The Prisoner -- The Last Kingdom

Chapter 4

One year later.

It was twilight when Aethelflaed finally reached the camp. Her feet were swollen and sore from days of walking. She was grateful for the thick hooded cloak she had brought with her, which guarded her against the brisk wind and kept her face shadowed. She could not be recognized, at least not yet.

The two guards waiting at the edge of the camp noticed her immediately. She held up her hands to show she was unarmed – though she had a knife folded into her dress, just in case – and called out to them through the growing darkness. "I need to see Lord Erik."

The first guard, shorter with a long beard, approached her, getting too close to her face. She bowed her head, praying the hood and the shadows would keep her features vague. He said something in Danish, and though she didn't understand the words, she knew he was trying to intimidate her.

"I need to speak with Lord Erik," she repeated firmly.

The second man grinned at her, but it wasn't a friendly grin. "You need to have a drink with us. Keep us company."

Aethelflaed tugged a small pouch from her belt. "Silver coins. All I have. It's yours if you take me to your lord."

The taller man looked doubtful, so she shook the purse, letting the coins jingle against each other. He swatted, trying to grab the purse, but she pulled it away. "Just walk me through the camp. Easy money." He sighed and muttered in Danish, then turned and led her into the camp.

Aethelflaed kept her eyes on the ground. She did not want to make eye contact with any of the warriors drinking and laughing around the fires. But she passed unnoticed; there were many women in the camp already, nothing remarkable about one more.

The man came to an abrupt stop and turned, his hand outstretched. Aethelflaed took a stubborn step back.

"Where is Lord Erik?"

The man pointed across the nearest fire, and she saw a blonde man, laughing at something his companion had said. Yes, that was his laugh, but harsher then she'd ever heard it. Had he changed? Had she made a mistake coming here?

"Silver." The guard was still waiting. She handed him the purse, and he grinned again. "Lord Erik," he shouted, catching the attention of the men around the fire. "You have a visitor." Before any of the men could react, the guard had slipped off into the darkness.

Erik sighed and eased to his feet. He was still recovering from a blow to his leg in battle and he felt a jolt of pain as he walked around the fire. It was dark, too dark to see who was waiting for him. A woman, he judged, though he could barely make out her shape under her heavy cloak.

When he was near enough to see her face, he couldn't believe it. It was his mind playing tricks. He had carried Aethelflaed's image in his thoughts for so long that now he was confused, mistaking some poor whore for the Lady of Mercia. But then she spoke.

"You helped me once before, Lord Erik. Are you foolish enough to help me again?"

Her soft voice was soon drowned out by the jeers and laughter from his comrades nearby. Erik took her by the arm and pulled her away from the fire.

They had escaped into the peace and quiet of his tent, but still, he had not spoken. He watched her remove her cloak, his eyes lingering on the curves of her body, the unexpected swell of her stomach. She sighed in relief as she eased off her boots. She unconsciously rested her hand on her belly, but lowered it when she saw him staring.

Erik poured some fresh water into a mug and handed it to her. When he drew close, he saw shadows around her neck. Bruises? It was too difficult to tell in the faint light of the torch.