The Viking's Touch

by Joanna Fulford

  Chapter Fifteen

  Over the next few days, recruits arrived from across the estate, young men keen to learn the skills of war. What with that and the patrols that daily rode the boundaries, the men were kept busy. Wulfgar delegated work where it was appropriate so that he was free to check on any aspect of the day’s business when he wished to. It kept everyone on their toes for no one knew exactly where he would be or when. Moreover, the newly sworn Drakensburgh warriors were keen to prove themselves, and the newest recruits most of all. He surveyed it all closely, liaising with Hermund and Ina where necessary. When he recalled Anwyn’s earlier advice he acknowledged that she had been right: Ina’s support was invaluable. Despite his years, the old warrior was still remarkably fit and fast—as the trainees discovered to their cost. More than one came away from the practice bouts with a sheepish expression and a more respectful attitude than they’d had when it began. Ina rarely raised his voice in command; usually an eyebrow was enough to bring an individual back into line if it was required. Wulfgar watched it all with quiet approval.

  Apart from the beginning and end of each day he had seen little of Anwyn. Of course, she had her own work to do, and servants to oversee. Even so, he found himself looking out at odd moments, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. She tended not to linger in the hall after meat and by the time he came to retire she was asleep. Although she was unfailingly courteous when occasion did bring them together, the small intimacies that they had shared earlier were conspicuous by their absence now. He found it strangely irksome. It was almost as though she were avoiding him.

  Eyvind, on the other hand, was more forthcoming. He had taken to heart all the things that he had been taught and practised them diligently. Wulfgar set aside a little time each day to spend with the boy, watching him repeat the things he had been shown, teaching him new ones. The least word of praise was clearly balm, calling forth a flush of shy pleasure. Wulfgar began to wonder if Torstein had ever bothered with the child at all.

  ‘Precious little,’ said Ina, in response to his casual enquiry. ‘Torstein didn’t like children anyway. He had no patience at the best of times and, as I said before, a foul temper to boot.’

  ‘And yet he had a son any man might be proud of.’

  ‘If he was proud of the boy, he hid it well.’

  The words gave Wulfgar food for thought for they tallied with what Anwyn had told him. No wonder she had not wanted to give her husband more children. Now that the initial surprise of that disclosure had worn off, he found he could not censure her for it. All the same it was a pity; sons like Eyvind could only be most pleasing to a man. The thought recurred that it would be good to father Anwyn’s children. Hard on its heels came the realisation that fatherhood was a sacred responsibility, and he had failed at it already. Toki was three when he died. What manner of man might he have grown to be? Wulfgar sighed. When he told Anwyn he wasn’t good husband material he had spoken no more than the truth.

  Another practice session with Eyvind served to chase these thoughts from his mind. Nothing loath, the child rained blows upon the iron-bossed shield on Wulfgar’s arm, seeking a way past his guard. However, no matter where he directed the sword, the shield always met it. They were perhaps ten minutes into the drill when, out of the corner of his eye, Wulfgar caught a glimpse of a mauve gown. Instinctively he turned to look. However, that moment’s inattention allowed Eyvind past his guard and the point of the wooden sword thrust against his ribs.

  ‘A hit!’ Eyvind capered, brandishing the sword aloft. ‘You’re dead!’

  Wulfgar groaned loudly, clutching his side. Then he staggered several paces, feigning mortal injury, before collapsing in the dust. The child laughed delightedly.

  ‘Lord Wulfgar is dead! I’ve killed him!’

  Several of the men nearby glanced round, grinning. Eyvind thrust clenched fists into the air in token of his victory. However, as soon as he turned his back, the ‘dead body’ came suddenly to life and grabbed him. The child yelled in surprise as strong arms lifted him off his feet. Yells became giggles as the same arms turned him upside down and held him there.

  ‘Let that be a lesson to you, boy,’ said Ina. ‘Make sure your man is slain before you turn your back on him.’

  ‘That’s right. Otherwise you’ll end up dead yourself.’ Wulfgar swung the child the right way up and sat him in the crook of his arm. ‘All the same, you broke through my guard and that was very good.’

  Eyvind smiled shyly. Then he was looking over his mentor’s shoulder and his face lit in a smile.

  ‘Mother.’

  Wulfgar felt his heart give an odd lurch as he turned to see Anwyn, surprising an expression on her face that he had never seen before. It was composed of laughter and pride and something harder to identify, and it transformed her.

  ‘Did you see me slay Lord Wulfgar?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  In fact, Anwyn had watched the entire scene and her heart was full. She would never have supposed that this man might take such pains with a child who was not even his. She watched him set the boy down and then, retrieving the fallen shield, gave it to Ina. With an injunction to Eyvind to continue his practice, he walked apart with Anwyn.

  ‘He’s learning fast,’ he said.

  ‘He has made more progress than I ever dreamed, and that is due to you.’ She paused, looking into his face. ‘Thank you.’

  Her expression just then caused his pulse to quicken. All her former reserve was gone to reveal the tenderness beneath—tenderness and vulnerability. Over the years she had learned to conceal it, but it was there if a man knew where to look. How much past events had hurt her. Just then he would have liked to take her in his arms and kiss away the hurt, but he restrained the impulse. Likely she would not welcome it and he would not force his attentions on her. In any case, the past could not be kissed away.

  ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said, with perfect sincerity. Under other circumstances he might have been doing the same things with Toki. Unexpectedly his throat tightened and he forced that particular thought away.

  Anwyn smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to Eyvind, too.’ She glanced around at the practising combatants. ‘Is the training going on as you would wish?’

  ‘Aye, it is. Ina has been invaluable. You were right about him.’

  ‘He has been like a rock since Torstein died.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ he replied.

  ‘Ina must hold you in esteem or he would not lend his co-operation so readily.’

  ‘Then I am truly honoured.’

  Again the words were spoken with perfect sincerity and she heard it. It gladdened her, more than she could have anticipated. Just then it was difficult to express the feelings uppermost in her mind. She was also very conscious that being in this man’s company pleased her more than she could ever have anticipated. The attraction she felt was impossible to deny, but still it represented danger. That was why she had tried to distance herself a little in the preceding days. Yet, in spite of her best efforts, she had missed him.

  The silence stretched out and she glanced reluctantly towards the bower. She really ought to excuse herself now and leave. Wulfgar intercepted the look and the thought.

  ‘I have to ride out to check the patrols this afternoon. Come with me.’

  Taken completely by surprise, Anwyn fumbled for an excuse. ‘Well, I…I hadn’t planned…’

  ‘Of course you hadn’t. I’ve only just asked you.’ He grinned. ‘It’s called spontaneity.’

  ‘Yes, but I shouldn’t…I mean, it’s not—’ She broke off floundering.

  He evinced polite interest. Anwyn felt her face grow hotter.

  ‘Not?’ he prompted.

  There were many things she might have said in reply, but all of them seemed lame. She shook her head. ‘No matter.’

  ‘Good. Then you’ll come.’ He fixed her with a level stare. ‘That wasn’t a question, by the way.’

  Her chin tilted to a militant angle. ‘Have y
ou any idea how overbearing you can be at times?’

  ‘No, but you can tell me this afternoon. The horses will be ready at the end of the practice.’ He favoured her with a nod and walked away, leaving her staring after him.

  She bit back a smile. ‘Impossible man.’

  That evening Anwyn was in no hurry to leave the hall after the meal and lingered, listening to the conversation and, where appropriate, contributing. Thus the hour grew late before she eventually announced her intention to retire. She expected Wulfgar to bid her good-night and return to his men, but in this she was mistaken.

  ‘It has been a long day,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I’m for bed.’

  She nodded. It had been a long day, but far from tedious. They stepped outside and paused a moment. The cressets were lit but, although it was full dark now, the evening was warm and the air sweet with green scents borne on the breeze. It was pleasant after the closeness of the hall. By tacit consent they strolled together towards the bower.

  They had not gone a dozen paces when a figure leapt from the shadows and launched itself at Wulfgar. Anwyn saw the raised dagger and cried out a warning. Lightning reflexes saved him. He spun and threw himself aside so that the blade aimed at his heart slashed his arm instead. Enraged, he flung himself on his assailant, seizing his wrist and bearing down hard. The two men crashed to the ground. The flaring cressets revealed glimpses of writhing figures, locked together, the air filled with the sound of laboured breathing. His opponent rolled and the point of the dagger hovered above Wulfgar’s throat. He brought a knee up hard and his assailant grunted with pain. The knife wavered and then fell. Seconds later Wulfgar’s scrabbling fingers found the hilt and closed on it as a hand tightened round his windpipe. Half-throttled, he lifted the blade and thrust the point into the man’s ribs. The grip slackened on Wulfgar’s throat and, drawing a ragged breath, he heaved the bulky form aside. Then he staggered to his feet, one hand clutching the injured arm. Blood welled through his fingers.

  A moment later Anwyn was beside him. ‘Wulfgar, you’re hurt!’

  ‘A scratch, that’s all.’

  The sound of voices and running feet announced the arrival of the men from the hall, swords drawn.

  ‘What happened?’ demanded Hermund. Then he saw the still form on the ground. ‘Are you all right, my lord?’

  Wulfgar nodded. ‘Just about.’

  ‘Who was it?’

  Ina shouldered his way through the crowd with a torch. Its ruddy light revealed a familiar face.

  ‘Thorkil,’ murmured Anwyn. ‘What treachery is this?’

  Wulfgar frowned. ‘Search the place. He may have had accomplices. If you find any bring them to me—alive.’ As the men hurried off to do his bidding, he looked at Anwyn. Her face was deathly pale and, seeing it, he felt his heart lurch. ‘He has not hurt you, sweet?’

  ‘No. I’m not hurt.’

  ‘Thank the gods for that.’ He slid his good arm around her waist. ‘Why, you’re trembling.’

  Anwyn clung to him, taking comfort from his warmth. In the distance they heard shouts and then the unmistakable sounds of struggle.

  ‘They’ve found someone,’ she murmured.

  Wulfgar’s jaw tightened. ‘So it would seem.’

  Some minutes later, the men returned, dragging a prisoner with them. His torn clothing and bruised face testified to the fact that he had put up a fight before greater numbers had overpowered him. Hands bound, he was dragged before Wulfgar. Even under the blood and dirt Anwyn recognised the man.

  ‘Sigurd! He was one of Thorkil’s companions.’

  ‘We caught him hiding behind the smithy, my lord,’ said Hermund.

  ‘Any sign there might be more of them?’ asked Wulfgar.

  ‘Not yet, but some of the men are still looking.’ Hermund lifted his sword to Sigurd’s throat. ‘In the meantime this scum can tell us what he knows.’

  The prisoner eyed him resentfully. ‘I’m a dead man anyway. Why should I tell you anything?’

  ‘That depends on whether you want a quick death or a very, very slow one,’ replied Hermund.

  Anwyn swallowed hard. The smiling, easygoing men she had known before were nowhere in evidence now. The faces around her might have been hewn from rock. They were expressionless save for the eyes which were now devoid alike of humour and of pity.

  Wulfgar fixed the prisoner with a gimlet stare. ‘Well?’

  Sigurd darted a glance around and licked dry lips. ‘All right.’

  ‘So talk.’

  ‘Thorkil meant to kill you tonight.’

  ‘I gathered that much. Who put him up to it?’

  ‘Ingvar.’

  The men around them exchanged glances and there were a few stifled exclamations of anger and disgust.

  ‘What did he offer in return, Dogbreath?’ demanded Hermund.

  ‘A place among his warriors and a reward of silver.’

  ‘And what was your role in all this?’ asked Wulfgar.

  ‘To help him get into Drakensburgh, and finish the job if he failed.’

  More angry muttering greeted this. Anwyn felt cold, thinking of what she had almost lost this night.

  ‘And how did you get in?’ Wulfgar continued.

  ‘Used a grappling iron and rope to get over the wall. Then we hid and waited for our chance.’

  ‘Well, you missed your chance, you slimy, worm-ridden piece of filth,’ growled Hermund. The edge of the sword pressed closer, drawing a faint line of blood along Sigurd’s throat.

  His eyes glittered. ‘You can kill me, but it won’t do you any good. Ingvar will slay you anyway and reduce this place to ash.’

  Wulfgar lifted one eyebrow. ‘And how does he mean to do that?’

  ‘He’s planning an attack.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The sword moved slightly and Sigurd gritted his teeth. ‘If I knew I’d tell you.’

  Hermund glanced round. ‘I’ll just dispatch him then, shall I?’

  Wulfgar waited but, when no more was forthcoming from the prisoner, said, ‘Not yet. Let’s give him time to think it over. Chain him in the kennel with the hounds.’

  Sigurd swallowed hard. Seeing the beasts in her mind’s eye, Anwyn shuddered inwardly. Once they had been Torstein’s pride and joy; there were a dozen of them, huge and savage, standing as high as her waist and weighing more than a man. They could bring down a stag or a twenty-stone boar with relative ease.

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ replied Hermund. ‘It’s just a shame I fed the animals earlier on. This filth will probably get away with a light mauling now.’

  The men heard him in silence, their expressions revealing a combination of mild reproach and disappointment.

  Asulf sighed. ‘Ah, well, you weren’t to know.’

  The others nodded slowly, acknowledging the justice of this.

  ‘Besides, the hounds may still be hungry,’ said Thrand. ‘Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

  Seizing Sigurd by the arms, the two of them dragged him away, accompanied by half-a-dozen others. For a moment Wulfgar watched them go, before turning back to his remaining companions.

  ‘We’ll double the guard from now on and increase the number of patrols.’

  ‘Right you are.’ Hermund nodded towards the wounded arm. ‘Meanwhile, you’d best get that cut attended to.’

  Anwyn stepped forwards. ‘He’s right, my lord.’ She gestured towards the bower. ‘Come.’

  Wulfgar didn’t argue and they went in together. He paused just long enough to bar the door and then followed her to their chamber. Anwyn busied herself fetching water and cloths, glad to have something practical to do. Now that the initial drama was over reaction was setting in. The idea of a hidden threat in their midst was bad enough, but the possible ramifications were infinitely worse. It wasn’t until she saw the assassin’s knife an inch from Wulfgar’s heart that she understood what was in her own.

  She set down the basin and cloths and look
ed at the blood-soaked sleeve of his tunic. How close she had come to losing him.

  ‘You’ll need to take that off, my lord.’

  He nodded. With his good hand he unlatched his belt and laid it aside. Then, with Anwyn’s help, he eased off the tunic and shirt. Now that it was revealed, the wound proved to be a shallow gash, although it had bled copiously.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ he said.

  ‘It’s bad enough. Sit down here while I cleanse it properly.’

  Again he didn’t argue, submitting quietly to her ministrations, watching her hands move competently about their task.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ he observed.

  ‘Once or twice.’ She wiped the blood away and cleaned the wound, then gently applied some honey salve. ‘This will help prevent infection.’

  He grunted, but made no demur. In fact, the touch of her fingers along his skin was pleasurable and turned his thoughts in quite another direction. With an effort he controlled them. Anwyn placed a clean linen pad over the injury and then bound it neatly in place.

  ‘That should stay on for a day or two,’ she said, ‘but I think the cut will heal well enough now.’

  ‘I’m sure it will. Thank you.’

  She regarded him rather anxiously. ‘Do you believe what Sigurd said about a planned attack on Drakensburgh?’

  ‘It’s entirely possible.’

  ‘Could it succeed?’

  ‘By force, no.’

  ‘But by treachery?’

  ‘Impossible to predict.’ Wulfgar surveyed her steadily. ‘But we shall be vigilant.’

  ‘Ingvar wants you dead, that much is certain. He must have found Thorkil an easy tool for his purpose.’

  ‘I imagine he did. Thorkil was a hothead with a grudge.’

  ‘The deed was an act of cowardice and he has paid the price for his crime.’ She paused. ‘Even so, you were lucky tonight, Wulfgar.’

  ‘You were my luck tonight.’

  ‘I thought…I thought he had killed you.’

  Her voice shook with delayed reaction and he heard it with some surprise.

  ‘I am not so easy to kill, my sweet.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it have grieved you then if he had?’