Page 20 of Ravager
“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 offas 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?”
Rolf chuckled, a deep, rolling sound. “Because killing should be an art. It should be an event. It should be fun. It’s what Odin wants for us, why Valhalla awaits us. You know, I miss those days when I could see the passion in your eyes. My gods, you were quite the sight, Erik. You were something else.”
He was someone else.
“I am sure this will be an event,” Erik conceded. “So, what is our strategy?”
And with that deft change of subject, Erik got Rolf focused on something else. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much strategy to this attack. There was no sneaking or hiding or spies or Trojan horses. They were going to ride up on their horses and attack. And unlike the way the French rulers fought, Rolf would be at the very front, battering down the manor’s front door.
When Erik returned to Cherine, she was huddled by the log, looking put out. As soon as she saw him, she jumped to her feet and ran over to him.
Her delicate hands clasped around his arm, and his heart warmed at her touch. “I thought you had left! I didn’t know what happened to you.”
“I was just talking with Rolf.”
“You left me alone,” she went on, still panicked, perhaps even annoyed. “I could have been attacked.”
He smiled. “I didn’t leave you alone. I had someone watching over you this whole time.”
Erik looked to the trees and waved his arm. Cherine peered over, and a strapping young man came out from behind a tree.
He was a year old than Cherine and had messy black hair that waved around his forehead and stopped at the nape of his neck. Though his attempts at a full beard never took, he sported a goatee and mustache that made his young face look more rugged while his hazel eyes glowed with youth. He was not only a good-looking young man, but an eager one as well, and Erik held him in high regard.
“Cherine, this is Knut,” Erik introduced them.
She raised her brows while Knut did a small bow.
“Knut is one of the few men I trust,” he explained. “He grew up down the road from me in Møre, his mother and my mother very good friends. He doesn’t understand a lick of French, so I’m afraid he won’t be good for conversation. However, he will take care of you during the battle.”
Her eyes widened to emerald pools, fear palpable in them. “Battle?”
“Yes, battle. Saint Martin should only be a few more hours, and then we must take over. You understand.”