The Viking's Touch

by Joanna Fulford

  ‘Over here!’

  His companions hastened to join him and then they, too, stopped and stared at the corpse by their feet.

  ‘It’s Ina!’ exclaimed Thrand.

  The others exchanged incredulous and wrathful glances. Wulfgar’s gaze hardened as he stared upon the body, taking in every detail of the savage wounds now encrusted with dried blood and blackened by flies. Close by lay the bodies of two armed men. The old warrior had clearly given a good account of himself before he was cut down. The knowledge filled Wulfgar with cold rage.

  ‘He was a brave and worthy man and he has earned his place in Odin’s hall,’ he said.

  ‘Which is more than will ever be said of the cowardly earslings who did this,’ muttered Asulf, glancing around.

  ‘The perpetrators will pay,’ replied Wulfgar.

  Thrand nodded. ‘You speak true, my lord. Their worst nightmares could not conjure the half of what they will suffer when we find them.’

  A loud and growling chorus of agreement greeted his words. Then Beorn looked around.

  ‘If Ina’s here, where’s the boy?’

  His words were greeted with absolute silence, the faces all around him registering angry shock as the implications sank in. Wulfgar’s knuckles whitened round the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Eyvind,’ he murmured. Then, glancing round, ‘Find him. Find my son.’

  They resumed the search, fanning out, to cover the remaining ground. Wulfgar joined them, moving swiftly from one body to the next, his heart like lead in his breast. Only once before this had he known a pain so deep. He swallowed hard. Did Anwyn know of this yet? The thought of her grief smote him. She must surely lay the blame at his door, and rightly, too. There could be no forgiveness for this. The knowledge was bitter indeed.

  They examined all the bodies of the slain, but the quest proved vain.

  ‘The child is not here, my lord,’ said Hermund.

  Wulfgar exhaled slowly, and some of the dread he had felt just moments before began to dissipate. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure. The rest of the slain are adults.’

  ‘Maybe the lad escaped in the confusion,’ said Thrand.

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘In any event there’s only one way to find out. We push on to Drakensburgh.’

  They covered the ground at a jog trot and reached the gate a short time later. The guards’ expressions revealed blank astonishment, but they were quick to open the gates and admit the returning warriors. Wulfgar paused just long enough to get a brief account of recent events, news which did nothing to improve his mood, and then hurried off to find Anwyn.

  However, when he reached the bower it was devoid of company save for Jodis, whose swollen eyelids and tear-stained face spoke more than words could. On hearing his footsteps she looked up, staring as though he were an apparition. Then she began to sob anew. Wulfgar seized her by the shoulders.

  ‘Where is Lady Anwyn?’ he demanded. ‘Where is Eyvind?’

  ‘G-gone, my lord.’

  ‘Gone where?’

  It took some moments before she was calm enough to speak and thus, by slow degrees, he got the story out of her. As he listened his face went white and his heart filled anew with rage and dread.

  ‘When did she leave?’

  ‘Not long ago, my lord.’

  Wulfgar left her and ran to the stables. Five minutes later he was mounted and riding in the direction of Beranhold. The horse was fresh and swift and Wulfgar prayed to every god he knew that he might overtake Anwyn before she reached her destination. The thought of her fear and sorrow was like a scourge, and the rage he felt turned inwards and was compounded by self-recrimination. What he had done was unpardonable and that made everything so much worse.

  He pushed the horse until it was running flat out, covering the ground in a mile-eating gallop. At the top of the next hill he reined in to get his bearings and scan the countryside. His heart sank as he detected no sign of her. Then, as he was about to give up hope, he spied movement in the distance and he saw the other horse perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead of him. Gritting his teeth, he urged his mount on again. It was not too late. He would catch her.

  Anwyn was too deeply sunk in dejection to be aware of pursuit until the other horse was almost upon her. With a start of fear she was jerked out of her gloomy reverie, visualising Ingvar’s men. Had he lied? Was this all a ruse? Having lured her out of Drakensburgh, did he mean to have her killed? Leaning forwards she urged her horse on, but the other was bigger and faster and soon drew level. Its rider leaned across and grabbed her reins, pulling both animals to a halt. Only then did she see who the rider was and the resulting flood of emotion almost undid her.

  ‘Wulfgar.’

  The sight of her wondering smile cut deeper than tears ever could. ‘Anwyn, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Ingvar has taken Eyvind.’

  ‘I know. Jodis told me.’ He paused, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘When she said you had already left I feared I was too late, but the gods have answered my prayers.’

  She swallowed hard. ‘I thought I would never see you again.’

  ‘Can you ever forgive me for leaving?’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive, Wulfgar. You did what you thought you had to do.’

  ‘I’ve been a damned fool,’ he replied. ‘Not for the first time either. I have already lost a wife and child through my own selfish folly. I will not make that mistake again.’

  ‘You once told me that you would not stay for ever.’

  ‘When I said it I did not know how deeply I would come to feel for you,’ he replied. ‘After what happened before I took care to avoid emotional entanglements. In truth, I feared them. And then you rode into my life and everything changed. I tried to pretend it hadn’t but, when I sailed away from you today, I realised I was following my head instead of listening to my heart.’

  ‘I have wished for so long that I might have a place in your heart.’

  ‘You do have a place there, Anwyn—you and Eyvind both.’

  ‘I am glad. The time I spent with you was the happiest of my life. Not only for me—Eyvind also loved you well.’

  Her words caused his heart to leap. Perhaps there was hope after all. It took him a moment to realise that she had used the past tense.

  ‘We will get him back, I promise you.’

  ‘There is only way to ensure his safety now,’ she said tonelessly.

  It was another moment or two before the implications dawned, bringing with them the first icy touch of fear. He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You cannot mean to obey Ingvar’s behest.’

  ‘He gave me one hour, Wulfgar. The time is almost run.’

  ‘I will not let you go.’

  ‘You must.’

  ‘Never!’

  ‘If I do not arrive Ingvar will maim and kill my son.’ Fear and anger warred in her green gaze.

  ‘And if you do?’

  ‘Then Eyvind will live.’

  The expression in Wulfgar’s eyes became steely. ‘And what exactly were the terms of the bargain?’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘That I renounce my marriage to you and wed him.’

  The words dropped into a well of silence. Then, when he could control his voice, he said, ‘I see.’

  ‘There is no other choice now.’

  ‘I will not let you do this, Anwyn.’

  ‘It’s too late, Wulfgar.’

  ‘It’s not too late. I’ll find a way.’

  ‘This is the way.’

  ‘I will not lose you to Ingvar.’

  ‘You will never lose me to Ingvar,’ she replied, ‘but if you care for me at all you will let me go.’

  His face grew deathly pale. ‘Is that what you want?’

  Somehow she found the strength to meet his eye. ‘This is not about what I want, only about what must be done. I must go to Ingvar and you must return to your ship.’

  A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘Run away?’


  ‘For my sake and Eyvind’s you must go—you and all your crew. Ingvar will spare the rest of the Drakensburgh folk if you do.’

  ‘As he spared Ina?’

  Now it was Anwyn who paled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘He must have been trying to protect Eyvind, but Ingvar’s men slew him all the same.’

  She blinked back tears. ‘They slew that dear, good old man?’

  ‘Aye, along with all the poor, unarmed wretches with him.’

  ‘Then truly there is no mercy left.’

  ‘It is not a quality known to men like Ingvar,’ he replied.

  ‘You are right, and that is why I must go. It is the only hope I have of saving Eyvind now.’

  The resolution in her voice chilled him to the core and he knew then that he could not dissuade her. As the ramifications became clear, love and fear and dread mingled with admiration for her spirit and her courage. Dredging up the remains of his own, he slackened his hold on her reins and found his voice again. ‘Then each of us will do what we must.’

  ‘Goodbye, Wulfgar.’ She managed another smile. ‘I will never forget that you came back.’

  Then, lest her resolution should fail, she touched the horse with her heels and cantered away. He sat motionless, gazing after her until she vanished over the crest of the next slope. Despair swelled like a boil. He threw back his head and a great visceral howl tore from his throat, telling of impotent rage and pain and loss.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Anwyn rode slowly towards the fortress of Beranhold, her gaze taking in the guard towers above the entrance and then the great spiked palisade stretching away on either side. Above the gate flew Ingvar’s standard: a snarling black bear on a red field, the beast for which the place was named. Her fingers tightened round the reins. Somewhere within that gloomy lair was Eyvind. He was all that mattered now.

  She pulled up some twenty yards short of the gate. Men’s voices sounded within and moments later the great portal swung open. She took a deep breath. Then, holding her horse to a walk, she rode on through under the eyes of the grinning guards. She ignored them, looking neither to left nor right, her attention focused on the hall ahead. Behind her the gate crashed shut and the heavy locking bar thudded into place. Her jaw tightened. For a moment she was transported back to her arrival at Drakensburgh when she was brought there to be Torstein’s bride. Only now the man who stood before the hall was Ingvar instead. He was flanked by Grymar and half-a-dozen others. Anwyn reined to a halt and waited, heart thumping, her eyes seeking a glimpse of Eyvind. There was none.

  Ingvar left his cronies and came forwards to meet her. ‘Lady Anwyn, welcome.’ The tone was courteous, but was belied by the mocking smile that accompanied it. ‘Please, won’t you step down?’

  Since there was nothing for it she dismounted and came to face him. ‘Where is my son?’

  ‘All in good time, my lady.’ He gestured towards the hall. ‘Shall we?’

  As they passed, the group of men nearby watched with appraising eyes and their grins widened. Grymar made her an exaggerated bow. Anwyn lifted her chin and accompanied Ingvar into the hall. Immediately she was hit by the stale smell of roasted meat and soiled rushes that mingled with the stink of dogs and urine and male sweat. Her stomach churned. Two huge hounds started up from their place by the hearth and advanced with low rumbling growls. The growls turned to yelps as Ingvar’s boot found their ribs. He rapped out an order and they slunk away again to the hearth. Anwyn swallowed hard, fighting disgust and fear.

  Ingvar turned towards her. ‘Will you take a cup of wine, my lady?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then we will proceed to business.’

  With an assurance she was far from feeling she met his eye. ‘I will do nothing until I have seen that my son is safe.’

  Ingvar was silent, appearing to deliberate, and for a terrible moment she thought he was going to refuse. However, she saw him nod instead.

  ‘Very well. Come.’

  Taking a firm grip on her arm, he conducted her through the building and out through a rear door. The fresh air was a blessed relief after the noisome fug of the hall and she breathed it gratefully, hurrying to keep up with her captor’s longer stride. He led her, not to another building as she had expected, but to an area of open ground beyond. Out on its own was a large wooden cage, in one corner of which sat a small, forlorn figure. Anwyn’s heart missed a beat.

  ‘Eyvind?’ In cold fury she turned to face Ingvar. ‘How dare you treat my son thus?’

  He seemed quite unperturbed. ‘The remedy for that lies in you.’

  The small figure in the cage looked up and then rose uncertainly to its feet. ‘Mother?’

  Wrenching herself free of Ingvar’s hold, she ran across the intervening space, falling on her knees before the bars. Eyvind flung himself towards her, his hands gripping hers tightly. His face was tear-stained and he was dirty and dishevelled, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

  ‘Mother, it really is you!’

  Anwyn blinked back tears. ‘Yes, it’s me, my love. Are you all right? Have they hurt you?’

  He shook his head. ‘They’ve killed Ina. They cut him down.’

  She closed her eyes for a moment, striving to conquer the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I know, my love. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Are you come to take me home?’

  ‘Eyvind, I—’ She broke off, looking up quickly as Ingvar’s shadow fell across them.

  ‘This is your home now, boy.’ He looked pointedly at Anwyn. ‘How long you continue to live in it depends on your mother.’

  With that he leaned down and, regaining his hold on her arm, dragged her to her feet. Her heart thumped in her breast, but fury temporarily conquered fear.

  ‘Free him, Ingvar.’

  ‘When all my conditions are met.’

  ‘You have already named your conditions, and I would not be here if I were not prepared to meet them.’

  ‘There is one more that I didn’t mention,’ he replied.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘In a little while my servants will prepare you for your wedding. Then, before all my men, you will renounce your present marriage and take me as your husband. This night you will come willingly to my bed and—’

  Unable to contain her mounting anger, Anwyn cut in. ‘You may take me to your bed, Ingvar, but you will never find me willing.’

  He continued, unperturbed, as though she had not spoken. ‘—and whenever I wish it thereafter.’

  ‘I will resist with every means in my power.’

  Ingvar continued to survey her coolly. ‘If I detect the least sign of reluctance in you, the boy will be whipped. If I see any further display of defiance in your manner, he will be whipped. If you ever raise your voice or speak disrespectfully to me again, or even look at me in a way that suggests disrespect, he will be whipped. If you think to take your own life, know now that he will die immediately after you do.’

  Anwyn’s face drained of colour. In that moment she would have given much for a concealed dagger in her sleeve, and the split second of surprise in which to use it. As it was, Ingvar held all the weapons and she dared not antagonise him further.

  He paused. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

  She lowered her eyes lest he should read their expression. ‘Very clear, my lord.’

  ‘I hope so.’ He glanced at Eyvind. ‘So much depends on it, does it not?’

  Wulfgar rode slowly back to Drakensburgh, his mind submerged in the emotional chaos of his parting from Anwyn. He had taken wounds in battle, but none of those hurts had ever compared with the pain he felt now. It was as though his heart had been ripped from his breast. Only once before had he ever felt the like. Freya and Toki were lost to him and he could not help them, but while there was breath in his body he would not accept the loss of another wife and child. If he hadn’t been such an accursed fool, they would have been with him now. He should have been there. What kind of man had
twice to lose what was most precious before he truly understood its value?

  In that instant he acknowledged the emotion he had tried so hard to avoid: he knew now that he loved Anwyn beyond all reason, that with her he had found what he never thought to have again. Yet when she needed him most he had failed her. The knowledge burned into his brain. How could this ever be forgiven? How could he even think they might have a future together after this? It wasn’t only her he had abandoned. He had failed Eyvind, too. You will come back for me? Wulfgar gritted his teeth.

  ‘I’m back,’ he murmured, ‘and I will come for you, I swear it.’

  With that resolution the chaos began to dissolve and give way to more rational thought. Just let him get them both to safety, and he would do whatever Anwyn wanted afterwards. He did not expect her forgiveness, but he would make what amends he might. As he began to lay his plans, grief was gradually overlain by cold deliberation. He knew better than to underestimate Ingvar; there would only be one chance to save Anwyn and Eyvind and it could only be achieved with nerve and a cool head. When that was accomplished there would be time enough to unleash his rage.

  On reaching Drakensburgh he summoned all the men to the hall. When everyone was gathered he called for quiet. Having got their attention, he began with an account of those events of which the Drakensburgh men knew nothing. The news was received in a disbelieving and stony silence. Then the man called Rorik spoke up.

  ‘The scum killed Ina?’

  ‘Aye. And now Ingvar has the boy and Lady Anwyn, too.’

  ‘Then we must go and get them back.’

  The room erupted in a roar of angry agreement. Wulfgar held up a hand for silence.

  ‘We’ll get them back,’ he replied, ‘but it cannot be done with a show of force. At the very first inkling of trouble Ingvar will kill Eyvind. We have to free the boy and Lady Anwyn before we can deal with Ingvar and the rest.’

  ‘How are we going to do that?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I believe it can be done.’

  Hermund regarded him shrewdly. ‘What have you got in mind?’