Wulfgar began to explain. As they listened the men’s eyes brightened.
‘And after we’ve rescued the boy and his mother, my lord?’ asked Thrand.
‘After that,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘all insults shall be avenged in blood.’
Anwyn stood motionless while the women servants prepared her, removing her gown and replacing it with another. It was a fine garment of deep-green wool, richly embroidered with gold thread. They combed out her hair and dressed it again in an intricate style around a thin gold fillet, and looped up the heavy locks behind, interweaving them with matching ribbons. They placed a gold torque around her neck and gold bracelets on her wrists. She made no protest, her face impassive, giving no clue to the terror behind. She would do whatever Ingvar commanded now because there was no choice, but she knew full well that whatever she did could only buy a temporary reprieve for Eyvind. Soon enough the child in her belly would become apparent and Ingvar would know it was not his.
Wulfgar’s image drifted into her mind, bringing with it the familiar ache in her heart. For the rest of her life she would remember the look in his eyes as she sent him away. It was the hardest thing she had ever done and yet the knowledge that he had cared enough to come back sustained her. It would help her to do what must be done now. It would be the one light in the dark days ahead. She might be forced to share Ingvar’s bed, but it would be Wulfgar’s face she saw in her dreams.
The servants finished their task and stood back respectfully, holding up a large disc of polished metal for her inspection of their handiwork. Anwyn surveyed it dispassionately. The woman who stared back at her was beautiful, regal in every part of her dress and bearing, but somehow nothing to do with her. She glanced down at the ring on her hand and then reluctantly removed it. If she did not, Ingvar most certainly would. She could easily visualise the pleasure he would take in doing it, and in casting it away. Not only that, he might also take its presence ill and punish Eyvind for her lapse. She couldn’t let that happen. However, neither was she prepared to lose this last treasured connection with Wulfgar. Taking a length of ribbon, she threaded it through the ring and fastened the ends about her neck. When it was done she slipped the ring out of sight under the front of her gown. Later she would have to find another hiding place, but it would serve for now.
Footsteps sounded in the passage without and a heavy fist rapped at the door. Then a man’s voice spoke.
‘It is time.’
Anwyn took a deep breath and moved towards the door. A servant hastened to open it. Four guards waited outside. They fell in on either side, flanking her. Then they escorted her back to the hall where Ingvar waited.
Since the war band would not be leaving until dusk, Wulfgar ordered the servants to bring them food and drink. He knew it would be the last opportunity to eat for a while. However, he limited the liquid refreshment to ale and that in small quantity. There would be a time for drinking later. He joined his men for the meal, but ate sparingly, his mind on the task ahead. The empty chair beside him was sufficient reminder of how much was at stake. He tried not to think about what might be happening to Anwyn right now, but it wasn’t easy. He guessed that Ingvar would use the child to control the mother, and the certainty of what he would demand fuelled Wulfgar’s rage. What made it worse was knowing that she could not refuse. The idea of any man laying hands on her was unthinkable. That another man should possess her, violate her, was beyond bearing. He could visualise Ingvar’s gloating triumph all too well, a triumph made sweeter for knowing that he took an enemy’s wife to his bed. Would he compound his victory by hurting her in other ways? Wulfgar’s hand clenched round his cup. If Anwyn tried to fight… The thought would not finish itself.
Leaving his men to finish their meal, he got up and went outside for some air to clear his head. The sun was lower in the sky now and the shadows lengthening. He stood awhile, collecting his thoughts. Only a cool mind would accomplish his purpose now.
The voice of the guard on the gate rang out. ‘Visitors, my lord. About a hundred men, I reckon.’
Wulfgar’s first thought was that it might be Ingvar’s force. Then common sense reasserted itself. Ingvar already held too great an advantage to need a show of armed might.
‘Do they bear a standard?’ he called back.
‘Aye, my lord, they do, but I cannot yet make it out.’ The guard squinted into the distance. ‘Wait! It looks like Lord Osric’s banner.’
‘Odin’s sacred ravens,’ muttered Wulfgar. ‘Now what?’
He took the steps to the rampart two at a time. A bowshot from the gate the approaching force halted; then a group of six riders detached itself from the vanguard and came on. Wulfgar had no trouble recognising their leader. He frowned. The guard eyed him doubtfully.
‘Do we open the gate, my lord?’
‘You do.’
He retraced his steps and went to wait before the hall, watching as the riders swept into the compound.
‘What in Frigg’s name does that little reptile want?’ said a voice at his shoulder.
Wulfgar glanced round to see Hermund. ‘Good question.’
Osric reined in and dismounted, throwing his reins to a servant. Then he favoured Wulfgar with a curt nod.
‘I am come to speak with my sister. Pray go and tell her so.’
‘Lady Anwyn is not here.’
‘Don’t prevaricate with me. Fetch her at once.’
‘I said she isn’t here.’
‘Then where the devil is she?’
He listened in silent and incredulous wrath as Wulfgar gave him the basic substance of what had happened.
‘And now you say this Ingvar holds her and my nephew captive?’
‘That’s right.’
‘If she had allowed herself to be guided by me, this could not have happened,’ said Osric. ‘I would have had her safely married by now, as she should be. I am come to conduct her to her new bridegroom.’
With an effort Wulfgar controlled himself. ‘The fault was not Lady Anwyn’s; it was mine for not foreseeing the extent of Ingvar’s treachery.’
‘You are a loyal fellow. My sister is headstrong and I know it all too well. However, whatever her folly, she is still my sister and I will not permit her to be dishonoured by such a lowly marriage as this. It would disgrace our entire family.’
Wulfgar put his hands behind his back where they could do no harm. ‘My men and I were about to mount a rescue when you arrived, my lord.’
‘You have a plan?’
‘Aye.’ Wulfgar glanced towards the host outside the gate. ‘It would not be hindered by the addition of more men.’
Osric nodded. ‘Very well. What do you want us to do?’
Chapter Twenty-Four
A wagon, driven by two men in dirty peasant garb, stopped outside the gate of the fortress of Beranhold. Its arrival was greeted by a ringing challenge from one of the two guards above.
‘Identify yourselves.’
‘Ethelwine and Elwy, bringing Lord Ingvar’s mead and ale from the village,’ said the driver.
The guard glanced at the barrels and then at the two men. ‘Lord Ingvar never said anything about a delivery.’
‘It’s for the feast.’
‘The feast has already started, Lackwit. You’re too late.’
That was undeniably true for the sound of raucous laughter drifted towards them on the quiet air.
‘Not our fault,’ replied the driver. ‘We had to change a wheel.’
His companion nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘Well, it makes no odds,’ said the guard. ‘Lord Ingvar doesn’t need you or your ale.’
The driver smirked. ‘Got enough good cheer, has he?’
‘I reckon he has. Anyway, what’s that to you?’
‘It’s nothing to me.’
The guard’s lip curled. ‘Right, so you can clear off then.’
‘Please yourself.’ The driver gathered up the reins. ‘If they should run out of ale up there, thou
gh, you’ll let Lord Ingvar know we came?’ He paused. ‘Only I don’t fancy being on the receiving end of his temper, see?’
The guard frowned. Then, as the wagon began to move off, he called out again.
‘Wait! Maybe they will need the extra after all.’
The driver sighed. ‘Make up your mind, will you? We’ve got better things to do than sit about here all night.’
‘Aye,’ growled his companion. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting a girl.’
The guard glared at them. ‘All right. All right. Bring it through.’
There followed the sounds of heavy footsteps on timber steps and the locking bar being lifted. Then the gate swung slowly open. The wagon drove through and came to a halt on the far side. The driver jerked his head towards the load behind him.
‘Where do you want it?’
‘Over there, by the storehouse.’ The guard looked at his companion. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back presently.’
The other nodded and turned away. The wagon lurched on again with its lone escort walking alongside. At his command it came to a halt by the building in question. The two men got down.
‘Do you want this stuff put inside, or what?’ asked the driver.
‘No, leave it here. It’ll be easier to get at if they need it in the hall.’
‘Whatever you say.’
The two men went to the rear of the vehicle and began to lift the barrels down. The guard watched for a while, frowning.
‘Come on, you toe rags, hurry it up, will you? I have to get back to my post.’
The driver looked huffy. ‘We’d be a sight quicker if you lent a hand.’
His companion nodded. ‘Aye. Then I could meet my girl.’
The guard swore softly, but he came to join them nevertheless. As he turned away to reach for a barrel, a large hand closed over his mouth and jerked him backwards. He made a brief muffled choking sound and his eyes widened as Thrand’s blade plunged into his side. Asulf leaned closer and murmured confidentially in the dying man’s ear, ‘You didn’t ought to have called him a toe rag.’
Thrand smiled grimly and, catching the body before it could fall, dragged it into the shadow by the wall. Then he pulled the knife free and wiped it carefully on the guard’s tunic. Meanwhile, Asulf turned and tapped on the side of the nearest barrel. The lid tilted and was drawn downwards. Wulfgar grabbed the rim of the cask and hauled himself out. Moments later the three of them were joined by Beorn and half-a-dozen others. Wulfgar drew his sword and watched the others follow suit.
‘Thrand, Asulf, take the wagon back to the gate and deal with the other guard. Then open for Hermund and the others. The rest of you come with me.’
They moved like ghosts, flitting from shadow to shadow, checking each building that they came to. However, all were in darkness. They saw no one save a few servants scurrying from the kitchen house to the hall from whence the sound of feasting and laughter continued unabated.
‘Quiet, isn’t it?’ murmured Thrand.
‘Ingvar thinks us long gone,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘And while he holds Lady Anwyn and Eyvind he believes that he has a stranglehold on Drakensburgh.’
‘I can’t wait for the chance to get a stranglehold on Grymar Big Mouth.’
‘All in good time. First we must find Eyvind.’
As each successive area of search drew a blank, Wulfgar’s concern increased and he began to fear that Ingvar might have Eyvind in the hall. If so, the chances of getting the boy out alive were minimal. A hand on his arm drew his attention back and he realised that Beorn was pointing towards an area of open ground ahead. Through the deepening twilight he saw the wooden cage. It looked like the kind of structure that might hold a large animal of some sort. At first glance it appeared to be empty, but then he descried the small form in one corner. Hope leapt.
‘Eyvind.’
Leaving the others to keep watch, he sprinted across to the cage. The child was asleep, exhausted after the trials of the day. Wulfgar’s brow darkened; this was another score to be settled with Ingvar. In the meantime he had to get the boy to safety. However, his heart sank when he reached the door; the latter was fastened with a thick chain and a great iron padlock. Wulfgar tested it, but the hasp didn’t budge. He gritted his teeth. It needed no seer to tell him who had the key or that it would require a battle axe to smash that lock. The only other possibility was to try and force the links of the chain, but he had nothing with which to do it. It was a major setback and one he knew he should have envisaged. He sighed, and with a last glance at the sleeping child, returned to his companions to convey the news. They heard him in stony silence. Then Frodi reached for the pouch on his belt and began to rummage through the contents, finally bringing forth the object he had been seeking.
‘Don’t worry, my lord. We’ll have the boy out of there soon enough.’
The others exchanged bemused glances, but no one argued. The two men returned to the cage and, under Wulfgar’s curious gaze, his companion turned his attention to the lock. Inserting the thin length of metal into the keyhole, he began to manipulate it. For a little while nothing happened. Then there was an audible click. Frodi grinned and seconds later the hasp was undone. Wulfgar let out the breath he had been holding.
‘I owe you one, Frodi,’ he murmured.
He sheathed his sword and loosed the chain, dragging the door open. Moments later he was with Eyvind. Feeling the hand over his mouth, the child started awake and began to struggle but, as he recognised the voice in his ear, gradually grew still, his eyes widening in joyful disbelief. Slowly the hand on his mouth withdrew.
‘Have no fear, Eyvind.’
‘Father?’
‘Did I not promise to come back for you?’
‘I knew you would.’
Wulfgar held him close, relief flooding his veins. Then he bore Eyvind from the cage and, with Frodi, retraced his steps to join the others. The men grinned to see them.
‘Get Eyvind out of here,’ said Wulfgar.
The child clung to him. ‘I want to stay with you.’
‘I’m going to fetch your mother so that we can all go home, but I can’t do that unless you go with the others now.’ He smiled. ‘Will you trust me?’
Eyvind nodded solemnly.
‘I’ll see you again soon.’ With that he handed the boy to Beorn. ‘Go.’
It was, thought Anwyn, like being trapped in an evil dream in which she was forced to take part and from which there would be no waking. Her forced renunciation of Wulfgar and the equally forced ceremony that bound her to Ingvar had all the eerie quality of a nightmare. Only thoughts of Eyvind and her unborn child kept her going now. Somehow she must keep both of them safe.
Beside her, Ingvar rose. Then, taking her hand, he led her from the table. All about them his men rose, too, roaring approval. Her heart hammered in her breast. The noisy escort accompanied them to a house nearby. Though smaller than the hall, it was nevertheless the most imposing of the other buildings and she guessed it formed Ingvar’s private quarters. He stopped at the door and, no doubt for the benefit of the spectators, took Anwyn in his arms for a lingering kiss. Sickened, she forced herself to endure it. The embrace was greeted with further cheers and lewd jokes. Ingvar took it all in good part and then dismissed his men with the injunction to return to the hall and consume the remaining ale. Then he drew Anwyn with him into the house and shut the door behind them, barring it securely.
‘I do not mean to be disturbed tonight.’
Resuming his hold on her arm, he led her through the first room into chamber beyond. The edges of the room remained in shadow, but a small lamp revealed a chair, two wooden chests bound with iron and a large bed covered by a huge bear skin. Ingvar followed her gaze and smiled faintly. Then the catlike eyes returned their attention to her.
Dry-throated she watched him approach, saw him reach for the neck of her gown. She felt a swift downwards jerk and heard fabric part. Ingvar’s eyes narrowed and his gaze stopped in the region above he
r breasts. His brows drew together. Anwyn’s hand flew to the ring whose presence she had temporarily forgotten. Ingvar reached out, slid a finger beneath the ribbon, scrutinising the object hanging there. The gold-brown eyes locked with hers and he tutted softly.
‘You disappoint me, Anwyn.’
His hand closed round the ring. The other unsheathed the dagger at his side. The cold edge came to rest against her skin. Anwyn shut her eyes, heart thumping so hard she felt sure he must hear it. Would he hurt her? Maim her, perhaps? It seemed that wasn’t his intention. The ribbon parted and she felt him pull it free. Risking a glance, she was in time to see him fling the ring aside. It hit the wall and bounced off to land in the rushes across the room. Ingvar’s gaze locked with hers once more.
‘Don’t test me again.’
Her mouth dried. ‘Forgive me, lord.’
‘That will depend on how well you please me.’ He re-sheathed the blade while his gaze travelled the length of her and back. Her belly was still flat; he would not guess her secret yet. Even so her flesh crawled. Without taking his eyes off her, he removed his upper garments. Then he stepped closer and reached down to the fastenings of his breeches where a bulging erection was already evident.
‘Kneel, Anwyn.’
As the implication dawned she shook her head, sickened. ‘No, please…’
‘If you disobey me, I will hand your son over to Grymar tomorrow, and you shall watch while he is thrashed.’
‘I think not,’ said a voice from across the room.
He swore and spun round to see the tall figure standing in the doorway, sword in hand.
Anwyn’s heart missed a beat. ‘Wulfgar?’ The realisation was followed with relief and joy so intense she felt suddenly faint.
‘Aye, my sweet, I’m here.’
‘You’re a bigger fool than I took you for,’ Ingvar sneered. ‘You have no business here now.’
‘I have come to collect what is mine.’
‘Lady Anwyn is no longer yours, Viking. She has renounced you and taken me for her husband.’
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