Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I let out a small sob, surprised to find tears rolling down my face. When Knut took my arm and lead me toward the open gate, I could tell he was crying too.
Once behind the walls, the number of bodies had dropped off. There were a few women in the mix, however, lying in puddles of blood that streamed down the dirt.
Suddenly, Knut cried out, “Erik!”, and my head snapped up from the carnage. My heart in my throat, Knut led me to outside a blacksmith’s shop, where Erik was on the ground, face down. I sank beside him, trying to touch him with my bound hands but unable to do much. I ground my teeth in frustration, wanting nothing more than to see if he lived. Knut did what I couldn’t and ran his hands over Erik’s arms and felt for a pulse. He gave me an optimistic nod to tell me he was alive and then proceeded to roll Erik over.
Erik was still a very large man, and Knut groaned from the effort. I anxiously sat back and watched as Knut gently slapped Erik’s face, getting him to wake up.
Erik’s eyes opened slowly, blinking at the light. He focused on Knut for a moment, acknowledging him, and then my tear-stained face. His eyes went a soft grey when he recognized me, and that only made another tear fall from my eyes.
He said something to Knut and winced as he tried to sit up, his hands going for the back of his head, holding it in pain.
I leaned forward. “What happened?”
He groaned, brows furrowed. “I don’t know. I was hit on the back of my head by someone. My helmet flew off.”
I couldn’t help but smile. He wasn’t gravely injured. The feeling of relief poured over me like warm honey, and I opened myself to it. All I wanted was to take Erik in my arms and leave a trail of tiny kisses from his mouth to the wound on his head. I didn’t care that he kept tying me up. I didn’t care that he didn’t trust me. I cared that he, the only person I ever felt cared for me, was alive, that I would be with him again.
I was so overcome with these emotions that it took me a while to look over the rest of his body. His shirt was sticking to his stomach in a swath of red. I gasped, and Erik craned his head down to see.
“Oh,” Erik said with pained sigh. “Also, someone stabbed me.”
I peeled the shirt back, and he winced. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was long and brimming with blood.
“We have to get you stitched up,” I cried out, “and quickly.”
Erik eyed me as Knut helped him get unsteadily to his feet. “If you can’t tell, we are still in the middle of a siege.”
It was true; there were still cries and the violent sound of metal on metal, but they were coming from inside the manor and further down the crooked streets.
Erik then looked at Knut and said something sternly in Norse, which made Knut’s head hang in shame. I can only imagine he was blaming him for me being here.
“It’s not Knut’s fault,” I protested. “I heard the fighting and ran off. I wanted to make sure you were alive. I was so sure you’d be dead.”
“You have such little faith in me?” he asked, a brow raised.
I shoved my bound hands in front of him in challenge. “About as much faith as you have in me.”
The corner of his elegant mouth twitched, and I took that as a good sign. He quickly undid my ropes and threw them out onto the street. As he did so, he twisted at the stomach and immediately clutched his wound, bloodying his hands.
“Perhaps you’re right, though,” I said through grinding teeth. Knut took one of my arms for support, and I took the other as we walked down the dirt road until we found an apothecary.
Knut went in first, sword drawn. Then, he popped his head out and said something to Erik, both of us following him in.
“There’s someone dead inside,” Erik warned me as we were about to enter the shop.
My mouth twisted from all the death I’d already seen. “I believe I can manage.”
The shop was small, dark, and musty. Bottles filled with herbs and tinctures lined the walls, as did tiny pots I assumed were full of root powders and other things. There was a long, oak table, its wood dark and damp, where the apothecary would have mixed his medicines. And underneath the table was the apothecary himself, a thin little man, dead from a wound to the chest.
Knut quickly dragged the body out of the way. I tried not to think about it and helped Erik get up on the table. It took a lot of coaxing to convince him to lie down, and as he did so, he said some things to Knut, who in turn grasped the sword he had brought and ran out the door and onto the street.