‘The proof he intends to move against the king. Or rather the king’s chosen successor when the king dies. Halfdan is gravely ill. Hagal knows that most of the inner circle distrust him. It is why he was sent to Acumwick, rather than being kept close in Jorvik. I suspect he intends to use your brother and his men in some way to assist his cause.’
‘My brother made peace with the Norsemen so he would not have to go to war again. This was what my marriage was about—a weaving of peace. He wants to remain at Lingwold for the birth of his child.’
‘Your brother is no stranger to war, though. The Lord of Lingwold can command an army. Hagal wants that army.’
‘Or maybe just the dowry he stole to pay off his bribes.’
‘If he needed that, he would have kept you alive so he could have had you beg your brother for more gold. How big was your dowry?’
She sucked in her breath. Norsemen politics sounded as precarious as Bernician. But Thrand was wrong. Edward had more respect for his men than to move directly against Halfdan. He still counted the cost of the last war.
‘More than it should have been,’ Cwenneth admitted with a sigh. ‘My sister-in-law grumbled about it, but my brother thought it was a small price to pay if he no longer had to worry about paying Danegeld every year to you.’
‘Your brother has never paid me Danegeld.’ Thrand leant down and picked up his sword, cleaning it on Knui’s cloak. ‘We met in battle and that was all. I went south and killed for my king there. It is where I collected my gold.’
‘He swears he pays it to Thrand the Destroyer. Grumbles every single time. “That misbegotten Norse raider” is probably the kindest thing he has said about you.’
Thrand frowned. ‘Hagal has held the north since the end of the last war. If anyone demanded payment, it will be one of his men. They simply used my name to extract money.’
‘Yes, that bothered Narfi.’ Cwenneth shook her head. ‘And my husband would have slain Hagal’s kinsman in battle, rather than in cold blood. It is the fortune of war. There is a difference.’
Thrand stilled, listening. ‘Our time grows short.’
He turned away from her and barked several orders in Norse. His men looked unhappy, but agreed. Two quickly mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction. Another three followed suit going another way. Within a few heartbeats she and Thrand stood alone in the glade with the bodies and two horses—Thrand’s and Narfi’s.
‘What is going on?’ Cwenneth asked as her stomach knotted.
‘Change of plan.’ He put a hand in the middle of her back. ‘You stay with me. My men have other jobs to do. If we split up, there is more chance they will follow one of them. Hagal will think that I will make straight for Jorvik and that is where he will concentrate the search. We need to go north. I will fulfil my oath.’
Cwenneth regarded the deep and menacing woods, rather than leaning into his touch. She had no idea how she was going to run, let alone walk. Her legs were like jelly. But if they stayed, Hagal would return with more than enough men to deal with Thrand.
‘How far do we have to go before we can stop? Before we are safe?’ she asked, moving away from his touch.
His face grew grave. ‘You won’t be truly safe until Hagal is defeated. It would be wrong of me to lie to you, Cwen. Helgi and Ketil are going to Jorvik to tell the king what happened here. Halfdan will listen to them and stall any request for blood money for Narfi the Black and Knui Crowslayer’s families until the Storting begins and I have returned. He owes me that much. The others go to warn various other warriors whom I know are loyal to Halfdan. They need to be on the lookout for the traitors, men who have accepted Hagal’s gold and are prepared to forsake their oaths.’
A great hard lump of misery settled in her breast. She pushed the thought away and concentrated on her immediate problem. ‘How far do you expect me to walk?’
‘I don’t.’ He leapt on his horse. ‘Your walking days have ended. They will expect me to take you south, but we are going north. It is the best way to keep you safe.’
‘But I can’t ride!’ Cwenneth gasped out. She looked at Narfi’s horse. There was no way she could do it. The brute bared its teeth at her. ‘I’ve no idea of how to ride and now isn’t the time to start.’
‘Your education has been singularly lacking then. We remedy it—now.’ He caught Cwenneth by the waist and hauled her up on his horse, setting her in front of him. He kept her in place with one arm while the hand held the bridle. He made a clicking noise in the back of his throat and his horse lunged forward.
Under her bottom, Cwenneth felt the power of the horse. It amazed her that he could handle such a big animal with ease, but it was as if he and the horse were as one. Liquid heat rushed through her. This man had fought for her.
‘Would Hagal beat you in a fair fight?’ Cwenneth gave an uneasy laugh and tried to concentrate on other things besides the warm curl in the pit of her stomach. She’d get over this attraction to him. He had made it very clear where his feelings lay. His interest in her was as a weapon against his enemy. He did not care about her as a person, or more importantly as a woman. ‘Or is he like Narfi? All talk and pride.’
He increased his grip on her waist. ‘Hagal fights better than any man I know. But he prefers to play the spider and allow his victims to blunder into his web.’
Cwenneth gulped and concentrated on the horse’s ears. She’d hoped that Thrand would dismiss Hagal as not very good and overrated, but Thrand respected his skill.
‘Where are we going if not to Jorvik?’
‘To the north. Near Corbridge.’
The north. Corbridge. In Bernicia. Still many miles from her home, but reasonably close to her stepson’s lands. Cwenneth’s breath caught.
Only yesterday, she would have been trying to figure out a way to escape and get to her brother. Everything had changed now. She had seen the personal risk Thrand had taken to save her life. She knew what Narfi was capable of and she had to believe that Hagal was a thousand times worse. Hagal had to be stopped before he caused the whole of Lingwold to be destroyed.
‘What is in the north?’
‘I made a promise to my best friend. I will ensure his child is well looked after. Before all things. I owe Sven my life many times over. He was the closest thing I had to a brother. If something should happen and my life were to end before this was done, I know Odin would forbid me entrance to Valhalla.’
Cwenneth bit back a quick retort. Thrand knew he might not survive the coming battle and he wanted to do right for his friend. More proof if she needed it that he was very different from Narfi and Hagal. He was a good man.
‘Will you be taking the child with you?’ she asked. Her mind reeled as she thought about how a child would cope amongst the Norsemen.
‘Why would I want to do that?’ Thrand sounded genuinely shocked and surprised.
‘Because it is your friend’s child.’
‘The child has a mother. I will make sure the child is looked after, but my life has no room for children or any sort of family.’ This time there was no mistaking the finality in his voice. ‘Until my vengeance is complete, I don’t have room for anyone in my life.’
Cwenneth hated that her heart ached.
Chapter Six
Thrand concentrated on keeping his body upright and in the saddle and ignoring the increasing pain in his back. Narfi’s final blow had cut deep into his back. With each pound of Myrkr’s hoof, the wound protested. Years of battle had taught him to bury the pain and attend to the task at hand—escape.
Cwen was a weapon, nothing more. His destiny was not to have a family. He’d lost his family through his own mistakes. He wouldn’t risk it again.
He shifted in the saddle. White-hot pain shot through his back. An involuntary moan escaped his lips. He tightened his grip on the
reins and on Cwen’s waist.
‘Something is wrong!’ Cwen half turned in the saddle. A frown came between her delicate brows. ‘Are you well?’
‘I’m perfectly fine,’ Thrand answered between gritted teeth. If they stopped, he doubted if he could get back on Myrkr and be able to lift Cwen up as well. Already his vision was hazy. ‘Far too soon to stop. Myrkr has a good few miles left in his legs. He is just slowing because of the extra burden.’
She put her hand against his chest. ‘Do you really think that or are you simply saying it, hoping I will believe it?’
He concentrated on the road ahead, rather than how Cwen’s curves felt against his body. ‘Few dare question me.’
‘Perhaps more should. Stop being arrogant and inclined to believe the legend of Thrand the Destroyer.’ She gave an uneasy laugh. ‘You’re really Thrand Ammundson, a seasoned warrior, but still human.’
‘You are wrong. We are the same.’
‘I beg to differ.’
Cwenneth glanced back at Thrand’s face when he didn’t give a quick retort in turn.
Over the past few miles, all the colour had drained from his face, making it more like a death mask than a living countenance. His arm about her waist now resembled a dead man’s grip.
She gasped. She should have checked Thrand for wounds before they left. She knew how quick Aefirth had been to dismiss any wound as trivial. Why should Thrand be any different?
Even Myrkr had sensed something was wrong. The horse was moving slowly and kept glancing back at Thrand.
‘We need to stop,’ she said. ‘Right now. You must stop.’
‘Go farther.’ Thrand drew a shuddering breath. ‘Need to keep you safe.’
‘May God preserve me from stubborn warriors.’ She reached for the horse’s bridle. ‘We stop now!’
The horse halted immediately. Thrand listed to one side, and his arm abruptly loosened. Cwenneth made a wild grab for Mrykr’s mane and barely stayed on the horse.
‘What do you think you are playing at, Cwen?’
Cwenneth let go of the mane and slid off the horse. She mistimed it and fell to the ground. Not the dignified dismounting that she’d hoped for, but it would suffice.
‘Making sure we stop before you collapse and die.’ Cwenneth stood up gingerly and stretched out her hands and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken. Her heart beat so fast that she thought it would burst out of her chest. ‘Measures had to be taken. You’re badly injured. Stop playing the legend and pay attention to the man.’
‘Leave it.’ His jaw jutted out, making him look more like a stubborn boy than a fearsome warrior. ‘I don’t need any of your help. Anyone’s help. Now are you getting back on the horse? Or do I leave you to fend for yourself?’
‘An empty threat.’ Cwenneth tapped her foot on the ground. ‘You need me alive.’
‘Cwen!’ He slid off the horse and winced, putting his hand to his back. His mouth was pinched white with a bluish tinge.
‘The fighting was intense. Two men died. My price for continuing on is examining your wound.’ She held out her hand. ‘Please, before you get us both killed.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ he muttered, not meeting her eyes. ‘I have been doing it for long enough. And if I have survived this many battles, I reckon that I will survive a bit longer.’
She held her hand. ‘I can help. Together we can bind the wound so you can travel. You look half-dead.’
His brief look of longing nearly took her breath away but before she could actually register it, the mask had come down. ‘Far too stubborn.’
Cwenneth put her hand on her hip. She had always deferred to Aefirth and her brother, not wishing to risk their wrath, but Thrand was different. He was not the sort of man to use his fists on a woman whereas her brother had always been quick with his if he didn’t get his own way. ‘My late husband died because he ignored his injuries. I won’t allow you to do the same.’
‘Why would you do that for me?’
‘Self-interest. I need you alive to keep me alive.’
He gave a great sigh. ‘If you insist...but no fussing.’
‘I do insist. There seems to be a deserted hut over here. Shelter, as the sky threatens rain.’ Cwenneth pointed to a little building with its roof in desperate need of repair. A small stream ran alongside it. Shelter and water—what more could she want? Providence. A small boar was carved on the lintel over the door.
Cwenneth’s heart leapt. If she ever returned to her old life, she’d make sure she incorporated the boar in any device she might have. Did women in convents have devices? Her brother was likely to make good his threat and send her to one. Whitby, if she was lucky. Or further up the coast if she wasn’t. But she’d deal with that once it came about. Right now, there was no guarantee she’d reach Jorvik.
Thrand lifted a brow. ‘You have no idea who uses it. Or when they might return.’
‘We’ll stop here for the night.’
‘We need to get up north and back to Jorvik as swiftly as possible. Time is of the essence. I promised my men.’
‘Your men will wait for us.’ She marched towards the hut. ‘Are you coming? Or do you leave me to die? Your one weapon against the man who killed your family?’
‘How do you know my men will wait?’ His smile was more like a grimace of pain. ‘They are mercenaries. They will go with whosoever pays them the most amount of gold. There is adventure for the taking at the moment. Ireland, Iceland, even the trading routes to the east require men with strong backs and stronger sword arms.’
‘You would wait for them,’ she said with sudden certainty. Thrand would wait because he was that sort of person, because he honoured his word. ‘Only Knui spoke out. The rest remained silent. And none bet against you.’
He tilted his head to one side. ‘You appear to know my men very well.’
‘They’re men of honour.’ As the words left her mouth, she thought of the irony. Two days ago, she would never have thought she’d utter those words about any Norseman, but she knew they were the truth. Honour didn’t only belong to the Bernicians. ‘I am going into the hut. You may follow if you wish, but we are not leaving this place until I say.’
She marched into the hut. Her heart thudded in her ears as she heard Thrand’s horse whinny. She clenched her fists and hoped that Thrand would not challenge her any more.
‘The hut appears derelict, but it has been used in the recent past,’ Thrand said from the doorway. ‘Whoever used it will be back.’
‘Take off your top and stop being difficult.’ She put her hand on her hip.
‘A masterful woman. How refreshing. Most of the Northumbrian ladies I’ve encountered faint at the sight of blood.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘I make no comment on the women you might have encountered previously.’
‘I spoke of ladies. Northumbrian ladies.’ His soft words skittered over her flesh.
‘Then as you know I am no longer a lady. I am a woman. You claimed me.’ She snapped her fingers, hating the sudden flash of jealousy which struck at her core. Which other ladies had he known? It wasn’t any of her business. Truly. She wasn’t interested in him. Not in that way. She was only with him because she wanted to survive.
A voice deep within her called her a liar.
‘I will have no more of this nonsense about me being a gently bred lady who faints at the sight of blood. I am a widow and have seen the male torso before. I attended my husband during his last illness.’
‘You are wrong there, Cwen. Your breeding oozes from your pores.’
‘Stop stalling. Strip.’
He pulled off his top and exposed his torso. His skin was a golden hue except where a network of scars gleamed white.
Cwenneth sucked in her breath and hastily averted her eyes from the faint l
ine of hair that led down his chest and disappeared into his trousers. She’d had enough humiliation with his rejection of her kiss earlier that morning.
‘Have you seen enough, my lady?’
‘I’ll let you know.’
She walked slowly around him, hoping that he didn’t notice the flame in her cheeks. The removal of his shirt had dislodged the slight scabbing. Fresh blood oozed from the cut on his lower back. It was a wonder that he had remained upright, let alone was able to ride a horse, hanging on to the both of them. Cwenneth swallowed hard. The debt she owed him grew with each passing breath.
‘Before I take another step that wound will be cleaned and stitched,’ she said, opting for a practical tone. Her stomach roiled. ‘Hopefully Narfi’s sword was clean.’
‘Can you stitch wounds?’
‘One thing I can do is sew. I embroidered my gown, not that there is any gold left on it,’ she commented drily.
‘But have you sewn flesh?’ His fingers brushed hers. A jolt of fire ran up her arm.
‘I’ve seen worse,’ she said, avoiding the question. She had watched the monks sew up Aefirth three times—the first time he came home after a battle, after an accident in training, and the final time. But now wasn’t the moment to confess her lack of practical experience. ‘The wound doesn’t gape and no vital organs are touched or you wouldn’t have been able to ride for so long. You have lost blood and the wound still seeps. Sewing rather than burning. A simple enough task for me.’ After what had happened with Aefirth and Richard, her confidence in her abilities to heal were next to nil. She had promised her sister-in-law to always call for the monks and never to attempt anything on her own again. But Thrand needed help immediately before he lost more blood or the wound festered.
His hand captured hers. ‘You tremble.’
She pulled away from him. ‘I can do it.’
‘We could find a monastery. A monk would stitch me up. They have in the past. Honour bound, even to help a pagan sinner such as me.’
‘Once Hagal knows you fought Narfi, he will check every church and monastery in the vicinity just in case. He is not a man to respect sanctuary.’
Saved by the Viking Warrior Page 9
