Anyone who pries into our business, or seems to take an interest in our wellbeing,” you said, sipping your morning coffee. It wasn’t the nicest blend, and each sip was more bitter than the last, but given what you started drinking as soon as you woke up this morning, you’d take some sub-par coffee right now. 

“Did you say you’d booked us in for a spa day?” Jack asked, recalling your conversation last night. You nodded, setting down your mug and reaching over for a refill. 

“Only an hour. You don’t have to suffer that long,” you chuckled, topping up Jack’s mug as well. He grinned, then took a sip, before leaning back in his chair. You watched as his eyes narrowed, his mind clearly working at a million miles an hour. 

You loved watching him like this. Seeing how his brain worked, how he put a plan together, made you almost forget that he had ever been through anything like what he had. In these moments he was just Jack, the agent who was remarkably clever. The head he had on his shoulders would always be impressive, even though you knew there was so much more to him that arguably added to his attractiveness. 

“I have an idea,” he said, leaning back over and whispering now. The main dining hall where other patrons came to dine was slowly filling up, and by your calculations you reckoned that most of the resort’s guests would now be here right now - at least 70%, anyway. 

“Go on?” you asked, mirroring his body language. 

“May I preface that this has nothing to do with my disdain for spas, by the way?” he grinned, that devilish smirk he gave when he knew he was up to no good; but would probably get away with it nonetheless. You raised your eyebrow, not entirely convinced. 

“What have you got planned?”. 

“This room’s fairly full now, right?”, you nodded, “So, statistically, anyone hankering after some poor unfortunate soul will more than likely use here,” he pointed to the ground, referencing the dining hall, “as a prime location. This is where all the dirty laundry gets aired, where people never expect to be perceived. This is where friends discuss their pending divorces, husbands reason with unhappy wives, or secret affairs come to play.”

“Where are you going with this, Jack?” you asked. 

“Stage a fight with me, sugar. Rip me to shreds, storm out, and make a deal about going to the spa alone,” he smiled, pleased as punch with himself clearly, “If anyone is going to latch onto us, we have to be seen to be properly going through some shit. We can’t just mumble to ourselves and seem like a couple. We have to be in trouble. And then hopefully, once we are separated, we might have a better chance of getting somewhere with this.”

You hated that he made a good point. But, as you found was often the case, Jack usually did. Beneath all the fucked up parts of his life which plagued him each day, the parts of himself he fought so desperately to bury, was such an intelligent man. 

“You really will do anything to get out of this spa trip, won’t you?” you said, trying to suppress a giggle. If Jack was right, and there was likely someone here now watching over everyone, trying to sense trouble, the more you laughed and smiled with Jack the worse chance you had at this plan working well. 

“Sugar, you’ve no idea what I’d give to see you in a nice bikini all hot and flustered in a pool. But not here. I don’t trust myself right now,” he admitted sheepishly, the apples of his cheeks reddening at the confession. 

His words knocked the wind out of you, and you felt your chest tighten slightly. What did he mean that he didn’t trust himself right now? Was kissing him a mistake this morning? But you could lament on your decisions later. Right now, you had a job to do. 

“Do you agree with me?” he asked. You nodded slowly, before slipping into the role that you needed to perform. You hardened your glare, adopting a gaze of stoicism as you looked over at Jack. 

Standing in your seat, you scrunched up the napkin that you’d laid over your lap, and slammed it onto your plate. You stared at Jack, forcing your muscles to contort into ones of anger and hurt, ones which felt so unfamiliar when around him. It had been months since his actions and words had made you feel actually cross, and even then you knew he was just defensive about what he’d been through. You couldn’t even draw on those times to influence your fake anger. 

Jack gave you a half grin as he watched you, sat back in his seat and waited for an eruption to come from you, an argument he was going to have to lose. He took a bit of delight in it if he was being honest with himself, knowing that he was about to see you come to life in a way you never let anyone else see. Your undercover persona was something he’d only heard about up until now, and he was decidedly giddy to see it in person. 

“How fucking dare you!” you spat at Jack, pointing a finger at him, channelling every part of you into feigning anger as much as possible. You thought back on your life and drew hatred from every shitty boyfriend, every unfair school test, and every fucking terrible mistake you’d ever made into that single point. You needed people to believe this. 

Jack’s turn to act came after you spoke, your voice loud enough to disturb the immediate tables around you, but your body language causing a nuisance all the way over to the other side of the dining hall. He softened his brow and leant back in his chair, his face pulling down into an almost terrified frown, like he genuinely had no idea what you were doing. 

“B-but, I- I never did anything!” he stammered, playing his part effortlessly. 

“Liar!” you roared now, your voice bellowing around the room and certainly catching the attention of most the people in your vicinity now. A few people stopped eating, one woman even almost knocked over her teapot, too busy paying attention to your words. 

“I know all about her. This whole trip is just some fucking sham of yours, isn’t it? Buy me something pretty and hope I forget the bullshit you put me through? Did you really think I didn’t know? Did you think I’d be so easily embarrassed that I’d let you try and convince me that she doesn’t exist??”. 

Some call it method acting. You called it, “hey, remember that shitty boyfriend you dated in your early twenties who bought you something from Chanel every time he cheated?”. 

“Baby, please, I swear. Larissa means nothing to me!” Jack was now on his feet. This was becoming a full on row, with Jack bumping the table and clattering cutlery together as he stood, further adding to the effect. 

“Don’t say that woman’s name. I don’t want to hear a word from your mouth all day, let alone if it’s about her!” you hurriedly went to collect your jacket from the back of your chair, slinging it on fast, “But fine. Fine! If you think your money will buy my lobotomisation, my silence, then so be it. I’m going to the spa!” you said, turning on your heels and beginning to storm away. 

“Baby, wait, please!” Jack called after you. You ignored him until you were a few more paces away, before stopping and turning your head. 

“Oh, and don’t even try to disable the credit limit on the AMEX card, sweetie. I intend to spend a lot,” you grinned, turning around and walking out of the dining hall. 

Jack sighed, defeated, and played his part of the troubled husband who was shit out of luck, sinking back into the chair. He could feel the entire room’s eyes turning on him, judging him silently as one by one people went back to eating their breakfasts. He didn’t let his face falter, even when Ginger came through on the comms device that the two of you had donned before leaving the hotel room; 

“Very convincing, agents. Spoken like two scorned lovers,” she chuckled over the device. 

Now out in the hallway, you kept your pace up so as not to make anyone passing by suspect that you were at all disingenuous. You heard the same message from Ginger as Jack did, and managed also to not grin to yourself, secretly pleased with your efforts. Although her choices of words did pull at your heart a little, and while you knew that it had been very convincing for the sake of the mission, you loathed how you had to speak to Jack like that. 

But there was no time to wallow in self pity. 

Jack rose from his seat again, putting back on the disgruntled husband facade, and headed out of the dining hall. A few whispered voices followed his every step, and while he was thrilled the diversion had worked, he too found his chest aching at how you’d had to speak to each other. You’d had your fair share of arguments over the last few months, his recovery and general stubbornness doing nothing to aid in your relationship at times, but there had never been any malice to the words you’d said before. Until today. 

But for as much as you both despised the performance, it clearly worked. 

** You **

Collecting a few items from your room, such as a bathing suit and towel, you stayed true to your word and made tracks for the spa. To everyone you passed you remained stoic, like you had actually just found out about your husband’s affair, in case word had spread across the hotel. You imagined it wouldn’t take long, given the size of the resort and how many people seemed to be in the dining hall at breakfast. 

But that’s what you needed if this was to work. If your leads were right, either of you could be connected to the individuals you were looking for, who sought out troubled couples in need of a release. 

You checked into the spa, and before long were in the locker room getting changed. There wasn’t much of a plan for you once you entered the spa, you just had a hunch that this could be a hub of gossipers if nothing else. Even if you weren’t approached today, this could be the best place to ensure that word spread that you were very much these people’s target audience. 

Entering the main spa, you had to admit the ambience and scent instantly seemed to relax you. A warm embrace as steam left one of the saunas nearby kept the place warm enough even in just your bikini, combined with the scent of eucalyptus and lavender. It had been years since you’d been in a place like this, that admittedly you were a little annoyed your first trip to a spa in so long had to be undercover work. 

You found a lounge chair in one of the side rooms, hoping that it would give you the right level of seclusion where someone could approach you for something nefarious without worry of prying eyes, but it also gave you enough of a view into the spa that you could hear the main hub of guests coming to and fro. 

Laying back, you picked up one of the treatment catalogues next to you and began perusing the options. This was your equivalent to building an ideal roster in an online game, picking out what treatments you’d die for the next time you came to a place like this. A Himalayan salt scrub treatment, an anti-aging rejuvenation facial, manicures and pedicures…

You looked down at your hands and scoffed at the idea of having properly manicured nails. It had been years since you’d had them done, with your job not exactly being the kind of workplace where a fresh gel-set would be advantageous. The best you’d got were a pack of stick on nails for Tequila’s birthday party last month, just to make it seem like you made some effort. It was his 40th, after all. 

But then something else caught your attention. The simple gold band you’d been wearing as part of your undercover mission, acting like Jack’s wife. The way your heart thudded at the sight was not something you missed; nor was the familiar feeling of even wearing the ring. From the second you had slipped it on, nothing about it had felt out of place. It felt…right.

You shook your head, trying to rid your mind of wandering down a path it shouldn’t ever go near. Even if the two of you were currently romantically involved, the concept of anything that far down the line was positively ridiculous. 

Sighing softly, you dropped your hand and went back to looking through the various magazines that were available. Idle celebrity gossip, mostly, the kind of thing you never made any effort to pay attention to. The only time you really paid attention to anything of the sorts was on days where your cleared missions were subtly mentioned in the following days' newspapers, often masqueraded beneath celebrity relationship dramas, “who wore it best?” articles, and bullshit weightloss tips. The kind of articles most people, with a brain at least, would entirely skip past. 

It didn’t take long for boredom to take over, and you were wishing that you’d either brought a book with you, or made more of a scene coming in here. Maybe you hadn’t got the attention you’d both hoped for with your plan?

But then a young man entered the room, dressed in swim shorts and a plain polo t-shirt. You noted that his shorts were dry, and wondered if he was waiting for a partner here, and didn’t particularly enjoy going into the various pools this spa had on offer. He made you think of Jack and his disdain for the place, and at that thought you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle.

You smiled politely, only looking up for a moment, before pretending to be engrossed in the magazine again. By now you’d reached the puzzle section, and in your head you were rapidly solving the crossword, a sudoku, and a letter shuffler. Too easy, all three of them…

“Hey, do you mind if I join you?” the man asked. You looked up again, and nodded at him, before gesturing to one of the lounges that lay beside you. Aside from him, there was nobody else in the room, so you figured his questioning meant he was likely going to sit near you. Perhaps he innocently wanted company. Or perhaps your plan had worked…

“Of course not. Please, take a seat,” you said. The man smiled at you before sitting in the lounge chair next to you - they weren’t too close to one another, so even though he was next to you he didn’t feel like he was crowding you. But still, a bizarre choice if this was an innocent venture. 

“Thanks. Nice to meet you, I’m Leon,” he said. You set your magazine down and leant over the gap between the loungers, shaking his hand. 

“Melanie,” you said, giving him the undercover name you had rehearsed with Jack in your room this morning after his confessional. 

“What brings you here then?” he asked. 

“My husband and I have come away for a few days. How about you?” you asked, not giving him a chance to immediately pinpoint your ‘marriage’, and also distinct lack of a ‘husband’ by your side. 

“I’m here with some friends. Boys trip, I suppose!” he chuckled. 

“Not here with the missus then?” you asked, genuinely a bit nosey now. Leon shook his head. 

“Nah. Some of the guys are married, and their wives are at much fancier hotels just a few miles from here. But we’re all ‘slumming it’,” he chuckled, “at this country club.”

“Good for them,” you smiled, chuckling under your breath. 

“Don’t think much of this place then?” Leon asked. You shook your head, biting your lip slightly, as if stifling another laugh. You were about to speak, but Ginger cut in through your discreet earpiece. 

“Whiskey, I’ve done a scan through your retina cameras, and his story does not check out. His name isn’t Leon, and he doesn’t appear to be with a group. Security footage shows he’s been here for weeks. Keep him talking, I think we’ve found our guy. I’ll let Jack know.”

“How come?”. 

You almost missed Leon’s question, so distracted by Ginger’s info-dump on you. Statesman technology was a marvel, so discreet that even as the wearer you would forget about it, so for a covert operation like this it was ideal tech to have for collecting as much intel as possible. It also meant that you and Jack were never truly separated when apart on these missions, which given you could be dealing with laced narcotics, was probably not a bad thing. 

Thinking fast, you sighed to yourself and pressed your lips together, before speaking. 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it here, but I think my time here has been…soured,” you said. Leon, or whatever his name actually was, just nodded, offering a tight smile - the kind people give you when they already know your life has gone to shit, but they don’t want to let onto that fact. 

“I don’t like to pry, but I couldn’t help but hear the…outburst, at breakfast,” he offered another sympathetic smile, so much so that you genuinely thought that even if you and Jack had genuinely had a fight, you’d be sick of his pity by now. 

“I rather feel like everyone heard that,” you chuckled. Leon laughed lightly with you, and suddenly the sympathy seemed to dissipate. Whatever his reason, whether it be you lightening the mood, or a potential ulterior motive, his whole demeanour switched. 

Ginger briefly cut in again; “Jack’s got company. A man also seen with your Leon here. I’ve got tabs on you both - keep it up, agent,” she said. 

Your heart thudded at the mention of Jack’s name - you knew he’d be fine, that whatever this other man wanted with him, he’d be able to hold his own. You’d been his training officer for years, supervising every part of his return to Statesman, so on that front you weren’t worried. But your chest still tightened at the thought of him being in any kind of danger. 

“Yeah, unfortunately I think word spread fast,” Leon said, and you couldn’t help but feel a little smug that your plan had worked, “I wasn’t even in the dining hall, and I found out within about ten minutes,” he chuckled. 

You shook your head, feigning amusement, but didn’t let up your gaze on Leon. You felt like whatever his purpose here was, with you, you were about to crack that code. 

“Oh, great!” you laughed, “Whatever will everyone think of me now? That I’m some crazy jealous wife?” you scoffed. Leon shook his head, furrowing his brow and then moving in his lounge chair to properly face you. With his legs slung off the side, he leant forward and grasped your hand with his, and squeezed it tight. 

“Not at all, Melanie,” he said, speaking so softly you could almost be forgiven for forgetting that this man was likely the suspect you were looking for in the first place. 

“Oh, what, do I not seem that to you?” you mocked him, but made an effort to not release him from your hold. You instead allowed your own fingers to dance over his, caressing his knuckles gently, lulling him into a false sense of trust. 

“I see a beautiful young woman who has been betrayed, and she should be in her every right to have some…payback,” Leon said, “Besides, you could do so much better than your husband,” he winked. 

And that’s when all the pieces fell into place. If this were an interrogation, you’d be having him now for his inconsistencies in his story. He claimed he wasn’t in the dining hall, but yet he knew what Jack looked like? You wondered if he’d just by chance seen Jack in passing, or if the two of you had been their target of operations well before even setting foot outside your room this morning. 

You hoped your face didn’t give away any of the revelations you just had in your head, and instead put on a very fake tight smile. You may be playing the part of a heartbroken wife, sick of her husband’s affairs, but the idea that Jack wasn’t good enough for you stung a little more than you expected. 

“You’re too kind, but I could never betray him,” you said, playing him back at his own game. 

“Don’t believe in the saying ‘an eye for an eye’?” he asked. You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head. 

“Isn’t the full version of that saying ‘an eye for an eye only ends with the whole world blind’?”. 

You couldn’t resist being a smart ass. 

Leon laughed to himself under his breath as you offered him a gentle smile, playing off your smart comment as jest. 

“That is true, I suppose. I had never thought of it that way,” he leant further forward, now clasping your hand between both of his and holding it tighter. His eyes briefly dipped down and he smiled as you didn’t flinch - if anything you let him, continuing to move your fingers within his own, intertwining yourselves as if you were star-crossed lovers. 

It felt disgusting. 

“So you’re really telling me there’s no part of you that wants to have a little fun? Get your own back, settle the score, and just enjoy yourself while you’re here?” he asked. You grinned, playing along again, and too moved yourself so that you were no longer laid back in the lounge chair. Planting your feet on the ground, you clasped your free hand around his. Leon glanced back down, and you could tell he was brimming with excitement for whatever scheme he was about to propose. 

“I never said that, did I?” you winked, feeling filthy at the attempt of flirting with him, it being something awfully unfamiliar as well as unwanted. 

“No, I don’t suppose you did,” he grinned. 

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, leaning forward a little more, making sure your chest was pushed together just right so that he could get a glimpse at what he was potentially after.

“I think I could show you a good time. And then, after, I could absolutely show you and your husband a way to…calm yourselves,” he smirked. 

“Sounds exciting…but what exactly do you mean? A spa treatment?” you joked, and the two of you chuckled. You needed to keep up this act that you were naive to what he was doing, get as much as you could on record while another agent sat, metaphorically, behind your eyes and in your ears. 

“No, sweetheart, nothing so…primitive,” he smirked, then stood up. With your hands still in his, you found yourself joining him, not wanting to be at a disadvantage so far down. He let go of you, sliding his hands now to rest on your waist, the one part of your body he could easily touch but that was also bare. Your skin prickled with goosebumps at his touch, your repulsion of being touched almost threatening to show itself. 

“Then what?” you asked, placing your own hands on his chest, leaning in further. He chuckled, then leant towards your ear. He kissed your neck softly, and you let out a fake whine at his touch, fighting the urge to pretend it was Jack so close to you right now. Focus, damn you!

“Just trust me - you two will be different people after,” he said, whispering in your ear. 

It was probably as much as you were going to get out of him - at least here, where anyone could walk in. You highly doubted that anyone dealing with narcotics would actually be stupid enough to outright offer them in such a public place. No, you had to change tactics. 

“How about we head back to my hotel room, and you can tell me all about it?” you offered. 

Leon’s grip on you tightened, and at this proximity you could feel the ever hardening length of his cock brushing against your thigh. If you weren’t careful, he may actually try and take this all the way…

But you trusted Ginger, and as the two of you headed out of the spa hand in hand, she confirmed through the comms that she was urging Jack to be at your room as soon as he could, without causing suspicion. You breathed a slight sigh of relief, knowing that backup would be just around the bend.

** Jack **

He made his way to the front of the hotel, a book in hand, and slung himself in a seat overlooking some of the gardens. It wasn’t in many people’s way, but it wasn’t secluded enough that if anyone wanted to come and talk to him they wouldn’t be able. The perfect mix of obvious and hidden - exactly what he needed. 

Jack opened up the book he picked up, a Fyodor Dostoevsky novel, and flicked it open to the last page he was on. Jack didn't read a lot, if he was being honest he should really read more. Loretta had always been on at him to do so, to find comfort and solace in the words and tales of others. But with so much of his own life feeling like a poorly written novel, there weren’t many times he could find a good enough story to escape into. 

Until he found Fyodor. Nothing quite distracted the mind like Russian existentialism. And man is a distraction what he needed right now. The argument with you, staged or otherwise, had left a sour taste in his mouth that he never expected.

Flicking through his current chapter, Jack pinned his ears back and began paying attention to the conversation of two men who walked nearby. He couldn’t quite make out everything, but he got enough that he suspected keeping an eye on them wouldn’t be the worst idea…

“...make you forget…”

“...side effects?...”

“...no cost to you…”

“...get me the woman from earlier…”

Jack was on high alert now. In this sleepy hotel, he didn’t imagine that there could be many people that the men were discussing other than you. He felt his heart rate increase at the notion of someone targeting you, even though your little performance in the dining hall was done with the exact intention of garnering this kind of attention. Ginger, still live over the comms, seemed to sense Jack’s train of thought. 

“Seltzer, I heard it, and I’m digging now. Stay calm,” she said, sensing that Jack was likely about to be anything but calm. She knew how he felt about you, even if he’d never outright told her; she wasn’t an idiot. 

Jack went back to his book, clearing his throat subtly to alert the men to his presence. But still, he never looked up. He acted like he had no idea they were there, and kept his cover; just as was planned. One of the two men nodded at the other, before leaving. The other, an older gentleman with a distinct lack of hair, came over to Jack. 

“Friend! I am sorry if my associate and I disturbed your peace here,” the man said. Jack put the marker in his book and closed it, now looking up and flashing the man a grin. 

“Oh, not at all! If I wanted total peace I’d be in my hotel room,” he chuckled. 

“Are you looking for…company?” the man asked. Jack raised his eyebrow, then shook his head. 

“No, I, uh- I take it you heard my wife and I having…,” he coughed, straightening up in his seat, “altercations over breakfast?”. The man chuckled, now sitting next to Jack. He was dressed in a smart pinstripe suit, flattering even for the gentleman’s larger frame. 

“I think the whole damn place heard about that, sir,” he laughed, and Jack joined in, not wanting to seem suspicious. 

“Yeah…we’re alright, really, me and her. Or, at least I hope we will be. That’s what this trip’s about,” he smiled flatly. 

“So you ain’t looking for anyone else to warm your bed?” he asked. Jack shook his head. 

“Not if I ever want my wife back. But I wouldn’t be remiss if she wanted that, y’know…,” Jack trailed off, catching himself in a scoff and shaking his head. “Oh, what am I saying…,” he lamented. 

“Hey, hey, friend,” the man said, slapping one hand on Jack’s shoulder, “It’s all good. And I get what you’re saying. An eye for an eye kind of deal, yeah?”. 

Jack nodded slowly, like he was convincing this man he had just figured out what he was trying to say, unbeknownst to him that he had this whole conversation mapped out before he even opened his mouth. He hated what he was about to propose, how he was going to use you for the greater good here, but he figured you’d understand. 

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right!” Jack smiled at the man, “But I ain’t sure my wife would see it as getting even…,” he said. 

“What if…,” the man leant in, “I could help you with your…predicament?”. 

“Go on?” Jack furrowed his brow. 

“My associate and I, we work for this place. We help couples like you find yourselves again. Sort of like a package deal, our service,” he began his sales pitch. Ginger pitched in over the comms. 

“Whiskey has company, but she’s fine. Sounds like she’s getting the same spiel from his colleague,” she said. 

Jack nodded, both in response to Ginger instinctively, but also to make it seem like he was listening to this man’s offer. “I’m listening,” he said, leaning forward in his seat. 

“Our methods are…unorthodox. But very effective,” he lifted a finger and pointed. Jack raised his eyebrow - his heart pounded in his chest at the words. Usually whenever he had used that word before, it meant shit was about to go down, or that this was only actually going to be a deal which benefited one of them. He guessed it wouldn’t be to his benefit. 

“I like the sound of that, and Lord knows we need the help,” he chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. 

“I hear you, my friend. Loud and clear. Are you interested?”. 

Jack nodded, pressing his lips together, continuing his role of the concerned husband who was begging for a break. 

“My associate and I, this isn’t our first rodeo. Like I says, we work for the guys who run this joint. It’s all above board,” the man began, almost like he was defending his scheme before he had even given any details to it, “But we can get you both something that’ll make you feel…alive,” he winked. 

A lightbulb went off in Jack’s head as he remembered back to the email thread exchanged with the two victims that were found just over a week ago.

“You mean, what, a neat whiskey?” Jack laughed, trying to play off his nerves with humour. It would also let the other man drop his guard and begin to reveal more details…

The man laughed with him, slapping Jack on the back as he did, like they were old friends. The proximity to someone who had potentially ruined hundreds of lives, and potentially been involved with The Golden Circle case, made Jack’s skin crawl. His hand on his back felt like a hot branding stick, seeping through his jacket and onto his skin. 

“No, my friend. Something…stronger,” the man said, before leaning over and slipping a small black velvet pouch into Jack’s hands. He clasped his fingers around Jacks, encouraging him to hold tight the literal evidence he’d just been handed. 

Jack’s eyes darted down, and within the fist his hand had formed he felt with the tips of his fingers what could be inside the pouch. He had his suspicions, and they were confirmed, when four distinct pill-sized items rubbed against his fingers through the material of the pouch. He gulped, hard. 

“And what’s the catch?” Jack queried. 

“Catch? Whatever do you mean?” the man questioned. 

“Well, I highly doubt you’d run a very successful business model if you go around handing out stuff like this. So what do I owe you?” Jack asked, still playing along. The man grinned, a properly sickly grin. The kind that anyone could recognise as that from someone who has an ace up their sleeve to play - and an unpleasant one at that. 

“You’re a smart one, my friend. Your wife is a lucky woman,” he chuckled, “But you are right. I do need payment…,” he trailed off. 

“So, how much is it?” he asked again, this time reaching for his wallet on the inside of his jacket pocket, showing his eagerness. The man raised his hand to stop him. 

“Not money. I mentioned how my associate and I were a package deal, yes?” Jack nodded in response, “We tend to find that having…relations, with the wife, then followed by the two of you enjoying your trip of a lifetime…it’s the most effective way to get back to each other.”

“Are you asking me if you can fuck my wife?” he asked, his tone harsh, noticing how his stomach panged at both the thought of either of those men touching you, but also the painful longing at calling you his “wife”. 

Later, Jack. Much later.

“Me, my associate…maybe both?” he shrugged, so bizarrely nonchalant about what he was asking. Then again, he had just handed Jack a bag of drugs without a care in the world, so it wasn’t all that surprising. 

“Right…,” Jack went quiet, pretending like he was mulling over the decision, “Well, obviously I am keen for my wife and I to reconnect. And I suppose this would be the whole “an eye for an eye” shit; she would be within her right to fuck someone else. But I can’t just,” he chuckled, “Pimp out, my wife. I would have to ask her.”

“Of course, my friend, I understand. And we never would force her…but my associate, just so you know, is already with her, offering her this very same arrangement. Perhaps you won’t need to worry about asking her…maybe the decision has already been made?”.

The man laughed, a real smarmy and vile laugh that sent a shiver down Jack’s spine again. Somehow this man had utterly disgusted him twice already in their brief encounter. Suddenly, he found himself on his feet. 

“My friend, relax,” the man stood to join him, “I was only teasing. But how about we find your wife, and finish this conversation?”. 

Jack nodded, and without any further words the two of them set off for your room. Jack didn’t dare to speak as he paced the hallways, frightened his true feelings would come through and give away everything. 

And he meant everything. 

** You **

The walk back to the hotel room had seemed both agonisingly painful, yet over far too soon. For as certain as you were in your own abilities, the thought of being alone with a man whom you didn’t know was not something that filled you with much pleasure. Even back in your early twenties, you’d never been one for hook-ups and one night stands, too worried about the unknown aspect to it all. 

So now, to be playing the role of the floozy wife who was out for an affair with a stranger, felt oh so foreign to you.

On slightly nervous fingers, you used the key card to access the room. The lock buzzed on the other side, indicating it had just been unlocked, thus reiterating to you how alone you two were truly about to be. There was no Jack on the other side of the door, nor had you seen him wandering the corridors. The spa was on the other side of the hotel to the room, and the two of you had agreed to try and cover a wide berth earlier, but that fact didn’t feel rather comforting right now. 

“Well, this is me,” you smiled, instantly putting some distance between the two of you. You busied yourself at the night stand, acting like you were looking for something, and left Leon to have a quick look around the room. 

“You can tell your husband is trying to apologise,” he commented. You turned around, furrowing your brow in confusion. Leon smiled at your expression, before gesturing to the room, “This is one of the nicest suites in the whole place. He’s obviously paid top-dollar for your stay; probably in a bid for you to forgive him.”

You shrugged, going back to busying yourself with other things, still not quite ready to bridge that gap. Wherever Jack was, you were facing the fact that you may have to go through with a lot of this plan all on your own, so you had to be prepared. Slowly, you headed over to the bathroom door, knowing in the back of your head that at least your weapons were neatly stored away in there - just in case. 

“Maybe he is, but I can’t say that’s going to work,” you smiled flatly, then collected a handful of clothes. Nothing major, just a pair of shorts and a cover-all jacket; nothing that would rouse too much suspicion. 

“Do you mind if I just slip into something more comfortable, for now? I’m rather cold now we’re not in the spa,” you said, your hand already on the bathroom door handle. 

“Yeah, sure…just- you’ll be hot again soon, princess,” Leon smirked, sending a wink your way. 

“I’m counting on it,” you said back, before dipping into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you, and viscerally shuddering. 

Ew. Ew. Ew! 

You breathed slowly, then set to work on your plan. Putting on the shorts and cover-all, you got given a bit more covering than if you were still in your bikini. Not a lot, but enough to slip a few weapons under your belt in case things went awry. You couldn’t act too soon, you still needed the verbal or physical confirmation that Leon was indeed involved in narcotic distribution like you suspected. But it didn’t hurt to be prepared. 

You couldn’t kill him, nor did you have the space on your body or within your clothing to be able to hide a weapon that would do that much damage. What there was room for though were small patches that you could slip into your bikini top, or shorts. They appeared like normal stickers, the kind you’d use if you were giving up smoking and needed a nicotine patch, that kind of thing. They were thin, discreet, and upon contact to the skin (once activated), they would deliver an electric shock. Not enough to kill, no. But certainly enough to stun. 

You slipped a few of the patches in both your bikini top and short’s pocket. Other than your comms devices, there wasn’t really much else you had which could come in handy right now. Taking a deep breath in, you turned on your heels and headed back out the door. 

Leon had already been rifling through the mini-bar in your room, and was pulling out bottles. The idea of any more alcohol after your early start today turned your stomach to churning, but with how enthusiastically he was pulling bottles out you weren’t sure you had a choice. 

“Such a shame,” he began, “I had hoped there would be whiskey.” You laughed to yourself softly, before sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him. 

“There was. My husband and I, we- we had an argument this morning. Unrelated to what happened at breakfast, ironically. Two fights in one day; can’t be good, can it?” you sighed. Leon turned to face you and gave you that same sympathetic smile he’d done earlier, before decanting some of the other liquors into the glasses. By the looks of it you were about to get one hell of a strong neat vodka - great. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. Don’t beat yourself up,” he said, closing the gap across the room, two drinks in his hands. Your heart thudded again, and it felt like your heart was about to escape out of your chest. You tentatively took the drink from Leon as he sat next to you, noticeably closer this time than anything in the spa. 

“No, I know,” you smiled, then lifted your glass, “Cheers!”. 

“Cheers,” Leon replied, smiling sweetly as he downed the entire drink in one sip. You felt your eyes widen - you’d not seen anyone down a drink like that since Tequila lost a bet on the night you became a Statesman agent, almost three years ago now. You took a different approach, choosing to sip on the drink instead. 

“Not a fan of that then?” Leon asked, noticing how you barely touched the alcohol. You shook your head. 

“I’d prefer a cocktail, if I’m being honest. Another downside to this place,” you chuckled. Leon smiled at you, his eyes flitting from your own to your lips, then down to your chest. You wondered if he was trying to be subtle - if this were his idea of it, then he was failing miserably. 

“I can go and get you something from the main bar, if you’d like?” he offered. 

On the one hand it could be a good way to put a bit of space between you for a moment, buy you some more time before Jack arrived. But on the other hand, perhaps him leaving could be a mistake - what if he got word of who you were, what if he bumped into Jack and the jig was up before the dance could even begin? No, you were too close now to potentially lose this lead. 

And then, like your own guardian angel, Ginger buzzed in. “T-minus 30 seconds for backup, Whiskey. Keep him talking”. 

30 seconds. Okay, you could do that. Just 30 seconds…

It was reckless, probably stupid beyond belief, but if Jack was about to walk through that door you would at least be safe from harm. And if he was about to walk through, you bet your salary that you were going to give him something to be appalled about so you could keep up this whole charade. It might be the only way to eventually get this guy to open up, plus whatever his colleague had to say that Jack had already run into. 

“No, thank you. I think everything I’ve got is right here-,” you cut off your own words as you crashed your lips into Leon’s, your hands planted on his chest again. 

Leon gasped against your lips but kissed you back, his arms snaking around your waist almost immediately and pulling you onto his lap. You let him manhandle you, knowing that you didn’t have to put up with this for long. You tolerated the bitter taste of vodka on his lips, slipping your tongue across the seam before he eventually parted his mouth to give you access. 

You took it, gently grinding on his lap as his hands wandered across the remaining bare flesh he could access. In his defence, this was definitely not the worst kiss you’d ever had in your life, and had the circumstances for your meeting been any different you might have actually been into it. But seducing a man who was potentially responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths was hardly the way to turn you on. 

He grunted against your mouth as you kissed him deeper, just wanting to keep him here until Jack arrived. Any longer and you’d worry where those wandering hands might lead, and how far this could go before you’d either have to fully commit to this or worm your way out of it. Fortunately, your prayers were answered pretty swiftly. 

You weren’t sure Leon even heard the sound of Jack fiddling with the lock on the other side of the door, but you certainly did. Your ears virtually pricked up at the sound, giving you a comfort knowing that you were about to be safe again. So you doubled down. 

Your hands moved, now lacing themselves between Leon’s thick hair, tugging softly and drawing more inappropriate sounds from his lips. Keeping your eyes closed, you let your mind wander slightly, picturing what it would be like to go this far with Jack finally. How would he feel, how would he touch you - where would he touch you, also? It was enough to draw out your own sound of pleasure, something Leon definitely heard if his tightening grip and low grunt was anything to go by. 

But then the voice of the man who you were busy fantasising about cut through the room, and you grinned as you broke your kiss with Leon. Finally, I’m safe. 

“Melanie?!” Jack shrieked as he entered the room, another man in tow. You remained in Leon’s lap but turned your head to face Jack, your eyes lighting up as you caught his gaze. He looked utterly horrified, and for a moment you weren’t sure if it was just very good acting on his part, or if he genuinely thought the sight before him was abhorrent. Right now, it could go either way. 

“Oh, my friend, it seems like your wife has already made this decision for you,” the other man said, nudging Jack with his elbow. You grinned, leaning your neck back to allow Leon to continue kissing your bare skin, but keeping your bodies flush enough that he couldn’t go much further south than your collarbone. 

“Who’s your friend?” you asked, mocking both the other man’s words and Jack - slightly. 

“I am Hector, my lady. Leon and I are colleagues. But it seems you two are already acquainted,” Hector chuckled, holding onto the lapels of his jacket as he laughed. You hated that more than you should, it up to now being an endearing thing you’d only ever seen Champ do. You wondered if for a moment these people had someone dug into your lives way more than anticipated and extrapolated everything you liked to try and sour it against you. 

“Wait, that’s your associate?” Jack said. Hector chuckled, nodding. You turned to Leon, forcing him off you slightly. 

“Leon, who is this man?” you asked, feigning innocence once again. He pulled back from your chest, eyes wide like a baby dear, and smiled wide. 

“He’s my colleague,” he answered, then turned to Hector, “I found her, boss. She was right where you said she’d be.”

At that, you recoiled. Acting or not, you weren’t sure. 

“What the fuck do you mean?” you asked, pulling your cover-all over you, as if the sheer material was going to cover anything of what laid beneath. Hector now approached you slowly, open arms, seemingly trustworthy. 

“My lady, hey, shhh,” he hushed you, before bringing one arm around your shoulders, “It is nothing nefarious. I was just explaining to your good husband here, how Leon and I help people.”

“Help them how?” you asked. 

“Leon,” Hector looked over at the younger man, disappointment painted on his face, “What have I told you about explaining our procedure fully to clients before spreading your legs, boy?”. 

You admittedly had to laugh at that one. Even Jack looked somewhat amused. When Hector turned to look at you, eyebrow raised, you covered your mouth to stop further laughter escaping, and put on your best deceiving look. 

“I’m sorry, Hector, I don’t mean to laugh. But in Leon’s defence, I didn’t really,” you coughed to clear your throat, acting as if you were slightly embarrassed by the whole ordeal, “I didn’t give him much time to explain, you see…”. 

If Jack wasn’t seeing red already, he sure as hell was now. He glared at Leon, not missing the obvious strain across his crotch where you had been sitting just minutes earlier. A primal urge soured through him, and he wanted nothing more than to put this man six feet under for even daring to touch you. 

“Oh-ho, my girl!” Hector laughed now, slapping you across the shoulders, “My friend, you have a good one here!” he said to Jack, who merely rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled, now looking at the floor, “So, are you going to tell her your plan, or not? I’m rather keen to get to the good part,” Jack said. 

“Of course!” Hector unfurled his arms from you, and moved over to the small coffee table. He leant into his jacket pocket, and laid out small velvet bags on the table. You headed over slowly, Leon quickly approaching behind you, his hands never far from your body. In a brief moment where you and Jack could make eye contact, and not be interpreted by anyone else’s gaze, you gave him a very knowing look as he glanced at Leon’s wandering hands; the don’t you fucking dare, look. 

“What’s all this?” you asked. Hector took a seat by the coffee table, pleased as punch with himself. 

“As I was explaining to your husband here, Leon and I provide a…service. A way to bring couples back to one another. We have a lot of cases here where someone’s looking to settle the score, and fortunately for Leon and I it is often the women who need that,” he chuckled as Leon planted a kiss on your neck. 

“Can we hurry it up?” Jack asked. 

“So impatient this one,” Hector grinned, “Very well. The long and short of our scheme is, Leon here will help you settle the score with your husband physically. And then the two of you can reconnect spiritually, with the help of one of my little friends here,” he explained, motioning to the velvet bags. 

“What’s inside them?” you asked, your pulse racing. You were so close to getting the confirmation you needed. 

“Whatever you like,” he opened one of the bags, emptying it onto the coffee table, “We’ve got opioids, methamphetamines, ecstasy…you name it, we can get it. And we promise you’ll leave this trip back in each other’s arms, happier than ever”. 

A myriad of small pills laid out before both you and Jack. You had to blink a few times just to make sure you weren’t dreaming this whole thing up, that it wasn’t too good to be true and you had literally just been handed the answers to everything out on a plate. 

Even though these guys were clearly independent contractors, and not part of something as widespread as The Golden Circle operation ever was, they at the very least had enough of a ponzi scheme in place that you could justifiably bring them in and question them. Find out who their supplier is, how many people they had targeted, was this part of a much wider operation? It might not be all the answers, but fuck this could be the start of a lot of them. 

“Oh my,” you gawked, “And you really don’t want anything for it?” you asked. Jack shook his head. 

“Sugar, I already offered. But Hector insisted. If…if you wanna settle the score, I’d understand, and I’ll go right out this door now. And then, my love,” Jack reached forward and grasped your hands, his eyes so soft and pleading you were starting to lose track of where reality and acting blurred, “we can come back together. As one,” he smiled. 

“That sure does sound appealing…but is that what you want, my love?” you asked. 

Ginger buzzed in through both your ears, taking advantage of a moment where the two of you were locked in on each other. “We have a confirmed visual, and we’ve managed to get a match on facial recognition for both men. Reel it in, agents”.

Relief washed over you. All you had to do now was to get out of this situation. Fortunately, you’d prepared. 

“And, by the way, I think we need a code word for if we need to disengage from our roles,” Jack had mentioned to you on the drive over here yesterday. 

“Jack you’re not asking me for a ‘safe word’, are you?” you’d teased, laughing to yourself and earning an eye roll from Jack. You could tell he wanted to laugh along, and was trying his hardest not to. 

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” he playfully swatted your thigh as he held back laughter, “But I’m serious. A word, phrase, nickname, whatever. Something we can use which signals that we’re ready to break cover, and potentially let things get a little ugly”. 

“So the opposite of a sleeper agent’s switch-on code?” you asked. 

“Basically, yeah. You got anything? It’s got to be something we wouldn’t normally say,” he said. 

“This really is sounding like a safe word now,” you sniggered, earning another swat on your thigh. 

“Whiskey, behave,” Jack jokingly scolded. 

“Okay, okay,” you bit your lip as you thought. Suddenly every word you thought of felt like it could be something that would feasibly come into conversation, and nothing sat long enough to make any sense why you’d throw that word into regular dialogue. Everything sounded wrong.

But then the truck rolled past an orchard, and a lightbulb went off in your head. 

“Call me peach,” you said, “Like as a term of endearment.”

“Peach, huh? Like instead of sugar, or darlin’?” he asked, clarifying. 

“Yeah. Peach.”

“Alright. Peach it is,” Jack grinned. 

“Peach, is that what you want?” Jack asked. 

There it was. Peach. You grinned at him, steadying your ground, ready to launch into whatever bullshit was about to come your way. But, with Ginger’s help, you didn’t see it being that bad…

“You bet your ass it is,” you chuckled, and at that confirmation, you both broke face. 

Jack moved towards Hector, knocking the man back into his seat with a blow to the face, enough to make him recoil and drop the velvet bags he was still holding. You didn’t need all of them salvaged, just enough to take back for testing. 

As soon as Jack moved, you wriggled free from Leon, dropping yourself to your knees in one go to distribute your body weight so fast he couldn’t grip tight enough to hold on. Rolling away quickly, you spoke out loud to Ginger now for the first time since this mission started. 

“Activate; now!” you said. 

All three men turned to look at you, confusion evident. But then a jolt of electricity ran through Leon, starting from his neck and traveling down his body. His limbs went limp and he collapsed to the ground, and as he rolled onto his front, it revealed what you’d snuck onto his skin. 

One of the patches. 

In the heat of the kissing before Jack arrived, you’ve already slid one of the patches on, using your fingers tugging in his hair as the perfect distraction. All you’d need to activate it was Ginger on the other end, with her proverbial big red button. You grinned to yourself as you restrained Leon by his hands on his back, using a zip tie for the meantime - not that he was going to be conscious enough to notice for a while then. 

“Good job Whiskey,” Jack said, now tying Hector up himself. The one blow to the face had been enough to knock him dizzy, and Jack had been able to maneuver him in that time to incapacitate him. 

“You too, Seltzer,” you grinned, then opened up your comms link again, “Ginger, do you copy? We have both suspects in custody. Send backup immediately to transport back to base.”

“Copy that, Whiskey. Good job, guys”. 

What a fucking week this was turning out to be…