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As we walked, I went through everything in my head that I could say. Everything that I might need to say. Who was I? Where was I from? What was my story? How did I end up here among Saxons?
Had it been my father who'd mysteriously jumped through time, there'd be no issue. Had he been here beside me, he would've probably told me that I should just go under the radar. Don't cause any trouble, try to remain unnoticed and just blend into the background. But my father wasn't here and, despite all my academic success, I remained utterly brain dead.
"Brother," An unfamiliar voice spoke up in Old Norse - which I was managing to understand far better than I'd initially anticipated. I suppose all that my father had taught me had actually gone in. "Who is that?" The voice was smooth and soft with a sharp edge hidden behind it like a snake. Shivers ran up my spine as I listened, and instinctively my body told me that I was no longer safe.
Ubbe turned to me, sending me a reassuring look as he turned back to his brother. "A prisoner of the Saxons, her name is Iris. They believe she's a witch."
As I peered from behind the large Viking, I saw the person he was talking to. But he wasn't stood tall like his brother with a sword in hand. Instead, he sat upon the floor. Previously I had thought that Ubbe's eyes were the brightest shade of blue that I'd ever seen, but I was proven wrong again when I looked over at this stranger. His hair was much darker than that of his brother's and he was smeared in the blood of his Saxon victims. As I glanced down at his legs, I noticed the bracers that wrapped around them. He was crippled. And that's when my heart stopped beating.
His name was Ivar The Boneless. Not just a son of Ragnar, but perhaps the most famous Viking to ever live. And he was staring back at me.
"Are you?" He narrowed his gaze at me suspiciously, as though he was figuring out what kind of person I was and also attempting to intimidate me - which was certainly working.
I looked back at him for a moment, thinking over my response. My father would've told me to say no, to shut up and follow Ubbe. But I couldn't. Without another thought, all my other plans slipped away in one simple answer. "Yes," I stated calmly, folding my arms. My gaze never left his and my features remained cold like stone. "I am."
For a moment, I wasn't sure whether I made the right decision. He stared at me, eyes still narrowed as he figured me out. And then, slowly but surely, a wicked smile crept onto his features and he began to laugh. Ubbe stared at me as though he wasn't sure what to say or do. As though he knew that I was no longer in his hands. But perhaps my fate rested in his younger brother.
"Where does she come from?" A somewhat familiar voice called out and I recognized him instantly as the man that Ubbe had been with earlier.
I wanted to say Oxfordshire, but that would still make me a Saxon and their enemy. So, instead, I thought of the next best thing. "Cymru." I answered, thanking God that I'd taken Welsh class in Primary school instead of French. "Wales to the Saxons."
"A Celt?" Ubbe turned to me again in recognition, and I simply nodded. They wouldn't know that I wasn't, how could they? So, I simply thanked my lucky stars that I had thought of something fast enough.
"A Celtic Witch." Ivar concluded, making all three of us turn back to him. "I thought the Celts were Christian."
I froze for a moment, knowing he was right. Fuck, I should've paid more attention to my mother's Roman history lessons. "Yes," I answered. "Well, not me. I follow the old religion, like my family have done for thousands of years while we were persecuted and subdued by the Christians. We were travelling North to the Gaels where there remains pagans in some areas when we were robbed. I fled but my parents were not so lucky. When I sought refuge among the Saxons, I was locked away and sentenced to death as a pagan and Celt."
They each listened to me, nodding in understanding, but I could see the suspicion in Ivar's eyes. It took every ounce of me not to fangirl and ask for his autograph there and then but I kept my composure as I knew my life depended on it.
"If you're a witch," Ivar spoke up again, still unsatisfied. "Why didn't you curse the Saxons and free yourself? Hm?"
With my chin high and my gaze never breaking his, I responded, "You're here, aren't you? And am I not free?"
He gave a small grin, eyes alight like fire, "For now." He shrugged before looking back at his older brothers. "Since she's a witch," He looked back at me suspiciously. "She should stay with us. She might prove useful."
"Agreed." Ubbe answered with a nod.
The other man nodded in unison before Ivar addressed him. "Hvitserk, find her somewhere to stay." He spoke with complete control and I couldn't help but internally scream like the history nerd I was. I followed Hvitserk, who smiled at me kindly as he led the way, before looking back at the crippled prince. When I turned to look at him, I found that his gaze had never left me. Like a predator watching it's prey.
