Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's ListSaved by the Viking WarriorThe Pirate Hunter

by Annie Burrows

  She bowed her head. ‘Richard was the light of my life and my husband’s. He was such a bright thing, always into mischief, and his laughter... I wanted to take his place, but here I am.’

  ‘How did it happen?’He hesitated. ‘If you want to talk about it...’

  ‘One moment, he was alive and well, laughing and having a game of tag with the cook. I was grateful for a little peace as Aefirth’s funeral had been two days earlier. The next he complained of a stiff and hurting neck. He had a high fever and a rash. I had gone to get a poultice and when I returned, all the life had vanished. And to make matters complete, I lost any hope that I might be carrying another child. Before it started, I’d been so sure that I’d felt the baby quicken. When I had confided in Aefirth in those final hours before he died, he seemed so happy.’ She looped a stray tendril of hair about her ear. ‘And then...I felt like such a fool.’

  ‘Why did your stepson behave as he did?’

  ‘My stepson accused me...well, we never were going to be close in any case...he said that his nurse’s curses were strong. He told me that I had destroyed his family, but they were my family as well.’

  ‘Old men and children die all the time.’

  ‘But they were my family, not strangers. I wanted them to live. Desperately.’

  He reached out and laced his hand with hers. Inside him, something curled up and died. Cwen had lost not only her husband, but her son. He couldn’t imagine the pain she must have gone through. It had been hard enough to leave his parents’ grave. ‘It was wrong, that. Not allowing you to lay flowers or mourn your son properly.’

  She pulled her hand from his. ‘I think of him every day. I nearly came to blows with my sister-in-law when she said that I’d get over it. Why would I want to forget my son?

  ‘Not that it is any help...people said that to me, but there wasn’t anything anyone could do to take away the pain.

  ‘At least you could fight against someone. How do you fight against an illness?’ She stood up. ‘The priest said...that...it showed I’d done something wrong. A punishment from God...but I was following his orders. He had told me if I didn’t dismiss the nurse, he’d withhold communion from everyone.’

  ‘It seems to me that the priest should be blamed rather than you.’ Thrand reached over and covered her hand with his. This time she kept her hand in his. ‘He was trying to deflect his guilt when he blamed you.’

  She raised shimmering eyes to his. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘I know so.’ He tilted his head to one side and saw the diamond gleam of a teardrop on her cheek. ‘Some day you may have another child. After this is over.’

  ‘Drink the tea,’ she said shoving the cup forward. ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. My heart was buried with Richard. No more children for me. Ever. I can’t take the pain.’

  ‘Why did you agree to the marriage with Hagal?’

  ‘Not to regain a family.’ She crossed her arms. Her eyes threw daggers, all sorrow vanished. ‘If you must know, I was taking the lesser of two evils. My brother had threatened to send me to a convent of his choosing without a dowry. I doubted if I’d last long there. What can a cursed woman do in a convent?’ She shrugged. ‘Now the only future I know about involves destroying Hagal. Sometimes I want to think beyond that moment. I want to believe that there is more for me.’

  ‘Do you want another marriage?’

  ‘I want a life. I want to believe that I’m not cursed.’

  He stared at the tea, suddenly desiring the oblivion it would bring. Maybe when he woke, he’d stop longing for things he had no business wanting—a family, a life without war and the taste of Cwen’s mouth.

  He drained the cup in a single gulp. ‘Keep the sword across your knees. Sit over there as it will give you the clearest view. Scream if you see any movement at all.’

  She sat down with the sword awkwardly placed on her lap. ‘Like this?’

  ‘You need to learn to defend yourself,’ Thrand said, closing his eyes. At last a way to repay the debt he owed her. He could ensure she knew how to defend herself. ‘We begin tomorrow at first light.’

  ‘And you won’t make it easy for me? Make concessions?’

  Thrand opened his eyes. ‘Why would I?’

  ‘My husband used to make things easy for me...even when I told him that I may be a lady, but I wasn’t a child.’

  The orange light from the sunset highlighted her height and the slenderness of her build. She certainly did not look the type, but she was tough, far tougher than he had first imagined. His eyes grew heavy. Already his mind was slipping back to Iceland and its possibilities. Somehow Cwen and Iceland were connected in his mind, but he couldn’t figure out how or why.

  ‘Your husband probably would have bet against you walking all that way on the day we met.’

  ‘He would never have allowed me to attempt it.’ She gave a laugh. ‘For too long I have depended on other people. I want to stand on my own two feet. I’ve finished cowering. I’m tired of feeling helpless and dead inside because of something which I could not stop. You’re right—some parts of your destiny you can’t change.’

  ‘Knowing the difference can be difficult.’

  ‘Thank you for saying you will teach me how to use a sword. We’re friends now.’

  He raised himself up on his elbow and fought against the wave of tiredness. Friends. He wanted her friendship. He wanted to see her come back to life and not be one of the walking dead. And it scared him. ‘I’ve never been friends with a woman before.’

  She spun back around. ‘And I want to learn to ride. Properly. Aefirth never allowed me to do that either. How hard can it be? I managed to stay on today without falling off. A start, yes?’

  Thrand released his breath. The dispassionate part of his mind told him that he should be rejoicing. She was going to do what he wanted. He was finally going to be able to destroy the person who had been involved in his family’s slaughter. He would fulfil his oath to his father. And if it meant her death...he’d lose a friend. It bothered him that she had become important to him and that his desire for her showed no signs of abating.

  ‘Most people are afraid of me and my horse,’ he said, not bothering to hide his bitterness. All the women who had shied away from him crowded his mind. All the whispers which followed him throughout the years. ‘Why not you?’

  He had to lance this hope before it started. He’d seen too many men lose their focus over a woman. He needed to keep his mind on what was important— revenging his family. He pressed his lips together and struggled to ignore the pain in his heart.

  She stood and turned away from him. The curve of her neck highlighted her vulnerability, but also hinted at her strong backbone. ‘What do they fear?’

  ‘They fear my reputation,’ he explained as gently as he could.

  She stared directly back at him. Her tongue wet her lips, turning them a dusky pink in the sunset. ‘I stopped being afraid and became your friend.’

  He caught her hand and brought her knuckles to his mouth. A simple touch which nearly undid him. He could understand why her husband had wanted to keep her safe. Trouble was, if he was going to honour his pledge to his parents, he was going to have to risk losing her. ‘Stay that way.’

  * * *

  Cwenneth sat with the heavy broadsword balanced on her knees. The night was far too cold. She brought her cloak tighter around her body and tried to watch for anyone who might harm them. Enemies. Even Northumbrians who might have once been her friends, but who would not be friendly to Thrand.

  The irony stuck in her throat. Thrand had become more than a temporary ally. He thought enough of her to give her the first watch and he was going to teach her how to use the sword in the morning. Aefirth would never have done that. He preferred to keep her...as a child. Cwenneth frowned, hating the disloy
al thought. But it was true and she had fought bitterly with Aefirth about it, before he had left the final time. But she had discovered that she liked being treated like an adult, like an equal.

  Never again would she allow her brother or anyone else to bully her. Or proclaim it was for her own good.

  Her teeth chattered slightly. She looked over to where Thrand lay, seeming sound asleep. She ran her hands up and down her arms and stamped her feet. The sword started to tumble off her lap, but she grabbed it before it hit the ground.

  One of his eyes opened. ‘Come here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You are cold and don’t deny it. The sound of your teeth woke me up. The last thing I want is for you to catch a chill.’

  ‘I’m fine, and you should be asleep. I’m taking the first watch.’

  ‘Be sensible, Cwen. How can I sleep if you are making that noise?’

  ‘Fine.’ She picked the sword up and brought it over to him. ‘Do you truly think I can learn to use a sword? Properly?’

  ‘You can do anything, if you set your mind to it.’

  She blinked. ‘How...how do you know that?’

  ‘You are the woman who walked.’ He took the sword from her and indicated where he had been lying. ‘My turn to stand guard. Close your eyes and sleep.’

  She snuggled down into the warm spot. Her limbs immediately stopped shaking. She faked a yawn to keep from asking him to hold her. ‘I hadn’t realised that I was so tired.’

  He put his cloak over her. His spicy scent wafted up, holding her. Cwenneth’s blood thrummed. She concentrated on breathing steadily, refusing to beg. If he wanted to touch her, he would have done so. They were friends, not lovers.

  ‘Do you have someone waiting for you in Jorvik?’ she asked. ‘Some woman?’

  ‘There is no one. I travel alone. I live alone. Always.’

  ‘You are travelling with me now.’

  ‘Only through necessity.’ He cleared his throat. ‘You will be returned to Lingwold after you give your testimony. But my house is fine enough for any lady.’

  Cwenneth balled her fists. ‘I was just curious.’

  ‘Less curiosity, more sleep.’

  ‘And if I can’t sleep?’

  ‘Watch the stars. It is what I plan on doing.’

  Thrand watched her in the grey light, intensely aware of her every move, fighting the urge to gather her into his arms. His body throbbed to the point of agony. Deep within his soul he knew he was the wrong man for her.

  If he seduced her out here, it would lead to complications. She was not the sort of woman you bedded and walked away from. He had not really understood what his father had been saying about Ingrid until now—there were women you wanted to spend a few hours with and others who deserved to have a man’s entire life. Cwenneth deserved eternity, but he had no room in his life for such a woman. His entire life was war and killing.

  He reached out and smoothed her cropped hair. She gave a soft sigh and turned towards him, her lips gently parted, eyes firmly closed.

  It was going to be hard enough to forget her when the time came as it was.

  ‘What are you doing to me, Cwen?’ he asked. ‘I need to remember who I am and what I want in this life.’

  * * *

  ‘You want to start teaching me how? Lifting the sword over my head?’ Cwenneth asked. She had woken up to Thrand on the other side of their camp, full of plans of how he could teach her to use the sword, rather than holding her as he had in her dream.

  She was instantly glad that she hadn’t begged him to hold her last night when she was so cold. He had made it very clear: they were companions. He wasn’t interested. Aefirth had taught her not to be bold and not demand. A man liked to be the pursuer, not the pursued.

  ‘Is there a problem, Cwen?’ Thrand said, coming over to where she stood. ‘You have been standing there for a long time, looking at the sword. You would have been cut down a dozen times over. In order to fight, you need to be able to lift the sword. Concentrate on lifting with your stomach.’

  ‘Is there anything lighter?’ she asked as she lifted it gingerly in front of her. The sword slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground with clunk.

  ‘You can lift this one if you concentrate.’ Thrand gave her an intent look. ‘You are capable of more than you think. Lift it over your head while I count to ten. One last try before we go.’

  Capable. Thrand believed she could do it. She spat on her hands and redoubled her efforts. This time, she lifted the sword above her head.

  Sweat pooled on her forehead and the back of her neck, but she kept her arms straight. All of her muscles screamed, and she wondered if she could hold it for more than a count of five.

  Slowly, Thrand counted to thirty. Each number seemed to take longer than the last. ‘You may let go now. Try not to drop it, but let it down slowly. Controlled. You can do this, Cwen.’

  Rather than dropping the sword as her muscles screamed they wanted to do, Cwenneth forced her arms to relax and placed the sword at her feet. ‘I did it. For a count of thirty. You said I could do it and I didn’t believe it. But I really did it.’

  His eyes reminded her of the summer sky. ‘That I did. You will be able to use a sword in next to no time. Your arms will get stronger. But you have to be able to use a sword like mine. You never know what might be to hand when the time comes.’

  ‘Perhaps we can use something lighter until my arms get strong enough.’ She swung her arms, trying to get the feeling back. ‘Standing there with a sword over my head as Hagal’s men attempt to cut me down won’t do me much good.’

  Myriad blue lights danced in his eyes. Cwenneth sucked in her breath. When his face was relaxed, he was so handsome. She banished the thought. The last thing she wanted to spoil was this new-found ease with him.

  ‘I doubt I’ve ever met a woman as determined as you,’ he said, returning the sword to its sheath. ‘We’ll make a legend of you yet.’

  ‘For too long, I have let other people take charge and have been content to hide if trouble came.’ She made a stabbing motion with her hand, banishing all thoughts of his looks and the shape of his mouth. ‘I have no wish to be a lamb to Hagal’s slaughter. If that makes me legendary, I will take it. Is the lesson over with?’

  His gaze darkened. ‘We start with a stick. When you are practising, you don’t want to injure the person so you use wooden swords.’

  Something in his tone made her pause. ‘Did you ever hurt anyone in practise?’

  ‘I didn’t start with the intention of hurting him. He was the one who chose to use real blades. He thought to end my life.’

  ‘Were you an experienced warrior?’

  ‘No. It was only a few months after my parents’ death. And he sought to make an example of me.’ He handed her a stick, ending the conversation. ‘Remember to keep it between your body and the other person.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  He put his hand under her chin and raised her face until he looked deeply into her eyes. ‘You can do this, Cwen.’

  Her breath stopped in her throat. Her heart started to beat wildly. ‘I want to, but I’m not sure I’m holding it right.’

  He adjusted her grip with a cool impersonal touch. She forgot how to breathe. Did he know how much he affected her? She swallowed hard and concentrated on the stick.

  ‘Do your worst, shield maiden. See if you can land a blow on my body.’

  ‘Shield maiden?’

  ‘Occasionally women fight with us for one reason or another. They are called shield maidens. The best of them become Odin’s Valkyries.’

  She moved her stick upwards, and he easily blocked it. The impact shuddered through her arm. Cwenneth redoubled her efforts, but each time he easily blocked the move. A bird started singing right behind
her, making her jump and breaking her concentration.

  Thrand’s stick hit hers and sent it spinning out of her hand.

  ‘How did you do that?’

  ‘You left yourself open. First rule of swordplay is never to be distracted. Block everything out except for your opponent and where his sword is moving.’

  ‘That must be impossible.’

  ‘You have to do it in order to be any good. Concentration grows as you get better.’ His eyes softened. ‘With practice, you can be aware of other things but your main focus has to be on where that next move is going to come from. A heartbeat’s lapse is all that stands between life and death.’

  ‘What should I be doing? How can I improve?’ Cwenneth put her hands on her knees.

  His brow knitted. ‘My father used to say that it just happened, but my mother suggested that I empty my mind and concentrate on my opponent’s shoulder. Where the shoulder goes, the arm must surely follow.’

  ‘Was your mother a shield maiden?’

  ‘Her mother had been, but my mother had different skills.’ His mouth took on a bitter twist. ‘Neither my father nor my grandfather considered the skill necessary.’

  ‘And all the Norsemen have this focus?’ she asked, wanting to learn more about his family. ‘Or is it something unique to your family?’

  ‘Sven used to swear that Hagal lacked concentration, but he has won far too many bouts.’ Thrand’s full lips turned up in a reflective smile. ‘Sven liked to talk nonsense after he had taken ale.’

  ‘And Hagal has always avoided fighting you.’

  ‘Despite my challenges, he has found reasons to decline.’

  ‘Are you ready to try again?’ Cwenneth lifted the stick, watched his shoulder and blocked the downward thrust of his stick. Once. Twice. Three times. With each successful block, her confidence grew and she noticed that Thrand made it more difficult.