Fin knew many Saxons would die by his brother’s hands for what took place today. He might not stop until everyone involved was dead—possibly including him.

  He buttoned the jacket to keep the cold off his skin. The icy air was affecting him more today. He didn’t care. His only concern was his brother finding him before Fin found her.

  *

  “Let me hold the girl,” Camelee demanded the Saxon in front of her in the saddle. Aethelwold.

  “There is no room in the saddle for me, you, and the girl,” Aethelwold answered, looking over his shoulder at her.

  She hated when he looked at her for there was no compassion in his gaze. She wanted to inform him that if he jumped off the horse when they reached the next cliff, there would plenty of room.

  “Why are you wearing such strange attire?” he asked in his annoying voice that sounded like he was snarling even when he wasn’t.

  Over thirty men followed behind them on horseback. Another thirty had broken off and gone south with Leofric, who Camelee deduced was Aethelwold’s older brother. One of the men who moved with her group had Hild with him. She was crying and wouldn’t stop even when the brute gave her a shake and threatened to strike her.

  Oh, Camelee lamented, why hadn’t she taken those self-defense classes with Karen when she had the chance?

  “Because I come from the future,” she told him. “A little over a thousand years from now.”

  He didn’t laugh the way she thought he might. He slowed the horse, turned in the saddle, and pushed her out of it. She landed hard on her side in the dirt and gasped for breath.

  “Now you can hold her,” he offered with a malevolent grin. He motioned to the one holding Hild, and the beast picked her up by the arm and held her over the ground. When he reached Camelee, she grabbed the girl and he let go.

  But Hild didn’t want Camelee either. She wanted her mother, or Genevra—or even Wolf, but not the woman who had told her that her mother wasn’t coming back.

  “Please, Hild, you mustn’t cry,” she begged, catching the many glares headed in her direction. “They will—”

  “Shut her up or we will leave her here alone!” Aethelwold called out.

  They would have to kill her before she let go of Hild. Oh, where was Wolf? And how could she be wishing for the Vikings to come and save her? Wait. Would they come? They would probably come because of all the men these Saxons killed. She’d seen the bodies when they’d dragged her out of the tent. If they came, it wouldn’t be for her and a Saxon orphan. She didn’t care, as long as they showed up. She didn’t want to be here and every second she was in the eleventh century, she hated it more. But if she had to be here, she preferred to be with Wolf.

  Would Wolf save her? She prayed that he would try.

  They finally made camp an hour later to eat. Hild had finally stopped crying, but she had been through so much. Camelee set her down in the grass under a tree and sat beside her while the child slept.

  The instant her body relaxed, her mind took over and images and memories of what they had done to Akkar assailed her. She’d blocked it out. She’d liked Akkar. He wasn’t even a warrior. Still, he had fought well to save her and Hild. She didn’t know why she had tears to shed for him. She hardly knew him. She fought her hardest to hold them back. The instant these scabs on mankind saw weakness, they would pounce.

  “You!” Aethelwold barked at her. “Get up and serve us! Do you think you will sit on your arse and do nothing?”

  “Move,” another man called out, “before we wake the other one and have her serve us.”

  “Wake her and die, Eadric” said Aethelwold, with all kinds of darkness in his gaze. “We finally have peace, and you threaten it?”

  “Apologies, Aethelwold. We could leave her.”

  “I won’t leave without her!” Camelee told them in a hushed voice that sounded more like a hiss.

  “No. She is to be a gift to my wife,” Aethelwold told her, not surprising Camelee that he was married and staring hungrily at her. “She has always wanted a daughter.”

  “Is the other one for you then?” Eadric asked with a wink.

  Aethelwold laughed and then the rest of them joined in. His smile faded when his gaze settled on her, still not moving. Without a word, he rose and went to her, drawing a blade as he went. One of the men giggled with satisfaction.

  When he reached her, she called up every ounce of courage she possessed and looked at him.

  He pulled back his arm and then swung it hard, striking her in the face with his palm. “Next time, it will be my fist,” he promised as she fell to her knees before him. He took her by the hair but instead of immediately pulling her up by it, he pushed her face into his crotch. “Now, get up and serve me before I make you suck me off in the daylight!”

  She wanted to pass out, but Hild…she wanted to scream and defy him, but she had no choice. She didn’t doubt he would do good on his warning.

  She pulled herself up and stepped, a little dizzily, around him and went to the fire where the food was. It was a pot with what appeared to be game and vegetables cut up and cooking over a separate fire.

  “Be glad it was not Leofric who took a fancy to you,” a young man said, appearing close to her. “He is not called Leofric the Merciless for no reason.”

  “God help me.”

  The boy looked up. “Mayhap He sent me to do just that. ’Twas I who has done most of the work. Just add some herbs and water while it cooks—”

  “Alric, leave her to her duty,” Aethelwold called out. “You are relieved.”

  “I was simply giving her instructions,” Alric said, sounding insulted.

  “She will find her own way.”

  Alric spun on his heel. “You would have her destroy my recipe? ’Tis your palette I worry about, Aethelwold. You know how certain dishes upset your middle.”

  Aethelwold waved away his concerns and stopped arguing with him, finding amusement in something someone else said.

  “Just get on with it,” he finally shouted, waking Hild. “I am hungry!”

  “I will take care of her while you serve,” young Alric offered. He was at least fifteen, so old enough to watch a four-year-old girl. Besides, if he was old enough to cook, he was old enough to babysit.

  “Her name is Hild,” she told him, accepting his offer. But she wanted to make Hild a real person to him, in the hopes that he wouldn’t hurt her or let anyone else do so. “The Danes killed her father, and a bear recently killed her mother. I intend to protect her.”

  She watched him hurry to Hild and sit beside her. He didn’t push his comfort or affection on her, but simply sat there.

  Though she felt numb more than anything else, she thought young Alric quite adorable. He was slender, dressed in what looked to be sewn together rags and thin shoes. His wind-burned cheeks were round and red beneath eyes that shone like coffee under the bright lights of Starbucks. She nearly sighed.

  Alric looked at her now through a spray of dark curls, then lifted his hand in a pouring gesture.

  She snapped to attention, remembering to pour water into the pot. She took hold of a ladle and dipped it into another pot of water. The water seared hitting the stew pot. She knew enough to pour more in.

  She finally got it under control and poured whatever else Alric left for her into the pot. There were chopped up leaves. She dumped them in as well. She wished she knew what upset Aethelwold’s stomach. She’d put in a double helping.

  He’d hit her hard. Her head still hurt, so did her jaw. Piece of garbage. She’d like to poison him. She looked to where he’d been sitting. He was no longer there.

  Before she had time to turn, he grabbed a fistful of her hair from behind and yanked her head back.

  “I do not like something about the look of you,” he growled into her ear, making her cringe and want to scream. “You look down your haughty nose at us.”

  “A flea would have to look down its nose to see you.”

  He snaked his arm around her waist and yanked her in. He kissed her neck and cupped her breast with his hand and then squeezed.

  “Stop it!” she commanded. Her terrified gaze found Hild’s just before young Alric thankfully pulled her away so she could not see.

  Aethelwold chuckled at her throat. He was still behind her. “I like your saucy mouth. I’m going to tame you so that you—”

  He released his hold on her! Just like that? She was free! She reached for the handle of the pot to fling at him and turned to see Wolf holding him pressed against a tree. Wolf!

  Rage burned like heated metal in his eyes as they stared into Aethelwold’s.

  “My brother is going to hunt you down and kill you all,” Aethelwold promised as Wolf drew his knife and without taking his eyes off the man, cut Aethelwold’s throat in one quick slash.

  Camelee was so glad to see Wolf that she put the blood and violence behind her. This was how these men lived. Aethelwold knew that when he attacked Wolf’s camp. She went to him and flung her arms around his neck and held on.

  He did nothing to break free. She was gl—Hild!

  “Hild! We have to get her,” she clutched his cloak. “She’s with Alric. Don’t hurt him!”

  He looked confused but nodded. “Find the girl!” he ordered into the air. Or so Camelee had thought but in another instant the forest around them came alive with fearsome Danes. They were the men Wolf had taken with him today. They appeared out of everywhere, swords and spears held up and ready to swing.

  “Kill every one of them,” he growled and eyed the bruise on her jaw. “Find the little girl and bring the Saxon who is with her to me. Alive! They are the only two who shall live!”

  Camelee’s blood ran cold. This was why Wolf was respected as chief. Because he could do the necessary thing when the situation called for it, as it did in this century.

  “How is Genevra?” she asked him when he pulled her away from the fighting.

  “Genevra?”

  “One of them hit her and…” her voice drifted off at his lost expression. “You haven’t been back to the camp.”

  “They took you from camp?” he asked her, his eyes moving over her. He lifted his fingers to her jaw but did not touch her. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “Not bad.” She smiled to convince him. “How did you find me?”

  “I happened upon this camp and when I came closer to consider it, I saw the Saxons. I saw you.” He stopped for a moment seeming too angry to go on. Then he finally did. “I suspected they attacked the camp.” His gaze peered into her soul. “What happened? Fin?”

  “I didn’t see Fin, but…Akkar. They killed Akkar.”

  Wolf clenched his hands into fists. “Akkar is dead? But—he just joined us. He left his father…”

  “I know. If it helps, he fought valiantly to protect me and Hild. He killed one of them before they killed him from behind.”

  The hint of a smile hovered around his lips. “It helps more than you know. His father will want to know of his son’s courage. We will send him off according to his belief and tradition.”

  “You aren’t going to fight?”

  He looked over her head. “They do not need me. I must find my brother.”

  “I won’t leave, Hild.”

  “The men will bring her back.” He gazed at her and let his much-appreciated smile shine on her full force. “Being a mother has its rewards.”

  “I’m not her mother.”

  “You are stubborn.”

  “I accept that,” she replied candidly. “But I’m not her mother.

  Chapter Nine

  Wolf wanted this to be over. He’d fought more battles than he could count and would fight dozens more, but seeing Camelee being manhandled and forced to obey the Saxons, while little Hild lay as if dead in the grass was too much for him.

  When he’d moved closer to Camelee and he saw her bruised and swelling jaw, it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to go berserk. Aethelwold knew somehow that she was his—the child, too. That was why he took them. It was like pissing on him.

  Well, now he had back what was his. Aethelwold was dead, and Wolf had looked him in the eyes when he killed the man. His men would take care of the rest of them.

  Apart from everything else…Camelee had held on to him, relieved to see him. It was thrilling and refreshing, and bold. Whatever it meant, she was happy to be rescued. And he was happy to be the one who’d rescued her.

  “Tell me what took place. Why did my men allow you and the child to be taken from me?”

  She cast him a questioning look but said nothing about what she was thinking. Instead, she told him about the noises coming from outside the tent and everything after that. She didn’t know if Genevra was alive or if Fin was among the dead littering the camp.

  By the time they reached the horses, the other men had almost caught up. It hadn’t taken them long to finish off the Saxons.

  As ordered, his men had found Hild and the dark-haired boy who carried her and brought them back unharmed.

  Camelee ran on ahead and tried to take the child, but Hild clung to the boy. When she finally did let Camelee take her, it was only to be carried to Wolf, in whose arms she practically leaped.

  Wolf thought it might be hurting Camelee to be rejected, but neither of them said anything, and neither tried to force Hild to go to her.

  Alric wasn’t pleased about being in the company of the Danes. He barely looked at Wolf and answered his questions with curt responses. Wolf might have to teach him respect, since he was an experienced warrior, desired in any army and many beds. And Alric was a fifteen-year-old cook who could wield a ladle like a master, but that was about all he could do.

  “My father was a slave as was his father before him,” Alric told them on their way back to the camp. “I wanted to be more than that, so I became a cook.”

  “You can understand that, can’t you, Wolf?” Camelee asked him from her horse.

  “I can if you are a Dane,” he said with Hild clinging to him. “We do not enslave our own.”

  “No matter what you are, no one wants to be a slave,” she argued.

  “Of course not,” he agreed. “But if the Saxon army was stronger, I would be the servant. Is that not correct, Alric?”

  “Aye, ’tis,” the young man confirmed.

  “It is going to happen to someone,” Wolf continued. “The only question is, will it happen to me or them? I will do whatever I can to ensure it is not me.”

  She nodded. Could it be that she finally understood the way of his world?

  “Survival of the fittest,” she said.

  “Yes. Precisely.” He smiled at her. “You understand much. It would seem our homes are not so different, after all.”

  “Your home is my home’s history. We’ve tried to learn from it.”

  “And have they learned?” he asked.

  Riding near him, Alric remained silent.

  “Some have. Some haven’t. I honestly don’t know where humanity is headed.”

  “Well,” his grin deepened, “now you do, at least for the next thousand years.”

  “I don’t want to know,” she said with resolute determination. “My place is not here. I was meant for something far better in the future.”

  His humor vanished slowly until he blinked the last remnants of it away. “I see. Then how do we get you home?”

  She stared into his eyes and swallowed. So, she knew she had insulted him. Would she make it right?

  “I wish I knew,” she said, disappointing him. “More than anything I want to go home.”

  “Of course.”

  The warmth in her gaze dwindled out. “Why do you sound angry?”

  His grin reappeared but, this time, he could feel it straining. “I am not angry. Why should I be angry? Who would not want to go home?”

  “I’ve been kidnapped twice,” she reminded him. “I’m living in the middle of a war, with death and destruction at every turn. I’ve seen two men get killed right in front of me. I’ve been hit and had my face pushed into…ugh.” She swiped a tear from her eye. “I’m the foster-mother of an orphan. And I’ve only been here two days.”

  “I understand,” he told her softly, doing his best to do just that. If wherever she came from was safer to live than here, he would not stop her from going back. “It has been a full two days. If there is a way to take you home, we will find it.”

  “You believe me, then?”

  “I have no reason not to.”

  “What does he believe?” Alric nearly burst with curiosity. “Tell me!”

  “That I come from the future,” she said.

  “Oh. Hmm.”

  Wolf stared at him. That was it? That was his reaction? Nothing at all? It seemed as if he’d heard of it before. Wolf asked him. “Are you familiar with time travel?”

  “No,” he assured. “But I once knew a man who called himself a dentist. He claimed to be from another time. He gave me something called baking soda to brighten my teeth.”

  Camelee stopped her horse and turned to him with so much hope in her eyes that Wolf was able to ignore the knots tightening in his belly. “What is it?” he asked her.

  “A dentist. It’s a tooth doctor. Eighteenth century I believe, but no way eleventh.”

  Wolf stared at Alric as well. “Where can we find this dentist?”

  “He is only here in the fourth and seventh months,” the young man told them.

  “Where is he during the other months?” Camelee asked him.

  “Last summer, he told me he’d been visiting the fifteenth century, where for the first time he met another traveler. Kestral was her name. He described her so well I could see her in my thoughts.”

  “And you believe these tales of his?” asked Wolf.

  Alric’s only response was a flash of his white, toothy smile.

  Wolf nodded, accepting it. “The Roman’s calendar says we are in the twelfth month. We will not be speaking to him for some time. Maybe there is someone else.”