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prefer to collect
Alchflaed myself.”
    Oswiu favored Paeda with a look of disdain.
    “Stop thinking with your cock, man. Have you forgotten
that Mercia no longer has a leader? I cannot risk one of your brothers taking
the Mercian throne once they discover your father is dead. You must return to
Tamworth immediately. I will give you a company of my men for your return home.”
    The Northumbrian king turned away from Paeda then, his
gaze flicking over to the knot of bloodied Mercian warriors.
    “Now you can take your pick from the Mercian survivors.
Choose those you trust to escort my daughter – the rest of them can accompany
you back to Tamworth.”
    Two yards away, Maric’s gaze met Osulf’s, and they shared
a look of mute shock. Maric’s gaze then shifted to Elfhere. His friend did not
appear to have heard Oswiu, for he was barely conscious. His head lolled on
Osulf’s shoulder; he was in need of urgent help from a healer.
    Paeda did not look best pleased with Oswiu’s insistence
that he return to Tamworth, yet he wisely did not quibble. Instead, he strode
over to the group of Mercian survivors, his cool gaze surveying them. When he
got to Maric, Osulf and Elfhere, his gaze paused.
    “Woden,” he murmured, his eyebrows lifting. “My father’s personal
guard. All three of you survived?”
    Osulf said nothing, although his glare spoke volumes.
    “Aye, we survived,” Maric replied, his voice sharp with
pain. His head felt twice its usual size and pounded in time with his heartbeat.
It made him ill tempered and reckless. “Although it was not by choice.”
    Paeda’s mouth compressed, making him look astoundingly
like his late father, and he fixed Maric in a hard stare.
    “Maric, your wounds will heal quickly enough. You will
lead the escort.”
    Maric returned his stare, his stomach twisting.
    How dare this dog command me.
    Of course, he should have known that Paeda would choose
him; they had fought alongside each other in the past and Paeda had seen Maric
lead men and follow his lord’s commands without question.
    He knows I’m loyal.
    Maric choked back his anger and looked away. Paeda moved on
and had already begun to choose the men that would accompany Maric north.
Exhaustion and despair pulled Maric down into its chill embrace. He looked
across the clearing at where Penda’s gruesome visage glared at him, accusing.
    He could have refused to obey Paeda. It had been on the
tip of his tongue to do so, yet something had stopped him. It was not fear of
execution, for Maric had long ceased fearing death. Instead, it was his sense
of duty and honor. Try as he might, he could not cast it aside. He had ended up
on the losing side of battle, and as such his life was the property of the
victor.
    Maric’s fate was not his own to decide.

Chapter Four
Return to Bebbanburg
     
    Bebbanburg, the Kingdom of
Northumbria,
    Britannia
     
    Ten days later...
     
     
     
    Alchflaed placed the last handful of walnuts into her
wicker basket and straightened up. Pushing aside a lock of auburn hair, which
had come free of its long braid, she glanced up at the pale sky.
    It was a damp, sunless afternoon and cold enough to numb
fingers and toes. There will be a frost tonight , she thought, drawing
her woolen shawl about her shoulders. Blod monath was nearly over, and soon
Yule, and the winter snow, would be upon them.
    The time had passed so fast since her father’s departure
from Bebbanburg, nearly a moon’s cycle earlier. He had marched off to war
against a fyrd nearly three times the size of his own king’s army. Alchflaed
worried for him.
    Deep in thought, she left the walnut trees behind and
began the climb back up the steep causeway toward Bebbanburg’s low gate. She
had plenty of walnuts for the cake she planned to bake that evening. Ahead, two
guards flanked the entrance to the fort, spears at the ready. Alchflaed had almost
reached them, when she saw one of the men stiffen, his gaze fastening on
something behind