Esma and Gunnar wove through the dissipating haze of the camp, Esma's heart pounding with urgency. The weight of her news pressed down on her chest, making each breath feel short and shallow. Gunnar, steady as ever despite his groggy state, kept a firm grip on her arm, steering her through the scattered remains of the night’s revelry.
“Ragda must be nearby,” Esma insisted, scanning the smoldering fire pits and slumped bodies. Her voice quivered, equal parts fear and frustration.
“Calm down, girl,” Gunnar said, though his own voice carried an edge of unease. “We’ll find him.”
They finally spotted Ragda pacing near the treeline, his sword in hand, the blade catching the morning light. His expression was stern, his dark eyes fixed on the horizon as if he were already anticipating battle.
“Ragda!” Esma called, her voice cracking with urgency.
He turned sharply at the sound of his name, his gaze narrowing as he took in their disheveled appearance. “What is it?” he demanded, his tone clipped.
“Aiya’s been taken,” Esma blurted out, clutching at his arm as though grounding herself in the moment. “Three men—they said something about York. About Hemming.”
Ragda’s jaw tightened, his grip on his sword turning his knuckles white. “York?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “Hemming?”
“Yes,” Esma confirmed, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “I saw them dragging her toward the woods.”
Ragda’s face darkened, a storm brewing in his eyes. Without hesitation, he turned to Gunnar. “Ready your horse. Wake whoever’s fit to ride.”
“I’m coming with you,” Esma said firmly.
“No, you’ll slow us down,” Ragda snapped, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“She saved me in Durham!” Esma shot back, her voice rising. “I’m not sitting here while she’s dragged off to that monster.”
Ragda hesitated, his frustration evident. Gunnar stepped in, placing a hand on Esma’s shoulder. “Stay behind, Esma. If something happens to us, you’ll need to be here to warn the others.”
Before Esma could protest further, Ragda mounted his horse, his movements sharp and precise. “We ride for York,” he declared, his voice carrying across the camp. “Anyone who lags behind will be left behind.”
---
Meanwhile, James urged his horse onward, the familiar terrain of the York outskirts rushing past him. His heart pounded in rhythm with his steed’s hooves, his mind clouded with memories of the place he’d sworn to never return to. Castle Hemming loomed in his mind’s eye—a cruel fortress that had once been the site of his deepest regrets.
“Hold on, Aiya,” he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening on the reins. “I’m coming.”
As he neared the forest path, the sound of voices carried on the wind. He slowed his horse, straining to listen. Laughter—young, nervous, and tinged with excitement—broke through the early morning stillness. Dismounting, James tied his horse to a low-hanging branch and crept forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Through the dense underbrush, he spotted them. Three boys, barely old enough to grow proper beards, trudged along with Aiya between them. Her hands were bound, a strip of cloth covering her eyes, but her posture was straight, defiant even in captivity.
James suppressed a grin. “Of course, she’s making it difficult for them.”
He stepped into the clearing, his sword drawn. The boys froze, their wide eyes darting to him like startled deer.
“Let her go,” James said, his voice calm but filled with authority.
One of the boys, the chubby one holding a knife, puffed out his chest. “She’s ours! We’re taking her to Lord Hemming.”
James tilted his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hemming? He’ll have your heads for bringing him a Viking. Or worse, he’ll throw you in the dungeons alongside her.”
The boy faltered, his bravado crumbling as he looked to his companions for reassurance. “You’re lying,” he said, though his voice wavered.
James took a step forward, his blade catching the morning light. “Am I? Do you want to take that chance?”
Aiya chose that moment to act, swinging her bound hands upward and catching the nearest boy in the stomach. He doubled over with a grunt, and chaos erupted. James surged forward, disarming the chubby boy with a swift flick of his sword. The other two scattered, their courage evaporating as quickly as it had appeared.
Within moments, the clearing was silent save for the rustling leaves and Aiya’s heavy breathing.
James sheathed his sword and moved to her side, cutting the bindings from her wrists. “You’re getting kidnapped a bit too often, don’t you think?” he teased, offering her a hand.
Aiya glared at him but allowed him to help her to her feet. “You took your time.”
James chuckled. “Saved your life, didn’t I?”
Aiya rolled her eyes. “You know Ragda’s going to kill you when he finds out.”
James shrugged, leading her back toward his horse. “Let him try.”
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Conqueror Queen
Historical Fiction✯Sequel to A Viking's Rage✯ Her whole life she had been mistreated, now it was her turn for revenge. She wasn't just a slave anymore, she was Aiya Einardóttir now, and she would conqueror the whole world if she had too. Now she seeks revenge on Lord...
