The Viking's Touch

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘Where do you learn to do that?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve had a lot of practice over the years.’

  ‘Oh? What kind of practice?’

  Wulfgar smiled quietly to himself. ‘Horses’ manes.’

  Another gurgle of laughter bubbled up. ‘Liar.’

  ‘What a base idea you do have of me.’

  ‘No, a very shrewd idea,’ she returned.

  ‘A worrying thought. Am I so easy to read?’

  ‘In truth, no. I hardly ever know what you are thinking.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s just as well.’

  She made no answer, deciding it would be safer not to probe.

  He finished the task and tied the ribbon securely, surveying his handiwork with a critical eye.

  ‘It would have been better if I’d had a comb to hand, but it will serve.’

  Anwyn, examining the braid, was quietly impressed. He had done a creditable job.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he replied.

  He watched her remount and then swung astride his own horse, bringing it alongside. They rode in companionable silence for a while and Wulfgar wondered anew what kind of man Torstein must have been. Just a few hours spent in her presence had been enough to reveal the playful side of Anwyn’s nature. What man, seeing her laugh, would not want to see it often? What man could fail to enjoy her spirit and quick wits? Never once had he been bored with her companionship. Indeed, the more he had of it the more he wanted. It stimulated on so many levels.

  Unwilling to break into his private reverie Anwyn said nothing. It was pleasant just to be with him, to share his company awhile. In truth, she had never thought to enjoy a man’s company as she did now, but then he was different from the rest. It was hard to believe that he was her husband, nominally at least. He had proved honourable in so many unexpected ways. The events of the afternoon had left her in no doubt that he wanted her, or that he could easily have forced her. Would it have been force in the end, when even his kiss weakened her resolution to the point where she hardly recognised herself? She shivered inwardly. If she yielded to this impulse, it could only lead to heartache.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She did not linger late at table that evening, pleading fatigue. In truth, the day’s events had proved unexpectedly draining for all manner of reasons and she wanted nothing more than to seek her chamber and bed. Wulfgar surveyed her critically, seeing at once the tiredness in her eyes.

  ‘Go then, Anwyn, and rest. I’ll be along later.’

  The words jolted her back to realisation that she would not lie alone this night, either.

  ‘As you will, my lord.’

  Having said her goodnights to Ina and Hermund, she left them. Her chamber was a haven of peace after the noise of the hall. Sliding into bed, she left the lamp for Wulfgar. Since he was not yet wholly familiar with the layout of the room, he might not be best pleased at having to stumble around in the dark. Her earlier anxiety about this unwonted intimacy had dissipated now. If he had intended to go back on his word, he’d had every opportunity to do it. She yawned and drew the coverlet higher, letting her body relax. As the bed warmed the feeling of drowsiness increased.

  And then she was not alone any more…

  Torstein brought his mouth down hard on hers, forcing her jaws open, furred tongue thrusting into her mouth. Half-suffocated by the stink of carious breath and stale mead, Anwyn clenched her fists at her sides, forcing herself to endure it, knowing only too well what the penalty would be for resistance. He groaned now and the kiss grew deeper, bruising her lips, his teeth grating against hers. Eventually he came up for air and smiled, revealing stained teeth.

  ‘Turn over.’

  Her stomach wallowed. ‘Please, Torstein, I don’t—’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like me to take my belt to you first?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  ‘Then you’ll get on to your hands and knees—now.’

  She sat up with a start, panting, heart pounding, eyes staring into the shadows at the edges of the room.

  ‘Anwyn? What is it?’

  The sound of a male voice elicited a gasp of fright.

  ‘It’s all right. There’s no one here to hurt you, my sweet. It was just a bad dream.’

  Gradually the voice filtered through the mental turmoil and she lowered herself on the bed again, letting out a long breath. Not Torstein after all: Wulfgar.

  He sat on the side of the bed, looking into her face. ‘Why, you’re shaking. What manner of dream was it that could scare you so?’

  ‘I…I dreamed that Torstein was here. That he—’ She broke off, sickened.

  ‘That he what?’

  She shook her head. ‘It was just a dream. It doesn’t matter.’

  He made no attempt to force her confidence. ‘A dream cannot harm you.’ Giving her a reassuring smile, he moved away to the other side of the room and began to undress. Then he blew out the lamp and climbed into bed.

  Anwyn lay still, every muscle taut, heart still thumping against her ribs. Every thought of sleep had fled now to be replaced with memories five years deep. Almost all of them were repellent. She had never spoken about them to anyone save Jodis, and even then had not told all. Yet somehow, lying here now, she felt an overwhelming need to speak. Perhaps the darkness made it easier. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I dreamed that Torstein was back.’

  Wulfgar remained very still, waiting. Slowly, haltingly, she told him the substance of her dream. He listened, sickened to the pit of his stomach. He had already gathered that the relationship had been unhappy, but he had never guessed at the extent of it.

  ‘I loathed him,’ she went on, ‘and he knew it. For that reason it pleased him to prolong our coupling and especially to…to inflict pain. It aroused him, you see.’

  Wulfgar did see. With the knowledge came understanding and a feeling of sadness mingled with deep and burning anger. In that moment he would have been glad if Torstein had returned just to have had the pleasure of killing him again.

  ‘In the early days of our marriage I used every ruse possible to avoid my so-called wifely duties. I even tried to refuse him…’ She hesitated. ‘A taste of his belt soon showed me the folly of doing so. And after he had beaten me he took me anyway. It pleased him to hear me scream.’

  ‘Anwyn, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Why should you be? It was not your doing.’

  There were so many things he might have replied to that question; there were so many reasons to be sorry. Now more than ever he was glad he had not let desire rule his head. The thought of being equated in her mind with Torstein was anathema.

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ he agreed, ‘but being a man I cannot help but feel ashamed.’

  ‘You have done nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, I owe you much.’

  Wulfgar’s jaw tightened. Nothing to be ashamed of? At any other time he might have laughed. ‘You owe me nothing,’ he said.

  The words came out more harshly than he had intended. Anwyn stirred and he sensed rather than saw her turn towards him.

  ‘And yet if it were not for you I would have fallen prey to Ingvar.’

  ‘For that I am glad.’

  ‘I also.’ She reached out and touched his shoulder, a soft and tentative gesture that set every nerve tingling down the length of his body. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Torstein cannot hurt you now,’ he said.

  ‘I know it, and yet the memories remain.’

  ‘They will fade in time, and then the dreams will stop.’ Very carefully he shifted his weight and brought an arm round her shoulders. At once he felt her tense. ‘Don’t be afraid. Nothing bad is going to happen; only that I would hold you awhile.’

  He dropped a kiss on her hair. Anwyn didn’t move, but as the moments passed and nothing bad did happen some of her tension faded. His warmth was comforting, even reassuring. Slowly, cautiously, she leaned her head against his chest, breathing the scent of musk
on his skin, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. She felt his hand stroking her hair, a soft caress that soothed fear and removed it. She sighed, and closed her eyes. Somehow it felt right to be here like this, right and strangely safe.

  When Anwyn woke it was to a feeling of warmth and general well-being. She smiled to herself and glanced across at the man who now shared her bed. He was still asleep, his face peaceful in repose. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she shifted her weight, propping herself on one elbow, letting her gaze take in the details. The more she looked, the more of an enigma he became. The memory of his gentleness left a feeling of abiding warmth deep inside her. This tenderness was so far removed from her experience; more beguiling and more disturbing than anything she could have anticipated, not least for the feelings it engendered in return. She knew then how easy it would be to love such a man.

  She sighed. Wulfgar was charismatic in so many ways, but at heart he remained an adventurer. One day, in the not-too-distant future, he would be gone and, as he had said, perhaps for years. Given the hazardous nature of his profession there was a chance he might never come back at all. She swallowed hard. His was such a commanding presence that already it was difficult to imagine a world where he was not.

  Uncomfortable with the direction of her thoughts, Anwyn rose. Reaching for a comb, she sat down and began to draw it through her hair. The narrow teeth found a small tangle and she winced, focusing her attention that way. It took some time to free, but at last it was accomplished and she resumed, absorbed in the task now. She had been working on it for some time when she had the sensation of being observed. Instinctively she looked round. Her gaze met Wulfgar’s and she saw him smile.

  ‘Good morning, my lady.’

  She returned the greeting and resumed what she had been doing, supremely conscious of that close scrutiny. Somehow, in his presence, even the simplest personal tasks became strangely intimate and gave rise to sensations that were better left unexplored.

  He watched for a little while longer, then rose from the bed and reached for his clothes. Anwyn kept her attention resolutely on the task in hand. Wulfgar undressed was an even greater distraction than usual. Possibly out of deference to her sensibilities he donned breeches and hose before venturing across the room to bathe his face. Having done that, he pulled on his shirt and tunic and latched the belt at his waist. Then he reached for his shoes. Within a short time he was ready to face the day.

  ‘Will you excuse me, Anwyn? I need to speak to Hermund and Ina about training practices for the men.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then I’ll see you later.’

  With that he was gone. Anwyn let out another long breath.

  Wulfgar kept the men busy all morning, taking them through a rigorous routine of military exercises. In this he was aided by Ina. It left Hermund free to organise the patrols for the day. Just because Ingvar had now been informed of the situation pertaining at Drakensburgh, it didn’t mean he would abide by it. Accordingly Wulfgar sent out half-a-dozen patrols to cover different areas of the estate, and when they were done others would relieve them. They were his eyes and ears and he could ill afford to be without them.

  He had also spoken to Ina about recruiting more fighters for Drakensburgh from among the local population. When the time came to leave he needed to be sure that there was an adequate force to look after the place in his absence.

  ‘I think it will not be hard to find volunteers,’ said Ina. ‘The problem will be turning the raw material into an effective fighting force.’

  Wulfgar nodded. ‘We have enough experienced men to pass on the necessary skills. With an intensive period of training we can knock them into shape.’

  Eyvind, who had been watching the practices closely, now turned to look up at them, brandishing a small wooden sword. ‘I want to fight.’

  ‘One day you will,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘But first you must learn how.’ He moved to stand beside the child. ‘You must hold your sword thus…that’s it. Good. Now let’s try a few basic moves…’

  When, some time later, Anwyn came in search of her son, it was to see him practising alongside his large mentor. Both were so involved in what they were doing that they failed to notice her presence, giving her time to watch unobserved. Eyvind imitated Wulfgar’s movements exactly, clearly hanging on every word he uttered. Ina stood some yards off, surveying the proceedings with a tolerant eye.

  ‘Isn’t Eyvind a little young for this?’ she asked.

  The old warrior smiled. ‘He is keen to learn, my lady.’

  ‘Yes, he is. Ever since you gave him the wooden sword he’s talked of little else.’

  ‘It’ll do him no harm to learn a few simple manoeuvres.’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Anwyn glanced at the fighting pairs all around them, a somewhat dubious look whose import did not escape Ina.

  ‘No harm will come to him, my lady.’

  Feeling a little foolish, she smiled. ‘No, you’re right, of course.’

  Just then Wulfgar looked up and, seeing her, smiled. Eyvind, following the line of his gaze, smiled, too, a great beaming smile that lit his face. She thought he had never looked so happy. The sight brought a lump into her throat. It was a forceful reminder of how much things had changed since Wulfgar’s coming—changes for the better and in so many unexpected ways. Unwilling to disturb the little scene she remained where she was, continuing to watch from the sidelines.

  After ten minutes Wulfgar called a halt. ‘That’s enough for today. You can practice what I’ve shown you.’

  Eyvind nodded. ‘Can we train again tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course.’ Wulfgar ruffled the boy’s hair. Then the two of them came to join Anwyn and Ina.

  As Eyvind launched into animated conversation with the old man, she looked apologetically at Wulfgar.

  ‘I hope Eyvind isn’t being a nuisance.’

  ‘Not at all. He’s eager and quick to learn. He has only to be told once.’

  The words sounded genuine and Anwyn smiled, experiencing a little glow of pleasure. It was always good to hear someone speak in praise of her son, but somehow this man’s words meant even more. She had seen the way the new recruits responded to his praise, how his own men sought his approval. If seasoned warriors valued his good opinion, how much more it would mean to a child. His patience and tolerance gladdened her heart as nothing else could.

  ‘He’s like a different child these days. I hardly recognise him.’

  ‘And yet I think you are not sorry for it,’ he said.

  ‘No. It’s as it should be.’

  She experienced a momentary pang, knowing that Eyvind would eventually grow away from her, following the warrior path that was his birthright. Childhood was short. It was one of the reasons she was grateful for the influences acting on him now. A boy needed the right role models to follow.

  Unable to follow her thoughts, Wulfgar surveyed her curiously. Her affection for her son was very apparent for all that he was Torstein’s offspring.

  ‘Did you never have other children?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  With that one word the mood changed and became tense. Wulfgar mentally cursed his tactlessness. Women often lost babies and infants—losses that left deep scars.

  ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She turned to face him squarely. ‘Eyvind is my only child because I chose that he should be.’

  For a moment he regarded her blankly before the implications began to sink in. ‘You mean you…’

  ‘…took measures to prevent any more pregnancies, yes.’ She paused. ‘Does that shock you?’

  It did, but he concealed the fact. ‘You must have had your reasons.’

  ‘Eyvind’s birth was difficult. At the time I thought it would kill me, but he and I survived. Torstein had his heir, and I vowed that I would bear no more children to a man I loathed.’

  ‘How did you—?’ He broke off. ‘I mean, you did not deny hi
m your bed.’

  ‘No, I had to endure that, but there are ways a woman may avoid conceiving.’

  ‘I see.’ Suddenly the full extent of her anger and detestation were made clear. That shocked him, too, even though he understood it. ‘You took a serious risk. If he had found out…’

  ‘He would have killed me, though at the time I did not greatly care.’

  ‘And yet you love your son.’

  ‘He was innocent of his making.’

  Wulfgar met her gaze. ‘Why do you tell me these things?’

  ‘Because you asked and because…’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I don’t want to lie to you.’

  He hesitated, framing the next question very carefully. ‘Have you resolved never to have more children, then?’

  The words were spoken with apparent casualness, but for no good reason they brought a lump to her throat.

  ‘I was resolved never to have more of Torstein’s children.’

  ‘Just his?’

  ‘I…I never thought beyond Torstein, never thought I would be free of him.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘The question is hardly relevant, is it? Under the circumstances.’

  Until that moment he had not considered the matter in that light, but now the terms of their agreement returned with cold clarity. A marriage in name only; swords bought for gold and, latterly, an earldom. Recent events had caused him to forget. When he looked at Eyvind it was not so hard to envisage other sons: his sons. When he looked at the woman beside him, the wish that he had kept so deeply buried resurfaced with painful force. He acknowledged it now, mentally calling himself all kinds of fool for letting imagination outstrip common sense. Anwyn had given him a timely reminder of reality. Children would only add another layer of complications to an already complex set of circumstances. He ought to feel relief to be free of that possibility. In any case, he had agreed to her terms and she to his. He cleared his throat.

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘I suppose it isn’t—under the circumstances.’