Alexander held up a hand sharply, ceasing Declan and Stewart when they unsheathed their blades, and remained perfectly calm, still speaking loudly enough for all to hear. “I fear I dinnae ken of what you speak.” Sounding confused, he shook his head. “I saw no such writing, nor did any of my men.”
I braced myself for someone in the crowd to deny it, meaning someone had witnessed the carnage before us, but if they had, no one spoke up.
“Youlie,” the tallest man seethed, his gaze narrowing on King Alexander. “I know you lie because—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Gustav, of all people, whipped a blade into his windpipe, declaring no man call his king a liar, startling not just us but the entire room.
As expected, mayhem ensued, and people scrambled to get out the door as the man dropped to his knees, then swiftly to his death.
Things happened so quickly after that, amid all the chaos, that I barely had my sword unsheathed to defend the king, only to find it knocked out of my hand by the one man I had underestimated. I knew better, too, but by then it was too late. The shifty-eyed Scotsman yanked me back against him before I had a chance to retaliate and drove a dagger through my midsection.
“Nay!” Declan roared, whipping his own blade straight into the man’s forehead when Oksana came out of nowhere, latched onto his wrist, and gave Declan the window of opportunity he needed.
“Protect the king!” I roared back at him when the man fell to his death, hardly feeling the searing pain I knew would come as I yanked the blade free, tossed it aside, and staggered back. “Now!”
In the meantime, the other men we had confronted unsheathed their blades and started toward both the king and me.
Though Declan’s tortured gaze lingered on me for a moment, by the grace of his God, he listened, only for the unexpected to happen when daggers slammed into the four remaining Scotsmen from out of seemingly nowhere.
Though in a mad frenzy to defend their king, most of Alexander’s men were unable to reach him in the mayhem, except for Declan, Stewart, and three others, who appeared to be nothing more than merchantmen, all taking up defensive positions around both Alexander and me.
“’Tis them,” someone called out. “They are the men who felled those who meant to slay the king!”
When my vision blurred, I squinted to see them better and gasped in surprise, never more shocked by who they turned out to be.
Chapter Eighteen
-DECLAN-
From the moment we came across the slain villagers, I had an uneasy feeling that something bad was going to happen. While some might say that was a safe assumption based on such a gruesome attack on innocents, it felt more intuitive.
And it felt connected to Astrid.
Like her, I strongly suspected that Norse had not executed this slaughter despite their language scratched here and there. This was the work of someone who wanted to make it look like Astrid’s former countrymen had done it to rile up their fellow Scots. And the moment we learned we’d finally caught up with the men who’d been claiming troublesome Norse were in the area, I was certain it had been them.
If that were not upsetting enough, Alexander's allowing Astrid to remain dressed like a shield-maiden only made things worse, as evidenced when we confronted the swine soon after. If I’d had my way, I would have cut them down where they stood, just for their disgust of her, but alas, I did not, and it cost me dearly when one of the men we’d confronted ran her through with a dagger.
After that, mayhem ensued, and unknown assailants had slain the remainder of the troublesome Scots before any of us had a chance to retaliate. Now I stood alongside those men as they helped me protect the king and Astrid.
“’Tis them!” Astrid gasped. Oksana whimpered at her side as my lass staggered back against the wall, pressing a hand to her wound. “They are the wounded Norse I tended to at Largs.”
“Bloody hell,” Alexander exclaimed, rounding his eyes at them, as shocked at seeing them here as the rest of us. “’Tis!”
By then, everyone had fled the building, eliminating any further threat to the king’s life, so I sheathed my blade and raced to Astrid, never so terrified. The color had drained from her face, and she bled profusely. When I went to scoop her up before she slid to the floor, she shook her head.
“I need something to wrap around my waist to slow the bleeding,” she managed, seeming determined to remain on her own two feet. She looked at the Norse warriors with gratitude, briefly conversing with them in their language before focusing on Alexander, remarkably coherent given what had just happened to her.
“It seems they have been tracking me, determined to protect me,” she said while I saw to her wound. After tearing a strip from my tunic, I gently wrapped it around her waist, my heart in my throat at her injury's location. I had been on enough battlefields to know it wasn’t good. Yet it was clear enough in her gaze that she would see these Norsemen protected before she gave into the pain she had to be suffering.
“They wished to repay me for saving them from the Land of the Dead,” she went on, pausing as one of the men spoke to her again, and she translated, sounding surprised. “They now wish to swear their loyalty to me and my new king, whose life they just protected to compensate for being ordered to invade his shores and fight his countrymen.”
Alexander narrowed his eyes at them for a moment, clearly trying to figure out how to handle the situation, which was indeed unusual. As was their far-too-swift recovery, yet he didn’t speak to it at the moment. Rather, he focused on what mattered most right now, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“This can wait,” Alexander said, worry in his gaze as he took in Astrid’s wounded state. “We need to see to you first, lass. ‘Tis a substantial wound.”
“I know precisely what kind of wound it is,” she said. “And I know what it will do to me.” The most stubborn, fearless lass any of us had likely ever met, she raised her chin in defiance. “But I would first have your assurance that you will grant these men their request and no harm will befall them.”
“Aye, of course,” Alexander assured her, evidently needing no further convincing. Either that or he was simply willing to say whatever she needed to hear so that we could tend to her. “’Twill be as they requested,” he vowed. “You have my word.”
