‘Do you want to live?’ he ground out. ‘Simple choice.’
She stopped, hesitating. ‘I...I...’
Forget gentleness. He had tried. The Northumbrian woman was stubborn beyond all reason. Action was required. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
‘You come with me.’ He pinned her with his gaze. ‘Whatever happened to you before, know that you belong to me hereafter. I’m your master now.’
Chapter Two
You belong to me. I’m your master. The words reverberated through her brain. Cwenneth stared at the large Norseman warrior who held her wrist captive, hating him. After all she’d survived today, she’d ended up a slave to an unknown Norseman. And she knew what they were capable of.
Surely it would have been better to die a quick death at Narfi’s hands than to suffer this...this torture!
She had been a fool to trust Hagal the Red and his promises in the marriage contract. She had been a fool to flee from her hiding place at the sound of this man’s voice. She had been a fool to try to undo the cloak when it became entangled on the thorn bush.
Time to start using her mind instead of panicking like a scared rabbit! Aefirth would have wanted her to.
‘I belong to no man, particularly not a Norseman.’ Cwenneth brought her hand down sharply and twisted. ‘I will never be a slave. Ever.’
He released her so abruptly that she stumbled backwards and fell on her bottom, revealing more than she would have liked of her legs. Cwenneth hastily smoothed her skirts down.
‘That’s better,’ she said in her most imperious voice, playing for time and ignoring the way her insides did a little flutter at his intense look. ‘Keep your hands to yourself in the future.’
‘If you want a race, so be it, but I will win.’ The planes of his face hardened to pure stone. ‘You are welcome to try. I will catch you before you go ten steps. And my mood will be less generous.’
He reached down and raised her up. His hand lingered lightly on her shoulder, restraining her.
‘Will you strike me down if I run?’ Cwenneth whispered. She’d survived Narfi, only to be killed for sport by this man? Her limbs tensed, poised for renewed flight, but she forced her legs to remain still.
‘Where is the challenge in killing women?’ he responded gravely. ‘I’m a warrior who fights other warriors. Playing games of chase with a beautiful woman will have to wait for another day. I’ve other things to attend to. Give me your word that you will come meekly and I’ll release your arm. Otherwise, I will bind you.’
Cwenneth concentrated on breathing evenly. Playing games of chase, indeed! As if she was some maid flirting with him in the Lingwold physic garden! She was a widow whose heart had been buried with her late husband and son.
She clung on to her temper and did not slap his face. This was about survival until she could return to Lingwold. Once she was safe behind the thick grey-stone walls, she could give in to sarcasm and her temper. Until then, she guarded her tongue and kept her throat whole.
‘Let me go and I’ll give my word,’ she ground out.
‘Satisfied?’ He lifted his hand.
She stared at the large Norseman warrior standing before her. He had released his hold, but the imprint of his hands burnt through the cloth. Large and ferocious with glacial blue eyes, a man who took pride in fighting, and the last sort of person she wanted to see. Who was he? Was it a case of things going from bad to worse? How much worse could it get? At least Thrand Ammundson was in Jorvik. No one could be as bad as that man.
‘You see, I keep my word. Now will you? Will you trust me?’
Cwenneth swallowed hard to wet her throat and keep the tang of panic from invading her mouth. Trust a Norseman? A Norseman warrior? How naive did he think she was?
‘Say the words now.’ He pulled a length of leather from his belt.
‘I’ll come with you...willingly. There is no need to bind me,’ she muttered, despising her weakness, but she hated to think about her wrists being bound and marked. ‘I give you my word. I won’t make a break for my freedom.’
‘And I accept it.’ He refastened the length of leather to his belt. ‘You see I’m willing to trust you, but then I can outrun you.’
‘How do you know how fast I can run?’ she asked, watching the leather sway slightly like a snake.
‘You wear skirts.’ His dark-blue eyes darkened to the colour of a Northumbrian summer’s midnight, but held no humour. ‘Skirts tangle about your legs and catch in thorn bushes and brambles. If I have to chase you or you disobey me, things will go much worse for you.’
Cwenneth lifted her chin. She had to concentrate on small victories. She remained unbound...for the moment. It would be harder to escape if he decided to tie her up. And she planned on escaping when the time was ripe. ‘I will take your word for it. I’ve never worn trousers.’
‘A modicum of sense in your brain. Not my usual experience with Northumbrian women.’ His brows drew together. ‘Why are you here? Why were you left alive? Why was your entourage attacked?’
She knew then he’d found the carnage that lay back there on the road. Silently, she named the six men who had died, thinking they were protecting her. They were seared on her heart. Someday, somehow, Hagal would be made to pay. Even faithless Agatha needed justice. In this darkening glade with the bare trees towering above her, she had half-hoped that it was a dreadful nightmare and she’d wake up to find Agatha softly snoring near here or, better still, in her tapestry-hung room at Lingwold.
‘The attack came from nowhere,’ she began and stopped, unable to continue. A great sob rose up in her throat, and in her mind she saw the images of the bodies where they fell and heard the unholy screams. She forced the sob back down. No Norseman would have the pleasure of seeing her cry. She straightened her spine and looked him directly in the eye. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t speak of it. Not yet. Please don’t make me.’
‘You’re my responsibility, and I want you alive.’ He captured her chin with hard fingers, and his deadened eyes peered into her soul. ‘As long as you do as I say.’
‘My world has changed completely.’ Cwenneth forced her eyes to stare back into his.
She knew she was a tall woman, but her eyes were merely on the same level as his chin. He made her feel tiny and delicate, rather than overgrown as she had in the past. Even Aefirth had been barely taller than her. Absently she rubbed where his hand had encircled her wrist.
‘I give better protection than the men who died, the ones who were supposed to ensure you and the other woman came to no harm.’ He released her chin. ‘Was she your mistress?’
‘My mistress?’ Cwenneth hesitated. He thought her the maid! Her heart leapt. A tiny glimmer of hope filled her. This Norseman had made a fundamental error.
If he knew who she was, he’d return her to Hagal who would surely kill her. A wife, even a solemnly betrothed bride like she was, was a husband’s property. And they were fellow Norsemen. She needed to get back to Lingwold and warn her brother of Hagal’s treachery rather than be delivered with a pretty bow about her neck to that viper.
‘Who was your mistress? Quick now. It is hardly a difficult question.’
‘The Lady of Lingwold. She was on her way to finalise her marriage to Hagal the Red.’ Feverishly Cwenneth prayed that her deception would work. ‘I’m her tire woman. Cwen. I’d left the cart to gather bluebells and hopefully improve the smell. After all the travelling we had done, the cart stank. The herbs in the cart gave my lady a woolly head.’
She gulped a breath of air as the words tripped off her tongue. So far, so good.
He pointed to the gold embroidered hem of her gown. ‘A very fine gown for a maid to be wearing, Cwen.’
‘One of my lady’s cast-offs,’ she said with a curtsy. ‘I had it in honour of her marriage. She had many new gown
s and no longer had need of this one. It was from her first marriage and quite out of date.’
He nodded, seeming to accept her word. The tension in Cwenneth’s shoulders eased a little. Cwen had a good ring to it, reminding her of Aefirth’s pet name for her.
How hard could it be to play the maid? It was far safer than being herself—the woman whom everyone wanted dead or believed cursed beyond redemption, destined never to have a family who loved her.
‘And, Cwen, your lady did not wish to get out of the cart and sent you instead. Did she fear bandits?’ His lip curled slightly as if he disapproved of such fine women.
‘She knew about the possibility of outlaws. There are desperate men about these days.’
‘Even though she must have known she was on her bridegroom’s lands.’
‘Even then. My lady was timid.’ Cwenneth gestured about her. ‘It is in places such as these that man-eating wolves lurk. Or so my...her nurse used to say.’
She winced at her near slip, but his face betrayed nothing. Perhaps he didn’t have that good a grasp of the language. Or perhaps... Drawing attention to the mistake would only make matters worse. But she had to have convinced him. He looked to be more muscle than brain like most of the Norsemen. Certainly his shoulders went on for ever.
The ice in his eyes grew. ‘If she was in the covered cart, how did she know about the woods, the wolves and most of all the bluebells?’
‘My lady caught a glimpse of the outside through the slats in the window when the cart stopped so they could get the mud off the wheels. I went to fetch them,’ Cwenneth improvised. ‘She would hardly have let me go if she thought the attack was going to happen. My lady trusted her men and the promises her bridegroom gave.’
Cwenneth finished in a breathless rush. If she kept to the truth as much as possible, she should be able to fool him.
When she had her chance, she’d escape and return to Lingwold, like in the stories her nurse, Martha, used to tell. Her brother would see that justice was done. Enough warriors to make a formidable army would flock to Edward’s banner when he put the call out to avenge this outrage.
‘I find it hard to believe Hagal allowed his bride to travel without protection. Or did she intend to surprise him? This timid bride of his?’
‘Hagal provided over twenty warriors. You would have to ask them why they fled. My lady was only allowed six of her own men.’ She waited, heart in her throat, to see his response.
His stone-hard face betrayed nothing. ‘Do you wish me to take you to Hagal the Red’s stronghold? He will want to hear news of his bride’s demise.’
Cwenneth’s stomach knotted. The Norseman was leaving the decision up to her. Lingwold was a real possibility instead of a cloud-in-the-sky fantasy. She could almost see the comforting stone walls rising up before her.
‘Her brother needs to hear the news first. He will give a reward for information about my lady. I know it.’
The Norseman remained implacably silent.
Cwenneth pressed her hands together and gathered her courage. ‘I believe...I believe Hagal’s men murdered everyone in my party.’
There, she had said it and had mentioned the possibility of a reward. Gold always motivated the Norsemen. Her stomach twisted in knots. In the silence which followed she could hear the flap of a wood-pigeon’s wings.
‘A strong accusation,’ he said, his face remaining devoid of any shock or surprise. ‘Why would Hagal’s men want his bride dead? He will have spent time and effort negotiating the marriage contract.’
‘Perhaps they are in the pay of Thrand the Destroyer and betrayed their master.’
‘I think not,’ he said, crossing his arms, and his face appeared more carved in stone than ever. No doubt he expected her to cower. ‘Try again. Who attacked this convoy?’
Cwenneth glared back and refused to be intimidated. ‘I speak the truth—Hagal’s men did it under his orders. I overheard them speaking afterwards. He wanted her dead to fulfil a battlefield vow he made. I hope even Norsemen have a respect for the truth. The Lord of Lingwold certainly will. He’ll see justice is done and Hagal the Red is punished for this crime.’
As she said the words, Cwenneth knew she spoke the truth. Edward might have desired the marriage, but he wanted her alive. Blood counted for something...even with Edward. He would take steps to avenge Hagal’s actions. Even a convent without a dowry currently sounded like heaven compared to being a Norseman’s slave or, worse still, murdered.
‘How did you propose to get to Lingwold? It is over a hundred miles through hostile wilderness and floods. The mud-clogged roads from the recent rain are the least of your problems.’
Cwenneth sucked in her breath. He knew where Lingwold was, but then it was one of the largest estates in southern Bernicia.
‘Walk!’
‘Wolves and bears lurk in these woods. Not to mention outlaws and other desperate men who roam the roads.’
‘I know. I was waiting until nightfall before I returned to the...’ Cwenneth’s throat closed. What did she call it now that murder had taken place? ‘To where it happened. I hoped to find something there, something I could use on my journey. I refuse to simply sit here and die.’ She clasped her hands together to keep them from shaking uncontrollably. ‘Will you take me to Lingwold? Help me complete my journey? The Lord of Lingwold will give a great reward for information about his sister. I promise.’
‘I’ve no plans to visit Lingwold at present.’
Cwenneth blinked. He was refusing? ‘What do you mean? There will be a reward. A great reward. Gold. As much gold as you can carry.’
‘The promise of a small reward for telling a man his sister is dead fails to tempt me. The great Lord Edward of Lingwold might even take a severe dislike to the man who brought him news of his sister’s demise.’ His mouth curled around the words as if her brother was anything but a great lord.
‘You have a point. He is known to have a temper.’ Cwen fingered her throat. She couldn’t confess now. Not now that she knew this man disliked her brother so much that he refused to consider a reward. She’d have to come up with a different plan. That was all. ‘Where do we go?’
‘You go where I choose. You tell your story when I choose and to whom I choose. And not before. Like you, I know Hagal the Red did this.’ A bright flame flared in his eyes, transforming his features. ‘I have my own reasons for wanting him to face justice.’
Until he chose? To become his slave for ever? Cwenneth firmed her mouth and renewed her vow. ‘Who are you? What shall I call you?’
He made a mocking bow. ‘Thrand Ammundson.’
Thrand Ammundson. Thrand the Destroyer. Cwenneth gulped. The Norseman whose band of warriors raided Lingwold yearly. The man who loved killing so much that his name was a byword for destruction. The man who was supposed to be in Jorvik, but who was here and probably on his way to raid innocent Bernicians.
Her luck was truly terrible. Of all the Norsemen to encounter, it would have to be him, the one man other than Hagal the Red most likely to want her dead.
‘You’re Thrand the Destroyer?’ she whispered, clasping her hands so tight that the knuckles shone white.
He was right—her brother had no cause to love him and every cause to kill him. As she had departed for Acumwick, Edward had crowed that he looked forward to having Thrand’s head on a plate and his hide nailed to the parish church’s door.
‘Some have called me that, but they are wrong. I have never come to destroy, only to take what is rightfully mine or my liege lord’s. The Norsemen of Jorvik did not start the last war, but they did finish it.’
‘That makes it all right because you won,’ Cwenneth remarked drily, trying to think around the pain in her head. Right now she had to put miles between her and Hagal, who definitely wanted her dead. Everything else could wait. Patience w
as a virtue, her nurse, Martha, used to say.
‘The victor commissions the saga, as they say.’
A soft rustling in the undergrowth made Cwenneth freeze. She instinctively grabbed hold of Thrand’s sleeve.
‘Wolf or mayhap a bear,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘My luck goes from bad to worse.’
Thrand put his fingers to his lips and pivoted so that his body was between her and the noise.
He started to draw his sword, but then relaxed.
‘There, see.’ He pointed with a long finger. ‘No wolf.’
Cwenneth crouched down and found herself staring into the tusked head of a boar. The animal blew a hot breath over her face before giving her a long disdainful look and trotting off.
‘That was unexpected,’ she said, sitting back on her heels.
‘Thor has shown you favour,’ Thrand remarked in the quiet that followed. ‘Good luck follows your footsteps in battle when Thor favours you.’
‘I don’t believe in the Norsemen’s gods. And I know what those tusks can do. My stepson was gored once. It ended his fighting days and he walks with a bad limp. I wouldn’t call that lucky.’
She gave an uneasy laugh. A god favoured her? Thankfully he didn’t know about the curse she carried. He’d abandon her in these woods if he did. Pressing her hands together, she tried to control her trembling and breathe normally.
‘You’re married? What did your husband say about you travelling with your lady to her new home?’
‘My husband died and...and I found myself back in my lady’s service.’ A fresh dribble of sweat ran down her back. The words rushed out of her throat. ‘My luck has been dreadful these last few years.’
‘You’re wrong.’ His searing gaze raked her form, making Cwenneth aware of her angles. Her sister-in-law was one of the plump comfortable women which men loved, but Cwenneth had few illusions about the attractiveness of her body—all hard angles with only a few slender curves. ‘You survived the slaughter. That makes you luckier than the corpses back there.’
Saved by the Viking Warrior Page 3
