The Viking’s Touch(14)

 ‘There is no need for you to come further, my lord. It is but a short walk from here.’

 She took a step away from him, but the path tilted under her feet. A powerful arm caught hold of her waist and steadied her.

 ‘The mead is strong, isn’t it?’ he said.

 She shook her head. ‘I’m fine, really.’

 The arm remained round her waist. He was so close she could feel the heat from his body through her gown and, though his face was lost in shadow, she felt the intensity of the gaze bent on her face. Her heart missed a beat. Another arm slid around her shoulders, drawing her against him, and then his lips brushed hers. The pressure increased a little, encountered resistance, became more gently insistent until her mouth opened beneath his. She shivered, but not with cold. His mouth tasted of mead, sweet and strong, as heady as the brew she had drunk earlier. It sent flaring warmth the length of her body as though, deep within, a dormant fire had been kindled. The kiss grew deeper, more intense, seeking her response. As of its own volition her body relaxed against him and yielded itself up to his embrace.

 In some part of her mind she could hear a distant faint alarm. This was madness. It was dangerous. She tensed, drew back, turning her head aside, panting. The stars spun crazily overhead.

 ‘Please…’

 ‘What would you have, Anwyn?’

 His lips grazed her cheek and nibbled gently at her earlobe. The touch sent a delicious tremor to the core of her being. In that moment she wanted to surrender, to let this run its course, and give herself up to the demands of that inner fire. Yet still she could hear the faint warning bell at the back of her mind. She shook her head.

 ‘I cannot…’

 She tried to draw away, but her legs would not support her properly. Without his arm she would have fallen. Moments later another slipped under her knees and then heaven and earth tilted and swayed together as he carried her the remaining yards to the bower. He shoved the door open with his shoulder and followed the passage within, coming at last to the room he took to be her chamber.

 Someone had lit a lamp and the room was bathed in a soft glow. Wulfgar laid his burden on the bed. For a moment or two he remained still, looking down into her face. The green eyes were wide, their colour deeper now, her lips slightly parted. Recalling that stolen kiss, he knew an almost overmastering temptation to follow it up, to pursue this to its conclusion. He wanted her as he had not wanted a woman for a long time. He wanted to unfasten her hair and remove her clothing, piece by piece, until she was naked; wanted to join her there and make love to her through the night and let the fire consume him. It would be easy. She would not resist: she was lonely and she needed the temporary solace he could give her—solace offered with gentleness. Her whole being cried out for it. The defences she had erected were down now and she was more than ready for him; the mead had seen to that.

 He closed his eyes and drew in several deep breaths, wrestling for self-control. He wanted her all right, but not under the influence of mead when she was scarcely aware of what she did. When he took her—and he meant to—it was going to be with her full knowledge and consent. When he took her he wanted her to remember every part of it and to leave her craving more. Her kiss had let him glimpse the passion of which she would be capable, and he knew that nothing else would do.

 He bent and drew off her shoes, setting them down beside the bed. Then he pulled the coverlet over her and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

 ‘Good night, Anwyn.’

 She smiled, half-asleep now, and murmured something he didn’t catch. Wulfgar sighed and retreated to the outer door, closing it softly behind him.





When Anwyn woke her mouth was dry and her head pounding. Squinting against the light, she realised that the sun was already high. However much had she drunk last night? Slowly she eased herself onto one elbow and looked around. It was then that she became aware that she was still fully dressed. She had no recollection of how she had got to bed.

 Gingerly she swung her legs over the side and stood up. The thumping in her head intensified a little. Crossing to the far side of the room, she reached for the ewer and poured cold water into a horn cup and gulped the contents down. Then she poured some more into the bowl and plunged her face in. The shock revived her a little and she repeated the exercise several times.

 By then her head had cleared somewhat and fragments of the previous evening began to return. As they did her brow creased. She could recall leaving the hall now, but she had not been alone. All at once other details reasserted themselves into the missing areas of the picture. Anwyn paled. She had left the hall with Wulfgar and he had walked her back to the bower. Except that they hadn’t walked straight back. Her heart began to thump in her breast. He had taken her in his arms and kissed her and she had let him. Her cheeks went a shade paler. Goodness alone knew what he had intended. She swallowed hard. She knew exactly what he had intended. In a sudden leap of intuition she knew who had carried her to her chamber and who had put her to bed.

 Crimson colour replaced the pallor in her face. Had he…had they? She took a breath, trying to calm herself, trying to remember. They had kissed and then he had carried her. What had happened after that, she had no idea. Except that she was still wearing her clothes. She removed her gown and the linen kirtle beneath it and scrutinised the flesh beneath, but her body bore no indications whatever of any sexual intimacy. Feeling weak with relief, she pulled the kirtle back on and sank down on the edge of the chest nearby.

 What a fool she had been, albeit unwittingly. He might so easily have taken advantage of the situation. She shivered, feeling suddenly cold. For a moment Torstein’s face returned and Anwyn was sickened; her late husband wouldn’t have hesitated. He’d have stripped her without a qualm and used her at his will. Yet seemingly Wulfgar had not followed up his advantage. Relief mingled with shame. What must he think of her? How was she going to face him again after this? Yet face him she must, somehow.

 When she had donned a fresh gown and tidied her hair, she went to find Eyvind. The child was with Ina, watching the farrier shoe a horse. For a moment the old warrior met her gaze over the child’s head and he smiled faintly. For one awful moment she wondered if he knew what had occurred last evening. Then common sense returned and she told herself not to be so stupid.

 ‘I’ll look after him, my lady, if you have business elsewhere.’

 She thanked him and, breathing a sigh of relief, left them there. A glance around revealed plenty of the Sea Wolf’s crew, but no sign of her captain. Recognising Hermund, she decided to ask.

 ‘He’s gone to the ship with some of the men, my lady.’

 She did not know whether to be relieved or disappointed. ‘I see. Well, no matter, I’ll speak to him later.’

 ‘I’ll tell him you were looking for him, shall I?’

 ‘Don’t trouble yourself. I’m sure to meet up with him eventually.’

 She began to retrace her steps, when she caught the sound of hoofbeats. She heard an exchange of greetings and then the gates swung open to reveal half-a-dozen riders. As she recognised the foremost of them her heart leapt towards her throat. Ingvar!

 Caught unawares, Anwyn stopped in her tracks, trying to force her mind to lucid thought. The horsemen pulled up outside the hall and she saw Ingvar take a comprehensive look around. Then he said something to his escort and they dismounted. With a sigh she bent her steps that way.

 He saw her coming and, as she drew nigh, offered a courteous greeting. However, his customary smile was absent and the gold-brown eyes were speculative. This interview wasn’t going to be easy. To play for time she invited him and his escort into the hall.

 ‘Perhaps you would care for a little refreshment after your ride, my lord?’

 ‘Thank you, no. I would speak with you, my lady. Alone.’

 The tone was sharper than usual, almost a command, and Anwyn felt the first stirrings of annoyance. Nevertheless, she nodded.

 ‘As you will.’

 She led the way to the hall and then, when they were out of earshot of anyone else, she turned to face him, waiting. His gaze burned into hers.

 ‘Would you care to tell me what is happening here, my lady?’

 ‘What is happening?’

 ‘With the repairs to the ship.’

 ‘Oh. They are progressing well, I believe.’

 A little of the tension went out of him. ‘I’m glad to hear it. How much longer is it going to take?’

 ‘Not long—a day or so at most.’

 ‘I’m sure you will be glad to see the back of the mercenary force.’

 ‘On the contrary,’ she replied, ‘I have nothing to complain of.’

 ‘Been minding their manners, have they?’

 ‘Yes, a good deal better than others have done.’

 He did not pretend to misunderstand. ‘Grymar will not make the same mistake again. You have my word on it.’

 ‘The lady will have a lot more than that,’ said a voice from behind them.

 Anwyn’s heart leapt towards her throat and she turned quickly to see Wulfgar. She had not heard him approach and had no idea how long he had been there. Spots of warm colour leapt into her cheeks and for a moment they surveyed each other in silence. However, his expression was enigmatic.