Wulfrum saw Sweyn go down, but by the time he reached the place, the fighting had moved on and the berserker was dead. Darting fierce glances about him, he found Aylwin hard by. The man lived yet, but his lifeblood was flowing fast from the great wound in his side. For a moment Wulfrum was still, glaring down upon his fallen enemy, knowing he had been cheated of the revenge he had so ardently desired. With dimming eyes, the Saxon registered his presence and spoke through ragged, gasping breaths.
‘So it ends, Viking.’
‘Aye, it ends.’ Wulfrum bent and he seized the front of the other’s tunic. ‘Where is my wife? What have you done with her?’
‘She is unharmed.’ The Saxon coughed and blood trickled from his mouth. Every word was an effort now. ‘I forced her to come…thought to take her from you but…it is you she loves.’ He paused, fighting for breath. ‘You must…take care of her.’
There followed a slow exhalation of breath and nothing more. Meeting the Saxon’s sightless gaze, Wulfrum bestowed on him a grim smile, his fist tightening round the hilt of the sword.
‘I shall take care of her. I swear it to you.’
He straightened, his gaze scanning the scene for the one he sought. Above the din of fight he heard a woman scream and then he located her at last, not twenty yards away from him. Anger blazed anew, but he controlled it now, letting it fuel his strength as he cut a path towards her, relentless, determined, his opponents falling like corn beneath the scythe.
Ashen faced, Elgiva watched him come and, as he reached her, joy was drowned by flooding terror for he was suddenly a stranger to her—not Wulfrum any longer, but a warrior bent on vengeance and fearsome in battle rage, all dark with gore, his sword reeking and bloody, a sword whose naked point was levelled at her. For a moment he stood quite still, the icy gaze taking in every detail of the scene before it met and locked with hers. Then ice became fire. Like one transfixed, she watched him lift the sword, saw it descend. With a solid thunk the blade bit wood, severing the rope that bound her to the tree. Elgiva slumped, barely aware of the powerful arm that caught her just before she fell into a dead faint.
She had no idea how long she lay there. Perhaps no more than a few moments, though the sounds of fighting seemed muted and distant now. Someone was with her, cradling her in strong arms and a man was speaking her name.
‘Elgiva, my love. My heart. Speak to me, for the love of Odin.’
Her eyelids fluttered open. What had he just called her?
‘Wulfrum?’
‘Oh, my love. Thank all the gods. I thought I’d lost you.’
‘You came for me.’ Unable to help herself, Elgiva began to cry, her body shaken by great racking sobs even as she clung to him.
‘Shh. Hush now. It’s all right. It’s all right.’ He rocked her in his arms until she quieted a little. As he did so, he noticed her bruised wrists and his gaze hardened. ‘He has hurt you.’
She shook her head. ‘Rope burns, nothing more.’
‘No one shall ever hurt you again. I swear it.’
‘Oh, Wulfrum, he told me you were dead.’ Elgiva began to sob again. ‘He said he was going to keep me…that he would take me by force to Wessex. I thought I’d never see you again…’
Wulfrum, feeling her body shake in terror and revulsion, dropped a soothing kiss on the top of her head. ‘Surely you did not think I would let another man steal you away?’
As the sobs racked her, his jaw tightened as he bore witness to her anguish. Then, as if that were not bad enough, another thought occurred to him.
‘Elgiva, the child. It is not harmed?’
‘No. I think it is well.’
Even as he knew relief, it chilled Wulfrum to think of what he might have lost that day. In a moment of blinding clarity he understood then that love was stronger than hate. Love made a man vulnerable, but it empowered him too. It gave his life reason and purpose. Aylwin might have died this day, but his battle had been lost long ago. Anger evaporated on the heel of that realisation and he knew the Saxon had done only what any man worthy of the name would have done—he had fought for his land and his kin and for the woman he loved. The knowledge that his love had not been returned must have been bitter indeed and yet he had acknowledged it at the end. That too required a kind of courage. His heart full, Wulfrum bent his gaze on his wife’s face.
‘How I have missed you, lady.’
Looked up at him through her tears, Elgiva drew in a shuddering breath. ‘Wulfrum, can you ever forgive me for—’
His finger on her lips silenced her. ‘There is nothing to forgive. The fault is mine for allowing jealousy to blind me.’
‘You had cause enough to be angry but I never meant to betray you. I swear it.’
‘I know. As I know there could be no future for me without you. You are my life, Elgiva. My life and my love.’
Then he crushed her to him in a close embrace that needed no further explanation.
Epilogue
Spring—868A.D.
Wulfrum stood by the casement, watching the first grey light of dawn stealing over the quiet earth. He let his gaze travel over the roofs of the outbuildings to the fields beyond, surveying it all with a sense of pride. The first time he had set eyes on Ravenswood he little thought it would be his or that it would become the place he called home. Yet in the last year he had come to know it intimately, every field and farm, every hedge and ditch. It was good land, rich and fertile, his land. And yet it was more than that—the land had a power of its own that spoke to the heart of a man. Sometimes he thought it had claimed him rather than the other way round. And always there was the great forest, at this season decked again in the fresh green of new growth, new life. He felt its peace steal into his soul as he breathed its scent on the cool air. With a faint smile he glanced at the sword lying on the chest nearby. Let others follow the winds of war or launch the sea dragons to go a-viking. They would do it without him.
A faint sound from the bed drew his attention from the view outside and he smiled to see Elgiva stir. Beside her, in the crib, their son lay sleeping: Wulfgar. Born in the teeth of a March gale, he was a fine lusty babe with a thatch of dark hair and eyes as blue as harebells. Watching them both, Wulfrum felt his heart swell with love and pride, touched alike by their vulnerability and the beauty of the simple scene. Once fate had snatched away everything he held dear, but it had been restored in full measure.
Elgiva stirred and, feeling the empty space beside her, opened her eyes. ‘Wulfrum?’ Seeing him across the room, she smiled and reached out a hand.
‘Come back to bed. It’s early yet.’
Nothing loath, he left his station by the window and returned to her, sliding beneath the pelts and drawing her close, sharing her warmth. Feeling his arms about her, Elgiva smiled and closed her eyes and slept again. For a while he lay there, listening to her soft breathing, and then he too began to drowse and sank at last into peaceful slumber. Outside, the first rays of sunlight touched the canopy of the sheltering forest.