FALL OF THE STARS (In Love and War #2)

Two

Princess EmelineI wake with a start, unsure of where I am.

Unsure of anything.

The last thing I remember is…

Instantly, vomit rises, and I turn to the side and am violently sick. However, nothing but bile fills my stomach as I cannot remember the last time I ate. But the purge helps me expunge some of this sickness within.

When nothing is left, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and take three calming breaths. It helps slightly.

It’s dawn, which means I ran into the night until I quite literally collapsed from exhaustion when it overtook me. My body protests as I attempt to stand, but I cannot stay here. I need to keep moving.

I have no idea where I am or what I’m moving toward, but each second I am out here in the open is an opportunity to be found. I wish I knew where Skarth was. He would know what to do.

Surely, word has spread about the battle at Carhampton and the two fierce Viking warriors who dared to take on Wessex. Someone must know something.

Running a hand over my short hair, I am suddenly struck with an idea.

The Wessex Guard are looking for a princess, which means Princess Emeline needs to be no more.

I cross myself for what I propose to do is sacrilegious, and if I wasn’t desperate, I would never consider this. But this is the only way. This is the only way for me to disappear.

Peering from left to right, I decide to work with instinct and go left, hopeful this path will lead me to salvation. I ensure not to leave heavy footprints behind as I do not want to be followed.

It’s eerily quiet, and with no sounds to use as guidance, I do as Skarth taught me and listen to the earth, for it has much to offer—one just must know where to look.

Closing my eyes and muting my steps, I allow the gentle wind to guide me. I listen closely not to what I can hear but rather what I cannot. Beneath the tender sway, I listen to the harmonies of the earth and the thrumming of its life force. I become one with it.

Inhaling deeply, I recognize the faintest of smells as soon as it floats into space—smoke. Where there is smoke, there is fire…and people. But from the rancid smell, these people are the reason the air is so putrid.

I keep low, masking my approach as I do not know what faces me. There is a clearing in the dense forestry, which I use as my window. Ahead, blackened homes are seen. Some are still smoking. There is no sign of life…which means I am able to execute my plan.

Even though I am certain I’m alone, I skulk toward the once village that is now a burned-out husk. The closer I come, the thicker the smell of charred flesh becomes. I soon am confronted with the cause of the stench. Burned and broken bodies of men, women, and children are strewn across the ground.

Some still have their hands linked, while others are clutching their children toward their breasts. But it wasn’t enough to save any of them in the end.

“What befell here?” I whisper to myself, choking on tears shed for the dead.

I carefully walk the field, taking in the morbid scenery, because I am looking for something or rather someone in particular. And when I find her, tears stream down my cheeks.

A young woman was spared from the fire, but from the looks of her bloody face and naked, abused form, it saddens me that the fire would have been a far more merciful death than the deep gash across her throat. The cut is so deep, her head is almost detached from her shoulders.

Vomit rises, which I swallow back because I have a job to do.

Quickly undressing, I too am naked as I drop to my knees and gently commence dressing the young woman.

“I thank thee,” I say, addressing her as if she were alive because I wish her to know I am grateful for what she is about to do.

Once she is dressed in my clothes, I search for garments of my own—not from a woman but rather a man. I find a man whose clothes are blood-soaked but saved from the fire. I undress him, also giving thanks for his sacrifice, and quickly slip on the garments.

His clothes are that of a peasant, which is perfect as I do not wish to stand out from the crowd. I need to blend in to society. I need to be who he once was.

From the looks of his calloused hands, it is safe to assume he worked this land but was not someone of title. To people like my father, he was a nobody, merely someone to pay the king’s taxes. But to me, he is my saving grace.

I wish I had time to prepare a burial for each of these Christians, but I do not. But the least I can do is bury the man who has sacrificed his identity to save mine.

Gripping him by the ankles, I drag his body toward the flourishing trees where the soil is soft, and I drop to my hands and knees and commence digging a grave. It takes me some time, and once I am done, I am breathless and covered in perspiration. But as I roll the man’s body into the grave and cover him with dirt, it makes the effort worthwhile.

Once the last mound of dirt covers him, I stand and cross myself. “May you find peace wherever your journey leads you. Amen.”

I don’t leave a marker, for I do not wish anyone to know he is buried as this m******e must appear that everyone perished. I wonder if this was the work of the Saxons or Northmen. I cannot tell who is far more vicious anymore.

I suppose we are all ruthless when striving for what we want. And I am no exception when I reach for a discarded blade off the ground and drop to my knees. The woman dressed in my clothes has a similar hair color and a comparable build to mine.

Her features are not the same as mine, however.

But as I take three calming breaths and beg the Lord for forgiveness, I drive the blade into her eye sockets to remove her eyes and know this small oversight will not matter because she will be Princess Emeline once I am done.

Her hollowed sockets stare back at me, revealing what a monster I truly am to desecrate the dead for my own personal gain. I do not feel guilty when I slit her mouth so she wears a grotesque grin. Her face is barely recognizable, but it cannot be attached to her corpse.

For this to be believable, her head must be on a spike to parade for all to see.

Closing my eyes, I saw through the flesh of her neck and twist her head until it pops free from her body.

Opening my eyes, I peer down at the severed head in my hands and realize I must do something else.

I braid her hair how I once wore it, how a princess is expected to look. I hum a lullaby, detaching myself from my immoral actions, which will condemn me to hell.

Once I am done, I know I must do one last thing.

The scars on my back mar me, and if this is to be convincing, then I must turn this poor innocent soul into me.

“Forgive me,” I whisper, turning over the corpse and tearing at the garment to expose the flesh of her back. Her back is perfect, which, if King Egbert were to retrieve this body, he would know this is not me, for I am far from perfect.

I’ve seen the servants skin a boar and use that knowledge to do the same to this broken body. I cut through her flesh, peeling back her skin and prying it away from her body. The sight isn’t grotesque—it merely confirms that we are all made up of the same flesh and blood.

Titles mean nothing in death. We are one and the same—God’s creations.

I hack through her skin and tear it off her body so all that remains is muscle. I am now done.

Quickly digging a hole with my hands, I bury the flesh and place her head under my arm. With the other hand, I grip her wrist and drag her as gently as I can toward the entrance of this ruined field.

Two pillars are standing, which I assume once held up someone’s home. I cannot reach them, for they are tall, so I peer around for something to stand on. I see a lone stool upside down a few feet away.

Retrieving it, I position it, and with an almighty breath, I lift the corpse and step on the stool and impale it onto the spike. The tip pokes out from her neck. I then jump down and retrieve the head, where I deliver the same fate to its once connecting body.

Once I am done, I step off the stool and take three steps back to take in what I have done.

A young woman’s corpse and eyeless head stares back at me. She wears my clothes, and her hairstyle is the same as mine. Princess Emeline is dead…and now, I am reborn.

With that thought, I peer down at Skarth’s arm ring and realize for this to be credible, I have to part with the one thing that will convince men that this is the body of the heathen w***e.

It pains me to take it off, as it feels like I am parting with a piece of my heart, but I place it onto the woman’s limp wrist. I interlace my bloody hands and say the Lord’s Prayer. But it’s not for me. It’s for her, for I have fallen out of favor with my God long ago.

Just as I cross myself, I hear a scutter, and if not for my acute hearing because of Skarth, I would have missed it.

I am not alone.

Without delay, I run toward the smoldering house and see a flash as someone flees for the woods. It’s a small child, and my chase soon changes from predator to protector.

“Please stop. I will not harm thee.”

However, the child has the good sense to keep running after what they have seen me do.

I catch up to them and tackle the youngster to the ground. It’s a young girl.

“I mean no harm,” I repeat, but she fights with all her might. I admire her strength already. “Stop now. You will not overpower me.”

Her movements soon cease as I have her pinned, but I do not allow that to fool me as I cautiously let her go.

The moment she is free, she attempts to run, but I grip her by the arm and force her to her knees so we are face-to-face. She is covered in soot and dirt, but her deep blue eyes still pierce me to the core.

“Your family perished?”

She nods firmly.

“What is your name?” When she hesitates, I nod. “It is all right. I will not hurt you.”

“You hurt Elenore,” she says, giving a name to the corpse.

“Yes, you are right. I did. But I did not end her life. Did you see who did?”

The young girl chews her lip but eventually nods. “Aye, it was the king’s guard.”

Sickened to my stomach, I am also relieved this c*****e wasn’t the work of Skarth.

“My name is Emeline,” I reveal. “But I cannot be known by this name any longer. What was your father’s name?”

“William,” she replies, “and my name is Catherine.”

Her strength has me instantly wanting to protect her because even though she is strong, she cannot fend for herself in this cruel world.

“Why are you dressed in those clothes?”

And not only is she strong but she is shrewd as well.

“The king’s guard is looking for me,” I confess, hoping she will trust that we are on the same side. “I fear I do not bend to any king’s rule. So I must conceal who I really am. And the best way to do that is to become William.”

Catherine’s eyes fill with tears, but she soon sniffs them away.

“I am a poor substitute for your father, but to honor him, I will bear his name and protect you like he would have.”

Catherine tilts her head, watching me closely. “Where will we go?”

“I must find my friends. They will know what to do. Until then, I ask you to teach me your way of life.”

Truth be told, we both need the other as this journey will be a lonely one. I know of the evils that lurk. Catherine doesn’t stand a chance on her own.

“Okay, but my father’s voice is a lot deeper than yours.”

I can’t help but smile as she is right. I may be dressed in a man’s clothes, but the ruse will be up if I do not play the part.

“Yes, you are right. How about this?” I ask, lowering my voice to an exaggerated level.

Catherine grins, and the sight brings me some joy.

Coming to a stand, I offer her my hand. It’s bloody, but after what Catherine witnessed, I know she isn’t afraid. She takes my hand, and we commence our journey.

I don’t have the heart to wake her.

After walking for hours, Catherine was asleep on her feet. I carried her until I too grew exhausted. I found a secluded place to rest and shut my eyes for a few moments. When I woke, it was on the cusp of dusk.

It is now nightfall, and Catherine lays snuggled in my lap. I have stroked her black hair, the gesture a comfort for us both.

I often think of my unborn child and wonder if he would grow as brave as Catherine has. At a guess, I would say she is ten years old. A mere baby, but her innocence is one many crave, which is why we must leave this place soon.

“Sweetling,” I whisper, shaking her gently. “Are you awake? We must go.”

Her eyes flutter open, and it takes her a moment to remember where we are. I see the moment she remembers her family is dead. “I am hungry.”

Of course she is.

“All right. Let us go and find something to eat.” I brush the hair from her brow, smiling.

She sits up, and it amazes me she trusts so easily. This is not a bad trait to have, but I will teach her to be careful because not all strangers are nice.

We stand, both masking a yawn behind our hands.

I am still tired, but until I find sanctuary, I cannot rest.

We make our way through the darkened forest with our hands linked. We don’t speak, and I sense Catherine is aware of me scouting our surroundings. These woods are dangerous, especially at nighttime. But I must seek out people to spread the word that Princess Emeline is dead.

I also need to fill Catherine’s belly.

The landscape is foreign, but I know I am not walking in circles because I am following the North Star. I wonder if Skarth is using this beacon to find me as he said he would. I wonder if he is looking into the same sky as I am and feeling as alone as me.

“Over there,” Catherine says, tugging on my hand and interrupting my thoughts.

Peering ahead to where she is guiding me, I see a red hue light up the sky—fire. But this is welcomed. I hear the merry laughter of men and women. I can only hope they are friend and not foe.

Holding Catherine’s hand, I lead us toward the village. I am anxious, but I quash down my nerves because this is my first step toward finding Skarth. When we push through the clearing in the forest, I see the villagers sitting around the fire eating and drinking.

However, the moment they see us, the men stand and reach for their weapons.

“I mean no harm,” I say in a deep voice as I am no longer Emeline. I am William. “My daughter and I ask for clemency. She is hungry.”

The men and women watch us closely, attempting to gauge whether we are a threat.

“Please, Lord.” Catherine sniffs, flawlessly playing the part of an innocent child.

“It’s all right, Henry,” a woman with kind eyes says, gently lowering the sword of the man beside her. “Look at them. They are nothing but peasants, like us. Come, let’s get you fed.”

Catherine never releases my hand as we follow the lady toward the pot of food, simmering over the fire. She spoons the watery broth into two bowls and offers them to us. I am famished as I cannot remember the last time I ate, but I wait for Catherine to eat first in case she wants more.

She blows on the broth, waiting for it to cool. I can feel the eyes of many watching me, and I understand their apprehension. We are strangers.

“Where is your home?” a man with a long beard asks.

This is the time to impose my plan.

“Gone,” I reveal with a frown. “Burned down by the king’s guard.”

“Why?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. “Did you not pay your taxes?”

“We provided sanctuary for a fugitive. She was wanted by King Egbert.”

The mutterings among the villagers soon quieten.

“Princess Emeline of Northumbria is dead. Killed by the Wessex Guard for disobeying a direct order from the king.”

The villagers interlace their hands, paying respect.

“What order was that?”

“She helped the Northmen at Carhampton. She strategized with them…on and off the battlefield.”

The horrified gasps have confirmed word will soon spread through the lands.

“No wonder the king was furious. The Vikings defeated Wessex and took Carhampton.”

And those are the words I’ve longed to hear. I cannot show my relief, so I simply nod. Skarth led his army to victory—just how I knew he would.

“The battle was brutal. Many good Christian men lost their lives to those heathen bastards!”

The men and women concur.

“That w***e betrayed her people. She got what she deserved.”

If only they knew the truth. If only they knew what I’ve endured to save my people.

“Aye,” I agree sharply. “Our compassion cost us. We were spared as we surrendered the princess.”

One of the men doesn’t appear too convinced with my story. “What was done to her?”

I think about Elenore’s broken body and how I added insult to injury. “Once the guards had their fill, her throat was slit. But not before her eyes were taken, as well as the flesh flayed from her back. She is on display where our village once lay.

“Her head and body separated for all to see.”

I don’t waver as I detail what was done, which appeases the man.

“Once my daughter has eaten, we will be on our way.”

Catherine slurps on her broth as it appears she too wishes to leave.

But when the man with the long beard steps forward and grips my wrist, I realize leaving here may not be as easy as I’d hoped.

“You are very small for a man. Your lips too pert,” he says, examining me closely.

Removing my wrist from his clutches, I narrow my eyes. “Pick up your sword and let the better man win, for I do not appreciate one questioning my stocks.”

The man accepts the challenge as it seems he doesn’t appreciate his manhood being questioned either.

I am tossed a sword and catch it with ease before getting into position. I focus on the man, mirroring his moves as he circles me. He grows impatient and lunges for me, but I dodge his advances and spin. Before he has a chance to strike, I raise my sword and wallop him on the lower back.

He growls while I grin. “Had enough, or do my pert lips still offend?”

Charging for me, he leads with emotion, which is his downfall as I fend off his pitiful advances with ease. I disarm him seconds later and sweep my foot, tripping him to the hard ground.

When he tries to rise, I press the tip of my blade into the hollow of his throat. “What about now?”

Knowing he is defeated, he raises his hands in surrender. But he does so begrudgingly.

“For my victory, I will keep this sword.”

Skarth has taught me well, and I offer my hand to help him from the ground. He accepts, but I know we are no longer welcome.

“Come, daughter, let us go.”

Catherine passes her empty bowl to a woman and quickly takes my hand. I nod to the villagers, ensuring they know I mean no harm. We turn left, but a young woman shakes her head.

“Best you take this path,” she instructs kindly, pointing in the other direction. “Outlaws.”

“Gramercy.”

I don’t dally and quickly head for the woods. The moment we are away from the villagers, I exhale in relief.

“That was far too close,” I mumble under my breath.

Regardless, I know word will soon spread that Princess Emeline has perished, which will ease some of the pressure so I can seek out Skarth without worry. My heart clenches knowing he won at Carhampton. I suppose I could head back there, as this is now Dane territory.

And now that I am “dead,” no one will be looking for me.

Just like that, a plan is formulated. I now have direction.

“You are the princess?” Catherine asks in almost awe.

“Yes, I am. Perchance we keep that a secret?”

She cleverly nods.

We walk through the forest, and with a plan devised, I feel like things may finally be all right. I know Skarth will be looking for me. And I suspect Ulf is too.

But even though both men will not be at Carhampton, this is the only place where I will be safe until Skarth returns. Just the thought of seeing him has my stomach tying in knots and my heart racing against itself.

But I wonder what’ll happen when we’re reunited.

Everything has changed now, what with Cecily betraying us. But she still bears his child. And then there is the small, annoying issue of Ulf…

Lost in my thoughts, I am not paying attention to my surroundings, which would disappoint the man who’s stolen every thought I have.

“What do we have ’ere?”

Before I have a chance to raise my sword, strong arms wrap around my middle and lift me off the ground. I am about to fight with all my might, but when a blade is pressed into Catherine’s throat, I quickly surrender.

A disheveled man holds her captive, and as I examine the cart with bars, I realize I was a fool not to listen to intuition. It seems the villagers were not willing to honor my victory with grace as I have walked straight into the arms of the outlaws I was warned about.

“Let the child go,” I warn but am greeted with a round of laughter.

“We were warned about you,” the man who holds me prisoner says.

That means he knows I can fight.

Just as I am about to show him what I can do, I hear Catherine’s guttural scream before I witness the fall of the stars before my eyes.

Darkness…we meet again.