Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

“Careful, Jarl,” Tryggr warned. “The boys weren’t lying about her, and she still has my dagger somewhere.”

From the quality of his horse and the way the others deferred to him, Nena could tell this one was of higher rank. That fact appealed to her. Rank did not affect how they bled or how they died, and better she could kill one of importance than these last two dogs.

She examined him, looking for a weakness to exploit. Unlike the other Northmen with their thick beards and shaggy hair, this one was clean-shaven and his brown wavy hair was cut short on the sides. He was taller than the last two she’d been fighting, but not near so large as the red-haired giant whose ear she had trimmed. Most concerning to her was that, despite his size, he was balanced and sure on his feet. The others, even the smaller ones, were typical Northmen, heavy lumbering movers. Their slow reactions had given her the edge she needed to combat their size advantage. She would have no such luck with this one; he moved like a warrior.

Jarl saw her fingers tighten around the hilt of the sword. Judging from the ample distance his men had given her, he knew she must be able to handle it. He feinted to the right and the blade slashed the air where he should have been. Jarl smiled to himself, impressed. Blade too large or not, she was strong and quick. For many minutes he moved around her, measuring her responses, his weapons remaining sheathed.

Without warning she charged him, her blade whipping through the air in a blur of death. The ferocity and swiftness of her attack caught him off guard. Jarl pulled his own sword, barely managing to withdraw it in time to deflect her first strike. Her blows continued to come with blinding speed, keeping him hard-pressed and off balance. It was all he could do to parry each one as he stumbled backwards.

Ultimately, her earlier battles and the weight of the weapon began to take their toll. Jarl could see her movements, though still fast, were becoming more labored. He went on the offensive. After pushing her back with multiple small strikes, he gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and brought it down in one crushing blow. Steel clashed against steel. Her body shuddered under the impact. Jarl fully expected to see the blade fly from her hands, but somehow—incredibly—she managed to hold onto it, though the force of the concussion sent her staggering. As she tried to recover and bring the sword back around to face him, Jarl dropped to the ground and kicked her just below one ankle—driving it into her other leg, and knocking her feet out from under her. He lunged for her as she fell, trying to trap her with his body, but she rolled away and jumped to her feet. Jarl did the same. They stood facing each other, both breathing hard.

Jarl caught a glimpse of the outline of Tryggr’s dagger under the cloth belt of her waist. He made a grab for her wrist that held the sword. Seizing it with one hand, he squeezed relentlessly. She cried out in pain but still fought to maintain her grip on the hilt. Jarl knew it was only a matter of time and twisted his body around to a position behind her. As she dropped the weapon, he reached around her waist with his other hand and ripped Tryggr’s dagger from under her sash. He threw it to the ground, then pulled her in against him in a tight bear hug.

She screamed a guttural scream of rage and twisted in his grasp, her back pressed up against him. When she threw all her weight downwards, Jarl assumed she was trying to reach Tryggr’s dagger on the ground with her free hand. He tightened his grip, knowing it was safely out of reach. Too late, he felt her fingers brushing the knife sheath inside his own boot.

“Watch out, Jarl!” Tryggr shouted. “She’s got your knife now.”

Reacting with instincts honed by years of battle, Jarl released her with a small shove and leaped backwards while maintaining a grip on her one wrist. Air swirled past his throat as her backhanded strike barely missed its mark. She wasn’t just strong, she was clever; he had to give her that. While he was evaluating her, she’d apparently been examining him, too. Instead of fighting for either weapon he’d taken from her, she’d located another. His.

A split second later, the dagger slashed toward his wrist to free herself from his grip. Jarl let go. The sudden unexpected release threw her off balance, but his reaction wasn’t quite fast enough this time. Searing white hot pain shot up his arm as the blade sliced across the back of his hand. Jarl arched his body and caught her knife-wielding hand in midair as it slashed toward him yet again. He jerked it down against his knee, dislodging the dagger, then twisted her whole arm up behind her back to immobilize her. Holding her arm there and grabbing a handful of her thick hair, Jarl forced her to her knees on the hard-packed dirt in front of him.

“That’s it, sir—give it to her good. We’ll see how tough she is now. Dor bitch.” The two men hooted and called out encouragement as they moved closer.

Jarl ignored them and ripped a strip of leather from her skirt, using the thong to bind her hands together behind her back. Misunderstanding his intentions, the men whistled in anticipation. After hoisting her to her feet, Jarl began to pull her in the direction of his horse. The two men looked confused, then openly disappointed as they realized, not only would there be no male bonding with their leader—worse, there would be no leftovers.

“One of you fetch Tryggr’s dagger for him, and the other go find