Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Ross. Get out of here before I stake you.”
“Stake me?” Ross said, swaying a bit on his legs. “You’d never get away with that.”
“Like hell I wouldn’t.” Erik stared hard at the man, knowing Ross could see his face in the flickering light.
Ross leaned over and ran his hand up Cherine’s leg. Erik could feel her twitch, trying to get away from his touch.
“You walk away now, Ross. Walk away, and I won’t kill you.”
Ross laughed again. He was drunk off his tree, which wasn’t unusual. Erik could barely stand the deviant bastard when he was sober, and that wasn’t often.
“She’s not yours,” Ross slurred. “Why should you get to hold on to that whore?”
“I know she’s not mine,” Erik said, his voice cold as steel. “She’s Rolf’s.”
“Then seeing as Rolf likes me as much as he likes you, he wouldn’t mind if you passed her my way.”
Erik tightened his grip around Cherine, grateful she couldn’t understand a word of what was being spoken.
“Should I take it up with Rolf? I bet he won’t mind,” he continued, baiting him.
Erik didn’t bite though he feared his next words. “Go ahead.”
He could feel Ross’s hidden eye bearing down on him. There was a moment’s pause as he thought it over. Finally, he said, “You should be careful. This new role as hero doesn’t suit you…Erik the Axe.”
Ross gave Cherine’s leg one last squeeze before turning around and stumbling past the embers and into the woods.
“Are you all right?” he whispered into her hair.
She nodded. “I am.” She sounded so small in the night.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he went on, hoping she could hear the determination in his voice. But as determined as he was, he wondered what would happen when she became Rolf’s and he was no longer there to protect her.
Morning came with the songbirds. Erik was already awake, unable to fall sleep again after Ross had left. He had got a fresh fire going and was watching Cherine doze, curled up in the blankets among the leaves. Her skin was so even and fine in the early dawn that Erik wished for his brush and easel that he had at his mother’s place back in Møre. Cherine would make a beautiful painting one day.
When she did finally wake, her black hair cascading down the sides of her face in messy waves, he had brought her water and bread from the rest of the men. He didn’t see Ross out among them, which was just as well. He was ready to do some serious damage to him.
He did, however, see Rolf, who had kept to himself at night. Erik made no mention of Ross’ visit, lest Rolf think that sharing Cherine with him would be a prudent idea. And the more Rolf made suggestive hints about her, the more Erik feared he’d lose his hold on her. Still, Rolf didn’t ask for her, and instead, he conspired with Erik about the best course of action when taking Saint Martin.
It was going to be a bloody battle. There was no way getting around it. They knew they’d lose half their men to the French forces, but that was all part of Rolf’s plan. He knew they’d still win, and the more devastating the fight—to both sides—the more the news would travel. Rolf wanted nothing more than to be the man to fear in France. He wanted the country to cower at his warrior cry.
“I trust I can count on you to be fighting alongside me,” Rolf said. Erik knew that look in his eyes all too well. His leader was doubting him.
“Of course,” he said, not daring to ask.
Rolf slowly rubbed at his beard. “You see, I’m worried about you, old friend. I worry you’ve gone soft.”
“Cherine will stay in the back. I’ll have Knut take care of her.”
“This isn’t about the whore,” Rolf said, and Erik’s chest tightened at that choice of words. “Erik, I saw the way you fought in Criolium. Gone is the fearsome Erik the Axe, and I just don’t know where he’s gone to.”
Erik met Rolf’s eyes, risking he’d see through him. “I killed many men.”
“That you did,” Rolf agreed. “But not the way you have before. You used to be a warrior, and now…you’re practically civilized.”
And is that such a bad thing? Erik thought. He looked away at the rest of the camp, men who inspired the word “berserk.” It was true that he no longer fought with his axe, lopping off as many heads as he could come across. Erik the Axe was a bloodthirsty, ruthless machine who fought for the respect and approval of his oldest friend. But now that he had that approval, a position as second-in-command, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep it.
“A little civility goes a long way,” Erik reasoned, keeping his tone light. “If the men die and we win, what does it matter how they died?”