By Marcellus T. Mitsos
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Extra resources for An Inscription from Mycenae
Bloody hell, it's cold in here," the man swore in her ear. From the anger in his voice, he clearly blamed her for being forced to get wet. " she yelled. "Do you know who I am? My father--" But his name was cut off by the press of a hard, callused hand over her mouth. "Shush," he warned. " She stilled, not liking the sound of that. The soldier dragged her up the rocky shore and threw her unceremoniously down at the feet of a bald-headed man who-thankfully--looked familiar to her. She racked her frozen brain, but it wasn't moving too fast.
He shook his dark hair, which was frozen into chunks like hers. He started to say more but was interrupted by a sharp cough that grew progressively harder and deeper, as if he were still trying to purge the water from his lungs. When it wouldn't stop, Ellie became alarmed and reached over to put a hand on his mail-clad back. She was no healer, but that cough didn't sound good. He needed to get to shore and get dry and warm--which sounded like heaven to her as well. The fur was warm, but as he'd surmised, she was cold, wet, and uncomfortable.
Little one. The endearment slipped out without him realizing it. She settled in his arms like a babe, and it was with some reluctance that he handed her over to his men. As Domnall reached over to drag the lass into the boat, Erik eyed the approaching galleys. The English were almost on top of them. He had a minute--maybe seconds-before they were in range of the English bows. A few minutes after that, and the boats would be surrounding them. Sailing north into the wind was no longer an option.
An Inscription from Mycenae by Marcellus T. Mitsos