Page 23 of The Caged Viking

“Oops…I mean, it wouldn’t be surprising, would it, if the royal couple found refuge in her homeland?”

Egil narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “Did Queen Emma tell you of such a plan? If so, ’tis important that my Lord Hauk know of this so he can stop the bloody bastard from escaping his wrath.”

They both looked at Lord Hauk who was still dead to the world, atop her horse.

“You’re right. We should just proceed toward Sweyn’s army,” she said then, as if her agreement meant aught.

But then, she seemed to think of something else. “Don’t tell me you’re going to join in the battle right away. Hauk needs time to rest and recover from his ordeal.”

“Of course we will be raising our swords. Lord Hauk can rest once the battle is won. Believe you me, he will insist on participating.”

“Why? Why does he have to be in the fight?”

“He is a Viking.”

She shrugged, as if she understood.

“Besides, my master has more reason than most to want to spill Saxon blood. And not just because of their placing him in a cage.” He glanced pointedly toward Bjorn.

Lady Kirstin shrugged again.

“So, you are Magnus Ericsson’s daughter? I fought with him at the Battle of Stone Hill years ago. Will the old warrior be joining in this fight?”

“I’m sure he’d love to, but he’s too far away. In America. No, I’m on my own.”

“Why exactly are you here? In Britain, I mean.”

“To save Hauk.”

“Me, too,” he said. “Were you really his betrothed at one time?”

“Pfff! Hardly. No, I was sent to save him.”

“By whom?”

“God, I think.”

“Ah, the Christian One-God.” Egil had heard many a Papist lay all kinds of claims on their deity, who was supposedly three gods in one being. But why would their god not send a weaponed warrior, or an army, to save Lord Hauk, rather than this one puny woman?

He sighed. Who could guess the way of the gods?

“The question is, whether I’m supposed to leave him here, or take him back to the fut…to America with me,” she pondered aloud, not appearing to want or expect an opinion from Egil.

Still, he asked, “Should a bride not leave that decision to her man?”

“Not in my world!” He must have looked at her with disbelief because she added, “In my country, women are equal to men, in all ways.”

He could swear he heard Hauk mutter, “Gods forbid!”

Kirstin must have heard the same thing because she swatted the master on his arse with the palm of her hand and said, “Behave.”

Egil was beginning to wonder which world she came from, like mayhap a barmy place in the Other World, not that Ah-mare-ick-ha discovered by his old comrade, Leif Ericsson.

All speculation in that regard ended, though, because approaching them from up ahead, coming in the opposite direction, was an army led by none other than Sweyn Forkbeard, easily identifiable in the misty dawn by his flaming red hair and his long, cleft beard. Before Egil had a chance to register this good fortune, he watched Sweyn raise a sword ahigh and kick his horse into a gallop, then yell, “Kill the Saxons!”

What Saxons? Egil wondered, pivoting his head to look behind, until he realized that Sweyn thought they were the enemy. And that demented Kirstin Magnusson was waving her arm and yelling, “You who! Hold your fire!”

“What fire?” Egil asked, just before an arrow pierced his shoulder, his horse reared up, and he fell to the ground with a thud. ’Twas just a flesh wound, he realized immediately, yanked the arrow out, and stood to glare at the miscreant who’d shot him.