Wessex attacked in the woodlands, before the Danes could reach the open field. In a matter of seconds, the fight broke out. The road became a blunder of silver armor and wooden shields. Blood and bones. You fought for your life and the life of your people, and you were good at it.

Until your sword broke. The advantage you held of being ruthless, Saxons had of better equipment. Your weapon was not strong enough. You were on the dirt and a tall warrior hovered above you. Today was the day you’d meet your gods, after all.

A sword slashed through his back and out his stomach. Droplets of blood stained your skin and the man fell to the ground. A familiar face stared back at you, his chest heaved with pants while he pulled his blade out of the dead body.

“That’s one of ours, you fool!” One of his companions screamed from his stance a few yards away.

“Sorry,” Sihtric wiped the blood off his face. He gave you a warning gaze, “It won’t happen again.”

Whether it was directed to you or his friend, you didn’t know. But you wouldn’t take any chances. You grabbed the sword from the dead’s hands and stood up. Your head bobbed in a curt nod. You couldn’t bring yourself to say thank you.

Sihtric returned to the fight and you were left on the sidelines to look at the chaos that unfolded. Danes piled up on top of Saxons. You were losing. You had already lost. Few of your own kept fighting strong, but it no longer mattered. You ran to them and shouted.

“Fall back!”

You slashed a man’s throat, pushed another, you fought through your exhaustion to help those that remained. Soon, there was not one soul left to fight. Except you.

A body pressed against your back and a blade touched your throat. “Enough,” He whispered in your ear. Your leaders had either fled to fight another day, or had long bled out on the floor. But you didn’t see them.

Your grip was tight on the handle of your sword, “So our paths cross once again.” You taunted.

“Drop your sword.”

“I wish to go to Valhalla,” You hissed, “or have you forgotten how death works, Sihtric?”

“You will not die today,” reassured Sihtric, “if you drop your sword.”

Your weapon fell by your feet. You took in a deep breath, “Why?”

“Because I say so,” He smirked, “Finan! Tie her up, she is coming with us.”

The man, the one who had yelled at him for saving you, stared, baffled, “Why?”

Sihtric ignored him, and Finan walked closer to you with a piece of rope he got from one of the horses, as he approached you, Sihtric holstered his dagger. You felt the heat of his body push away as he left.

“Why?” Finan asked you. His Irish accent was thickly laced in his words. You shrugged.

To your despise and discomfort, you were dragged back to Winchester by your enemies. The walk was long and you were not granted a horse. Other than a few looks from some of the men, you were treated fairly well. For a prisoner.

Once you reached their town, a warm welcome waited for you. They praised their new king and rejoiced in their victory. You were taken to the stables by Sihtric, and waited patiently for him to take care of his horse and Uhtred’s. Your hands were tied, so you weren’t of much assistance. He was quiet as he did his work. Everyone else had already gone to the tavern or brothel to celebrate. You could hear the cheers from where you stood. A constant reminder of your loss.

“Why am I here?” You asked once the silence became to loud for you.

Sihtric finished tying his horse to the wood before he answered, “Where would you rather be?”

“Home.”

“And where is that?” You clenched your jaw. There was no denying, you had no home. He pressed further, “With Cnut? Haesten?”

“What is your point?”

Finally, he turned and gave you his full attention, “Why do you serve men who are driven by nothing but their own greed? We are Danes, but that does not mean we must follow them.”

You laughed, “Are you suggesting that I follow the Daneslayer?”

“Uhtred is an honorable man. He is different.”

“I will not turn against my people.”

“Your people left you to die on the battlefield today,” He spat. You pretended the words didn’t hurt as much as they did. He took a deep breath, and moved closer, “I believe you are smarter than that. And I believe we keep meeting each other for a reason. If you wish to return to Cnut, I will not stop you. But I hope you will consider my offer.”

To prove his point, he cut you lose. You rubbed your sore wrists with relief, “What does your lord think of this?”

“Uhtred trusts my judgement,” Sihtric gave you a soft smile. He moved so he was out of your way. You saw a clear path right before you, yet you were conflicted.

“You put too much faith on your beliefs,” You warned.

Sihtric only shrugged and leaned against the stable wall. Truth was, he knew you better than you knew him. He had watched you closely many times. Your face and body had crossed his mind more times than he could remember. Finan had warned him the same you had. You are not thinking with your head, he said. Call him a fool, but his faith was strong on his gods and his gut, and they both told him this was the right thing to do.

“Perhaps,” Sihtric pushed away from the wall and started walking towards the tavern where his friends waited for him. The image was fairly similar to the end of your last encounter, and you found your heart tightening in your chest.

“Sihtric,” You called out, he turned to you in one motion.

You closed the distance between the two of you with a few steps and swallowed dry. You mustered up the courage to say the words you needed to say.

“Thank you.”

You softly stroked his cheek, and on the tip of your toes, placed a gentle kiss on his lips as a gesture of your gratitude. Each pounding heartbeat inside his chest echoed in his ears. As you pulled away, his eyes remained closed for a long moment. His posture was even more rigid than it had been in battle. To Sihtric, fighting was natural. Who he was, down to the core, a warrior. This was new. The way heat rose from his chest down to his stomach, how his entire body burned with anticipation.

He pulled you closer by the waist and locked his lips on yours with a burning kiss. Your hands roamed up his neck, fingers tangled on his hair. This was more than a simple display of gratitude. The kiss was filled with desire, and yearning. It was a bargain. Stay.

His nails sank into your corset, bringing you closer, you leaned onto him. Sihtric forced himself to pull away as he heaved for more air.

“Will you stay?” He asked.

You did not have a proper answer.

“I will stay the night,” You stated, conflicted.