Saved by the Viking Warrior

by Michelle Styles

  ‘Then do you know if the child is even alive?’ she asked gently. Someone had to say it and prepare Thrand for the worst. The farm appeared peaceful and prosperous. The last thing they would need was a rampaging Norseman bent on destruction simply because something had happened which was beyond everyone’s control. Children were fragile blessings. Her hand went instinctively to where her pendant had been.

  She shook her head. Why was it so easy to believe this about another’s child and not hers?

  ‘Sven wanted to know his child was looked after. He wanted to make it right for the mother and the babe.’ He stroked Myrkr’s mane. ‘We had gone out to wet the babe’s head when the fight occurred. He took a knife in the back which was meant for me.’

  Cwenneth reached out her hand. It made sense now why Thrand felt such a sense of responsibility towards this child and its mother. Even if he refused to see it, there was much that was good and honourable in him. She would be hard pressed to name other men who would do as much for a fallen comrade. Aefirth possibly; probably not her brother, Edward. ‘Sven’s death wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t know. Were you the one who started the fight?’

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘I finished it. They were drunken fools who objected to Sven looking at their women. But he wasn’t the one interested in getting his leg over. I was. I often have a woman when I am in Jorvik. A different one each time. The black-haired woman had been flirting with me. Nothing had been decided. No coin had passed hands.’

  ‘Then you’re not to blame for another’s fit of temper,’ she said, trying to keep her voice light. ‘I, for one, am very glad you didn’t die. Who would have saved me otherwise?’

  She waited for his laugh. His face settled into its old harsh planes.

  ‘Sven had so many plans for the future. He wanted to go to Iceland and start afresh with his Maeri. He thought they could be free there to live the way he wanted to live. There is land for the asking and no king. Iceland had become an obsession with him. He’d half convinced me that I ought to go, but I’ve promises to keep.’

  ‘Had he talked about Maeri before he knew about the baby?’ Cwenneth enquired gently. Iceland where people could be free had nothing to do with her. Like Thrand, she needed to destroy Hagal. ‘The message took a long time to reach him. Surely if he felt deeply about her, he would have gone to see her. He had to have known how babies were created and that there was a possibility.’

  ‘On and off. And it is not that easy. We had a job to do in the south.’ Thrand gave a little shrug. ‘We used to tease him about it. He nearly had me killed when he left her the last time. He used to say he owed me for saving his life that day, but he was my comrade-in-arms.’

  ‘He sounds like he was a good friend.’

  Thrand’s face became set in stone. ‘He was like the brother I never had. If not for him, I would have lost my life a dozen times over on the battlefield.’

  ‘And how many times would he have lost his life?’

  ‘That is not the point. I failed to save him. And I’ve killed the man he sent to welcome his child into his family.’

  ‘You’re far more of his blood than his cousin could have ever been.’ Cwenneth shuddered, remembering the way Knui had talked. ‘He would have sold that child for gold.’

  ‘I’ll make it right for Maeri. There is enough gold to give her a comfortable life and I have Halfdan’s promise that the child can enter the king’s service when the time comes, if it is a boy. If it is a girl, a suitable marriage partner will be found.’

  ‘And she will be content with this?’

  ‘She will have to be.’ Thrand frowned and a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  ‘What is it, Thrand? What is wrong? You’ve been worse than a bear with a sore head today.’

  ‘You will help me break the news? I can’t stand a woman’s tears,’ he admitted, running his hand through his hair. ‘I’d far rather face a horde of angry Northumbrians armed to the teeth than one woman’s tears. And Maeri is a weeper. The way she clung to Sven the last time...’

  ‘I shall have to remember to keep my eyes dry when we part,’ Cwen said, forcing a smile. She knew the instant they parted for the last time, the tears would flow, but she would refuse to cry in front of him. She wasn’t going to stoop to trying to hold him. Allies, friends and lovers, but they would go their separate ways.

  ‘Cwen!’

  She reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘I will be at your side, but you’ll find the right words. I have faith.’

  He nodded with thinned lips. ‘That makes one of us.’

  * * *

  Thrand fixed the farmer with a hard stare. He was hiding the woman, or at the very least knew where she could be found. His refusal to meet Thrand’s eyes and shifting feet gave him away.

  Years of experience collecting Danegeld from men who wanted to cheat had taught him to pay attention to the little clues. He would get there without actually resorting to violence, but the farmer would understand the consequences for his continued refusal.

  ‘I wish to speak to Maeri, the woman who used to work on this farm,’ he repeated the words slowly, taking care to emphasise each word. ‘Fetch her.’

  The farmer went red and then white. Thrand flexed his hand close to the man’s face. ‘She...she isn’t here. You are wasting your time.’

  ‘Where is she?

  The old woman standing behind the farmer shifted uneasily, but remained silent. Thrand gave Cwen a helpless glance. He didn’t want to beat the information out of the farmer, but he had little choice if they continued to defy him like this. She shook her head and mouthed no violence.

  ‘Where is her child?’ Cwenneth asked, moving between him and the farmer. ‘Can you tell us that much?’

  ‘Aye.’ The burly farmer clicked his fingers. ‘Fetch Maeri’s brat.’

  A rat’s-tails-for-hair girl raced across the farmyard towards where the animals were kept. After a few heartbeats in which the farmer and his wife looked more and more uncomfortable under the heat of his glare, the girl emerged with a little boy dressed in rags and covered in dirt. His fetid stench wafted towards them.

  Thrand frowned. Children should smell of fresh air and sunshine, not reek of manure.

  But he immediately saw a likeness to his old friend in the boy’s nose, chin and hair. He had the mother’s dark brown eyes, but there was a definite look of Sven about him.

  A wave of sorrow passed through Thrand. It should be Sven standing here, viewing his son, not him. His friend lived in his child. Sven would have loved this moment and would have known what to do and how to put this right.

  Could he trust these people, including the absent mother, to look after Sven’s son?

  He dismissed the thought as pure folly. He had done what was right by coming here. And Sven had always proclaimed what a wonderful mother Maeri would be and how she longed for children. Perhaps these people’s idea of looking after children was different from his own.

  ‘And the boy’s name?’ Cwen asked, kneeling down and holding out her hands to the children. ‘Come here. There is no need to be afraid. This man knew your father. He is here to make sure you are properly looked after.’

  The girl came hesitantly forward, half carrying and half tugging the little boy. Closer, the boy appeared more like a wild animal than a child. ‘Pretty lady, is that Aud’s father?’

  Thrand’s heart thudded and he leant forward to hear what Cwen might say about him.

  ‘His father’s friend. His father sent him because he was prevented from coming. But he’d intended on coming and claiming the child as his own.’

  Thrand’s heart twisted. Trust Cwen to come up with the right words. She seemed to possess the knack of it. When the time came, she would say the right words to Halfdan and destroy Hagal for ever. She had to. He couldn’t bear the th
ought that she might die or worse, be under Hagal’s control. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on the girl. Focusing on the far-off future was never a good idea.

  ‘His mam’s dead, pretty lady,’ the girl said with a curtsy. She jerked her head towards the couple and whispered. ‘They didn’t want to say on account of what he might do. They know his reputation. He wintered in these parts afore like.’

  Cwen gave him a warning glance over the boy’s head as the news thudded through Thrand’s brain. The boy was an orphan. It changed everything and nothing.

  He gave Cwen a nod and made a gesture that she should continue with the questioning.

  ‘What is the boy’s name?’ Cwen asked.

  ‘Maeri called him Aud.’ The old woman made a clucking noise in the back of her throat. ‘Too unchristian for the priest. We call him Adam when necessary.’

  Thrand nodded. Maeri had named him after Sven’s father. She’d expected Sven to come back. That was a good sign at least. Once again, he wished that he had taken the knife, instead of Sven. Pure luck. A little voice in his mind whispered but then he’d never have met Cwen and would never have experienced peace in her arms. He silenced it. Sven was a good man. He didn’t deserve to die in the way he had. And now the proper arrangements for the child had to be made.

  ‘Is there a reason for the child’s filth?’ he asked, eyeing the child warily. Although he was used to the stench of war, he knew the difference between a battlefield and a farm.

  ‘He sleeps with the pigs,’ the girl said, releasing Aud and coming to stand in front of him. Her dress was dirty, there was a smudge on her face and she was far too thin. ‘I’m not afraid to tell the truth. He sleeps there because it is the warmest place and he can get a few scraps.’

  ‘Keep quiet,’ the old woman scolded. ‘Please, sir, Hilde works in the kitchen for the scraps. We took her in as a charity...when...my niece died...’ Her voice trailed off at the farmer’s look.

  ‘Pigs,’ Aud said proudly, lifting his chin and looking in that instant precisely like Sven. ‘Pigs. Pigs. Pigs.’

  Thrand frowned. Sven’s son should not be sleeping with the pigs. Once his temper would have exploded, but with another warning look from Cwen, he struggled to contain it. Her soft words appeared to be yielding the information required. ‘It certainly smells like he has rolled in pig dung.’

  ‘We can clean him up, sir,’ the young girl said. ‘He is a good boy. Does what he is told most times.’

  ‘Do that!’ he ground out. He pointed to the old woman. ‘You help. That child smells of manure and rotten food. Children should be clean. They should smell like children, not dung heaps.’

  The old woman rushed off, dragging the protesting child with the girl not far behind, chattering about how they were going to bathe and look proper for the Norseman.

  Thrand breathed deeply, urging away the feeling that he wanted to tear the farmer limb from limb for treating children like that. ‘I wait for an explanation.’

  The farmer’s colour rose, and he refused to meet Thrand’s eye. ‘We had given up hope of anyone coming. It has been such a long time since Maeri sent the message.’

  ‘When did she die?’ Cwenneth asked, placing herself between Thrand and the farmer as her mind raced. Anyone with half an eye could see the child was neglected. Something had to be done, but Thrand had refused to consider taking the child when they had spoken about it earlier. And she didn’t trust the farmer to look after the child or the little girl. But Thrand losing his temper and striking the farmer would inflame things, rather than improve them.

  ‘Two months ago,’ the farmer admitted, his cheeks becoming ever redder under Thrand’s fierce gaze. ‘Maeri died two months ago. Very sudden like.’

  ‘From what?’ Cwenneth fixed the farmer with her eye. ‘Why did she die? Sickness? An accident?’

  ‘She’d just married.’ The farmer tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it was suddenly too tight. ‘A good man. It was a good match in the circumstances.’

  ‘What happened?’ Cwenneth placed her hand on Thrand’s sleeve. He put an arm about her and pulled her close. She laced her hand through his, and he clung to it as a drowning man might cling to a spar.

  ‘She miscarried.’ The farmer adopted a pious expression. ‘The priest said it was a judgement from God as she’d lived a loose life. There is nothing you can do if someone strays from the path of righteousness.’

  Cwenneth longed to crack the priest over the head. It was easy to pontificate and make judgements. Miscarrying a child had nothing to do with piety. Her sister-in-law spent hours on her knees praying and still she had lost two babies. And Cwen had thought she’d been doing God’s work when the old woman cursed her and she lost any hope of a baby. It still hurt.

  ‘But this good man she married didn’t want to look after her child.’ Thrand’s nostrils flared.

  ‘Can you blame him for returning the child here?’ the farmer answered with a shrug. ‘He only took Adam because he wanted Maeri. She was a good cook and kept a tidy house. She wouldn’t be parted from her son. So after her death, my wife pitied the poor bairn.’

  Cwenneth went rigid. So sorry for him that she allowed him to sleep with the pigs.

  ‘Did she have any family?’ Cwenneth asked when she trusted her voice. ‘Did they turn their back on the child as well?’

  The farmer shook his head. ‘Her parents died a few years ago. Her mother had been my late wife’s sister, which is why we took her in. Adam will be a good worker in time.’

  ‘Thrand,’ Cwen whispered, tugging at his sleeve. ‘You have to do something. That child will die if you do nothing. If you simply give gold and walk away. There has to be a way of giving him a better future than what he will have here.’

  Thrand said nothing, simply looked straight ahead. But his face became ever more thunderous and his fingers clenched even tighter.

  ‘I will leave you two,’ the farmer said, flushing red. ‘I need to see how the boy is getting on. When he is cleaned up, he is a right bonny lad.’

  He scurried off, leaving them alone in the farmyard.

  ‘Before you say anything,’ Thrand said, holding up his hand. Every particle of him bristled with anger. ‘What you are about to ask is impossible. Keep quiet and we won’t fight. We remain friends. I have no wish to quarrel with you over this, Cwen.’

  ‘How do you know what I was going to ask?’ Cwenneth tapped her foot on the ground. Thrand had to see that the child needed their help. She refused to leave, knowing the child might die. Somehow, she’d find a way to save that innocent little boy.

  ‘My life doesn’t have room for anyone else, let alone a child who is little more than a babe. That child needs a mother.’ His jaw jutted out, and his shoulders broadened, making him look every inch the fierce Norse warrior that he was. ‘Do I look like a mother? Do I look like the sort of person to wipe his nose or his tears? Or to clean up his sick? Or even make sure he is properly fed?’

  Cwenneth’s heart thudded, sinking to the pit of her stomach. He didn’t want anyone in his life. He wasn’t willing to change to save this boy. ‘No child.’

  ‘No child. No one else. I’ve seen the sort of life camp followers and their children lead. What is more, I have seen what happens to them when their warrior dies. I would not wish that on my worst enemy.’ He placed his hands on her shoulders, and the harsh lines of his face softened. ‘I am a warrior, first, last and always. Have I ever said anything to make you think differently?’

  ‘The war is over. Others are settling. You could ask the king...’ Her voice faded as she realised what she had said... Her cheek grew hot under his stare.

  ‘A man such as me? With my reputation? Who would want me for an overlord?’ He shook his head. ‘Halfdan heaved a sigh of relief when I took gold over lands. I’ve no desire to have a large estate or be
a great lord. Forget it. I know what a snakepit Jorvik politics are. They are nearly as bad as Viken politics. And it was precisely because my father angered powerful lords that Hagal was able to murder with impunity.’

  Drawing on years of experience, Cwenneth schooled her features, but in her heart she mourned. Against all logic, she had been hoping that he would say something about her staying with him and perhaps asking the king for Hagal’s lands once he had been unmasked as the villain.

  ‘You can’t leave him, Thrand Ammundson,’ she said around the lump in her throat. ‘It would be tantamount to cold-blooded murder of an innocent child. And whatever else you are, you’re not a murderer of children.’

  His look would have made a lesser woman faint with fear.

  She clenched her fists. She had been so stupid asking. It wasn’t as if she had asked him to marry her. She understood there were no guarantees in their relationship. It was temporary. But this was not about them, it was about the child. She had to get past the battle-hardened warrior and reach the man who had held her in his arms last night and who had whispered encouraging words when the nightmare had woken her.

  She closed her eyes, gathered her thoughts and started again.

  ‘I know what happens to bastards, particularly if the priest has taken against them,’ she said slowly. ‘That he has survived this long is a testament to his mother and his own robustness.’

  ‘What would you suggest?’ he enquired with narrowed glacial eyes. The ice in his voice cut through her heart.

  ‘We could take him to Lingwold.’ Cwenneth wrapped her arms about her waist and tried to keep her insides from trembling. That child needed her protection, but she had no power. ‘I know the priest there. He will make room for him and will treat him with honour. He is a good man. He will ask few questions. Aud will thrive with enough food and he will get an education.’

  ‘You want me to send Aud to Lingwold with a message—please look after this child?’

  She held up her hands and willed him to understand. ‘It would save his life. I...I could take him. I would return. I give you my word.’