Agata shook her head before the other woman could even finish speaking. “I can’t leave him. I can’t run when he could very well die with these heathens coming after him.”
An arrow came flying through the air, and Agata landed on her face, the arrow barely missing her as it slammed in the tree beside her. Breathing out, dirt moving around her face, she grabbed the hilt of the sword that she’d dropped, looked around, and saw the horde of men coming at them. They had axes, swords, knives, and bows and arrows. They were shouting, blowing a horn to clearly tell everyone they were attacking. She turned around to look at Stian, scream for him to get ready for the ambush, but he was already outside, his sword in hand and his arm wrapped around her waist.
“Come, I need to get you to safety,” Stian said and hauled her off the ground. They ran toward the hut, and he pushed her inside. He had a rug pulled up and a trapdoor was on display. “Go. Inside, and take the tunnel all the way to the sea.” He pushed her forward, and before she could tell him she’d stand and fight these assholes he was gone.
Agata still had the sword, but it was bulky, and she saw a hand ax on the table. She picked it up. The handle was long, the blade rusty but sharp, and not as heavy as the sword. This shit as going down whether she fought with him or not, but she wasn’t going to stand back and let Stian go in this alone. She would fight beside him, because for the first time in her life she felt like she belonged somewhere, and she wasn’t about to let that go.
Chapter Twelve
Stian didn’t look back to see if Agata listened to him. She was a stubborn, strong woman, but he needed her to leave and find safety. He could handle these men that thought to come here and take from him. It didn’t matter that he was outnumbered or if he died tonight. He would take out as many as he could, and do so, sure with the serenity in him that his wife had gotten away. There was no doubt that if they killed Stian they’d kill Agata. But before they took her life they’d torture her, rape her, and wouldn’t stop until she no longer breathed.
These men, the villagers he’d grown up with, were cruel to anyone that crossed them, and wasn’t a part of their village. They would consider Agata an outsider. It didn’t matter that Stian had claimed her as his wife, because he’d been banished, and was therefore an outsider, too. But he’d known since the moment they told him to leave that they’d come for him. It was just a matter of when.
He swung his sword with a mighty roar, and sliced the man that came forward right through the middle of the belly. His enemy fell to his knees, looked right at Stian, and started gurgling blood as he cursed him before he took his last breath. The redness spewed from his mouth, covered his chin and chest, but Stian couldn’t take the pleasure in watching him die. The man fell to the ground face first, and Stian started cutting down the attackers.
Left, right, decapitated, a gaping wound through the arm. He attacked with fervor, didn’t stop until blood coated the air in a thick, tangy and metallic scent and flavor. The liquid covered Stian’s chest and face, and as he turned to take out one of the men coming forward the tip of his assailant’s knife sliced through Stian’s cheek.
Stian wiped the blood from his face and moved to take out the second man. Stian stared at the body before him, and felt no remorse over taking yet another life. He slowly lifted his gaze away from the corpse, and slid it up his bloodstained legs covered in leather, over his chest, and snarled at the fact he had his enemies’ blood on him.
He curled his hand that didn’t hold his sword into a fist and clenched his jaw. He had only been with his woman for such a short time, but these bastards thought to take her from him. Even faced with this impending battle all he could think about was Agata, praying to the gods that she’d been smart enough to leave, to listen to him.
“Fuck,” he gritted out. He straightened and ran a hand over his face, feeling the mixture of sweat and blood covering his palm.
An arrow came flying through the air, and he lifted his sword and blocked it. He swung his sword with a mighty roar, and sliced it clean through the man that came charging forward. Stian did this over and over again, taking men down that came to strike at him, feeling rage and power move through him. Another body fell to the ground, and another, and another.
Stian loved a good fight, loved the feeling of defending himself, and now the woman he cared for. But Stian should have been prepared, because he’d known they wouldn’t stop if the elder died. He was foolish, and this was his fault, his doing.
A man gave a mighty yell, swung out his ax, intending to take Stian’s head clean off, but Stian was ready. He blocked the ax with his sword, and right when he would have stumbled back from the force the man’s head fell to the ground. Stian stared at the headless body, and lifted his gaze to see Agata standing there, an ax in her hand, and blood sprayed along her body.