Naked by Eliza Redgold Page A

anger at my mother’s fate. Now mine.
    The kind of fear that gutted courage, destroying hope in its wake.
    “There’s no one to hear you,” he sneered. “We’re all alone, at last.”
    A voice came from the doorway.
    “Wrong again, Thurkill.”

 
    10
    Was clash’d and hammer’d …
    —Tennyson (1842): Godiva
    Thurkill the Tall hurled me aside and spun on his heel.
    My stifled gasp as I fell on my elbow. My heart leapt of hope.
    The burning torch still aloft, Thurkill gave a mock bow. “Lord Leofric. I expected you, though not quite so soon.”
    Thurkill’s words sank my heart to my stomach, a pebble dive, wrong-skimmed. Stifled by the rag in my mouth, I gasped.
    A trap.
    If Leofric cared he made no sign. He moved in from the shadows and pushed back his hood.
    His hair. Rough glinting in the firelight.
    His eyes. River darkness.
    The door creaked and slammed shut as he sauntered into the broken-down hovel with a dismissive glance, barely looking my way.
    Yet as on the battlefield, the air between us was not air, but something thicker, denser. An invisible rope that bound me to him as surely as if it had been tied around my waist.
    “So predictable, you Saxons,” Thurkill sneered, “with your famous code of honor. What you said before the battle got me thinking. Why should I waste my men on the battlefield, when I can keep the maid of Coventry hostage and get exactly what I want—and more?”
    So he’d planned to keep me alive. Shudders overcame me.
    Thurkill’s hostage.
    Better off dead.
    “What’s this, Thurkill? A change of strategy? You’re taking hostages now? You destroyed my cities in Mercia. Left all for dead.”
    Thurkill smirked. “Merely to break the Saxon spirit.”
    “Impossible.”
    “ Nidstang .” Thurkill cursed. “Enough of this talk. I’ll trade the maid for the Middle Lands.”
    “Bad trade,” Leofric said, in the flat tone I now knew to be so dangerous. Did Thurkill also know Leofric was at his most deadly when he sounded calm? I feared he did for he spat on the ground, so close to Leofric I flinched.
    “Was it? You’ve come for her. Now I can kill you in single combat.”
    Leofric shrugged. “What difference does it make if I’m killed? Another good Saxon will step up to take my place.”
    “Come now.” Thurkill’s mocking laugh. “We’re both leaders, you and I. We understand power. Not all men will follow another man as they follow us.”
    “You flatter me.” Leofric sounded anything but flattered. “But I have brothers to take my place.”
    “Younger brothers,” Thurkill corrected. “They’re not leaders such as you—or your elder brother Northman.”
    “Don’t speak my brother’s name.”
    Thurkill raised a brow. “No? Don’t speak the name— Northman ?”
    The silver of Leofric’s sword flashed out from beneath his cloak as fast as a falling star.
    With a roar Thurkill lunged, brandishing his torch.
    Struggling for breath I watched them fight, cursing the ropes that bound me. Now I knew why Thurkill the Tall was feared across land and sea. His size, yes, his brute force, these were his advantages, but they were not his true strength. His strength lay in his being the size of a bear with the cunning of a fox.
    Every move, every slash of the blade and swish of the battle-torch gripped me, flaming and spitting sparks, until it seemed I fought Thurkill, too.
    In. Out. Back. Forth.
    Blow for blow, my hand held Leofric’s sword. Each move he made, I made with him as he dodged and parried, his feet quick, his arm quicker. But Thurkill was quick, too, quicker than a man his size should be.
    In a sharp sideways slice, Leofric knocked the torch from Thurkill’s fist. Sparks flew as it rolled on the ground toward where I lay. Immediately Leofric lowered his sword, his gaze following the torch’s fiery path.
    Slamming down my bound feet, I surged my body toward the torch with all my might and kicked loose dirt onto the flame.
    When I looked up, I realized