Michelle Styles - Saved by the Viking Warrior

He started to draw his sword, but then relaxed.

‘There, see.’ He pointed with a long finger. ‘No wolf.’

Cwenneth crouched down and found herself staring into the tusked head of a boar. The animal blew a hot breath over her face before giving her a long disdainful look and trotting off.

‘That was unexpected,’ she said, sitting back on her heels.

‘Thor has shown you favour,’ Thrand remarked in the quiet that followed. ‘Good luck follows your footsteps in battle when Thor favours you.’

‘I don’t believe in the Norsemen’s gods. And I know what those tusks can do. My stepson was gored once. It ended his fighting days and he walks with a bad limp. I wouldn’t call that lucky.’

She gave an uneasy laugh. A god favoured her? Thankfully he didn’t know about the curse she carried. He’d abandon her in these woods if he did. Pressing her hands together, she tried to control her trembling and breathe normally.

‘You’re married? What did your husband say about you travelling with your lady to her new home?’

‘My husband died and...and I found myself back in my lady’s service.’ A fresh dribble of sweat ran down her back. The words rushed out of her throat. ‘My luck has been dreadful these last few years.’

‘You’re wrong.’ His searing gaze raked her form, making Cwenneth aware of her angles. Her sister-in-law was one of the plump comfortable women which men loved, but Cwenneth had few illusions about the attractiveness of her body—all hard angles with only a few slender curves. ‘You survived the slaughter. That makes you luckier than the corpses back there.’

Her shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t noticed her slip. ‘I’ve lingered too long in these woods. Can we go from this place?’

He made a mocking bow. ‘As my lady wishes.’

‘I’m not a lady. I am a maid, a person of no consequence.’

A faint smile touched his lips. ‘It is well you reminded me.’

She shook her head to rid it of the prickling feeling that he was toying with her. But Norsemen were not that subtle. They used brute force to destroy farms and steal livestock, rather than cunning to discover the hidden stores. She’d bide her time and escape.

* * *

‘What have you found, Thrand? Anything? There is nothing to say who did this here,’ Knui called out as Thrand emerged from the woods with his prisoner in tow. ‘We thought the demons who must dwell in this place had found you and conquered your soul. But then they whisper that Loki has already determined your fate at Ragnarok.’

‘A witness,’ Thrand answered shortly, keeping a firm grip on Cwen’s wrist. Binding a woman was always a last resort. He would use her to bring down Hagal and finally revenge his parents. What happened to her after that was none of his concern.

‘Will you take her to Hagal?’ Knui asked with an intense expression. ‘The slaughter happened on his land. He will want to find the Northumbrians who did this and punish them. A direct assault on his authority can’t be tolerated. Think about how Halfdan will react when he knows. These bastards want to start the war again. Do they never give up?’

‘In my time,’ Thrand answered, giving Knui a hard look. With each word, Knui proclaimed that he was indeed Hagal’s creature. It was only Thrand’s promise to Sven which stayed his hand and prevented him from running the man through. Sven had given his oath his cousin would be loyal with his last breath. ‘I have promises to keep first, as you well know.’

‘But won’t she slow us down?’ Knui continued grumbling, seemingly oblivious to the threat in Thrand’s look. ‘The last thing we need is a woman with us. It is going to be difficult enough to get in and out of Bernicia as is.’

Knui was right in one respect. The last thing he wanted on this journey was a woman, but Hagal, who loved gold more than life itself, wanted her dead. And that was more than enough justification for keeping her with them and alive.

‘Let me worry about that.’

‘We need to be back before the Storting starts,’ Knui persisted. ‘I want a say in Halfdan’s successor, even if you don’t.’

‘You seek to challenge my authority, Knui, son of Gorm, kinsman to Sven Audson?’ Thrand reached for his sword. If Knui wanted a fight, so be it. He had never walked away from a battle. He never would. ‘Do so openly. I’ve no time for games and whispers. Are you prepared to chance your sword arm against mine? Shall we see who the victor will be?’

Knui glanced over his shoulders and saw the other men had moved away from him, leaving him isolated. The colour drained from his face.

Thrand waited impassively.

‘Not I.’ Knui hung his head. ‘I have seen you on the battlefield, Thrand. I know what you can do. I am content for you to lead us.’

‘I accept your judgement.’ Thrand sheathed his sword and the rage subsided. There would be no need to do battle with Knui...today. But he no longer trusted him.

Sweat poured from Knui’s forehead. ‘Thank you.’

‘I lead this felag. The woman comes north with us...unless any cares to fight me.’

‘Do you think we can get a ransom for her?’ Helgi called out.

‘She claims to be the maid. When has anyone ever ransomed a maid?’ Thrand answered, giving Cwen a significant look. Her pale cheeks became stained the colour of her gown and she kept her eyes downcast. ‘What is a serving maid worth beyond her value at the slave market?’

‘Yes, I am the Lady of Lingwold’s maid,’ Cwen called out. ‘How could I be anything else?’

Thrand schooled his features as his men looked to him for confirmation. He inclined his head, not committing himself either way. Her voice was far too fine and her gown, under the coarse woollen cloak, too well made. He’d bet his sword and a good more besides that she was the true Lady of Lingwold.

‘Indeed,’ he murmured, releasing her wrist. She instantly rubbed it. ‘How could you be anyone but the maid?’

‘You are going to bury them here? After you have taken everything of value from them? They served my lady well. She respected them,’ she said, turning away from him and not answering the question. ‘They deserve better than being plucked clean by the crows.’

‘They have no use for their swords where they are.’ Thrand shrugged as his men busied themselves with completing the pit. ‘The crows have enough to eat. No point in leaving them out in the open.’

Her brow wrinkled as she pleated her burgundy skirt between her fingers. ‘I...I suppose not. But there must be a churchyard near here. They should have a Christian burial. Find a priest.’ She gave a tiny sniff. ‘The decent thing to do.’

He bit back the words that he had no decent bones left in his body. All he lived for was war. It had been a part of his existence for so long, he knew no other way of life. All finer feelings had vanished years ago on blood-soaked ground before a burning farmhouse in southern Viken. Burying them was the best way to make Hagal uneasy. ‘This is a conversation you should have with the lord of these lands.’

She paled and took a step backwards. ‘You mean Hagal the Red.’

Thrand watched her from under his brows and wondered if she knew the truth about how her bridegroom had acted in Norway and Northumbria? What had he promised her family to lure her out here so he could fulfil his vow of revenge?

‘The Lady of Lingwold was meant to be his bride. Once he learns of the massacre, he will come here,’ he said, willing her to confide the truth and beg for his assistance. ‘He is a man who likes to see the aftermath of such things with his own eyes. Shall we wait?’

She tucked her chin into her neck. The action highlighted its slender curve and the way her golden hair glinted in the sun. He curled his hands into fists and concentrated.