The Viking’s Touch(31)

 Eyvind smiled shyly. Then he was looking over his mentor’s shoulder and his face lit in a smile.

 ‘Mother.’

 Wulfgar felt his heart give an odd lurch as he turned to see Anwyn, surprising an expression on her face that he had never seen before. It was composed of laughter and pride and something harder to identify, and it transformed her.

 ‘Did you see me slay Lord Wulfgar?’

 ‘Yes, I did.’

 In fact, Anwyn had watched the entire scene and her heart was full. She would never have supposed that this man might take such pains with a child who was not even his. She watched him set the boy down and then, retrieving the fallen shield, gave it to Ina. With an injunction to Eyvind to continue his practice, he walked apart with Anwyn.

 ‘He’s learning fast,’ he said.

 ‘He has made more progress than I ever dreamed, and that is due to you.’ She paused, looking into his face. ‘Thank you.’

 Her expression just then caused his pulse to quicken. All her former reserve was gone to reveal the tenderness beneath—tenderness and vulnerability. Over the years she had learned to conceal it, but it was there if a man knew where to look. How much past events had hurt her. Just then he would have liked to take her in his arms and kiss away the hurt, but he restrained the impulse. Likely she would not welcome it and he would not force his attentions on her. In any case, the past could not be kissed away.

 ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said, with perfect sincerity. Under other circumstances he might have been doing the same things with Toki. Unexpectedly his throat tightened and he forced that particular thought away.

 Anwyn smiled. ‘It is a pleasure to Eyvind, too.’ She glanced around at the practising combatants. ‘Is the training going on as you would wish?’

 ‘Aye, it is. Ina has been invaluable. You were right about him.’

 ‘He has been like a rock since Torstein died.’

 ‘I can well believe it,’ he replied.

 ‘Ina must hold you in esteem or he would not lend his co-operation so readily.’

 ‘Then I am truly honoured.’

 Again the words were spoken with perfect sincerity and she heard it. It gladdened her, more than she could have anticipated. Just then it was difficult to express the feelings uppermost in her mind. She was also very conscious that being in this man’s company pleased her more than she could ever have anticipated. The attraction she felt was impossible to deny, but still it represented danger. That was why she had tried to distance herself a little in the preceding days. Yet, in spite of her best efforts, she had missed him.

 The silence stretched out and she glanced reluctantly towards the bower. She really ought to excuse herself now and leave. Wulfgar intercepted the look and the thought.

 ‘I have to ride out to check the patrols this afternoon. Come with me.’

 Taken completely by surprise, Anwyn fumbled for an excuse. ‘Well, I…I hadn’t planned…’

 ‘Of course you hadn’t. I’ve only just asked you.’ He grinned. ‘It’s called spontaneity.’

 ‘Yes, but I shouldn’t…I mean, it’s not—’ She broke off floundering.

 He evinced polite interest. Anwyn felt her face grow hotter.

 ‘Not?’ he prompted.

 There were many things she might have said in reply, but all of them seemed lame. She shook her head. ‘No matter.’

 ‘Good. Then you’ll come.’ He fixed her with a level stare. ‘That wasn’t a question, by the way.’

 Her chin tilted to a militant angle. ‘Have you any idea how overbearing you can be at times?’

 ‘No, but you can tell me this afternoon. The horses will be ready at the end of the practice.’ He favoured her with a nod and walked away, leaving her staring after him.

 She bit back a smile. ‘Impossible man.’





That evening Anwyn was in no hurry to leave the hall after the meal and lingered, listening to the conversation and, where appropriate, contributing. Thus the hour grew late before she eventually announced her intention to retire. She expected Wulfgar to bid her good-night and return to his men, but in this she was mistaken.

 ‘It has been a long day,’ he said by way of explanation. ‘I’m for bed.’

 She nodded. It had been a long day, but far from tedious. They stepped outside and paused a moment. The cressets were lit but, although it was full dark now, the evening was warm and the air sweet with green scents borne on the breeze. It was pleasant after the closeness of the hall. By tacit consent they strolled together towards the bower.

 They had not gone a dozen paces when a figure leapt from the shadows and launched itself at Wulfgar. Anwyn saw the raised dagger and cried out a warning. Lightning reflexes saved him. He spun and threw himself aside so that the blade aimed at his heart slashed his arm instead. Enraged, he flung himself on his assailant, seizing his wrist and bearing down hard. The two men crashed to the ground. The flaring cressets revealed glimpses of writhing figures, locked together, the air filled with the sound of laboured breathing. His opponent rolled and the point of the dagger hovered above Wulfgar’s throat. He brought a knee up hard and his assailant grunted with pain. The knife wavered and then fell. Seconds later Wulfgar’s scrabbling fingers found the hilt and closed on it as a hand tightened round his windpipe. Half-throttled, he lifted the blade and thrust the point into the man’s ribs. The grip slackened on Wulfgar’s throat and, drawing a ragged breath, he heaved the bulky form aside. Then he staggered to his feet, one hand clutching the injured arm. Blood welled through his fingers.

 A moment later Anwyn was beside him. ‘Wulfgar, you’re hurt!’

 ‘A scratch, that’s all.’

 The sound of voices and running feet announced the arrival of the men from the hall, swords drawn.

 ‘What happened?’ demanded Hermund. Then he saw the still form on the ground. ‘Are you all right, my lord?’

 Wulfgar nodded. ‘Just about.’

 ‘Who was it?’

 Ina shouldered his way through the crowd with a torch. Its ruddy light revealed a familiar face.

 ‘Thorkil,’ murmured Anwyn. ‘What treachery is this?’

 Wulfgar frowned. ‘Search the place. He may have had accomplices. If you find any bring them to me—alive.’ As the men hurried off to do his bidding, he looked at Anwyn. Her face was deathly pale and, seeing it, he felt his heart lurch. ‘He has not hurt you, sweet?’

 ‘No. I’m not hurt.’

 ‘Thank the gods for that.’ He slid his good arm around her waist. ‘Why, you’re trembling.’

 Anwyn clung to him, taking comfort from his warmth. In the distance they heard shouts and then the unmistakable sounds of struggle.

 ‘They’ve found someone,’ she murmured.

 Wulfgar’s jaw tightened. ‘So it would seem.’

 Some minutes later, the men returned, dragging a prisoner with them. His torn clothing and bruised face testified to the fact that he had put up a fight before greater numbers had overpowered him. Hands bound, he was dragged before Wulfgar. Even under the blood and dirt Anwyn recognised the man.

 ‘Sigurd! He was one of Thorkil’s companions.’

 ‘We caught him hiding behind the smithy, my lord,’ said Hermund.

 ‘Any sign there might be more of them?’ asked Wulfgar.

 ‘Not yet, but some of the men are still looking.’ Hermund lifted his sword to Sigurd’s throat. ‘In the meantime this scum can tell us what he knows.’

 The prisoner eyed him resentfully. ‘I’m a dead man anyway. Why should I tell you anything?’

 ‘That depends on whether you want a quick death or a very, very slow one,’ replied Hermund.

 Anwyn swallowed hard. The smiling, easygoing men she had known before were nowhere in evidence now. The faces around her might have been hewn from rock. They were expressionless save for the eyes which were now devoid alike of humour and of pity.

 Wulfgar fixed the prisoner with a gimlet stare. ‘Well?’

 Sigurd darted a glance around and licked dry lips. ‘All right.’

 ‘So talk.’

 ‘Thorkil meant to kill you tonight.’

 ‘I gathered that much. Who put him up to it?’

 ‘Ingvar.’

 The men around them exchanged glances and there were a few stifled exclamations of anger and disgust.

 ‘What did he offer in return, Dogbreath?’ demanded Hermund.

 ‘A place among his warriors and a reward of silver.’

 ‘And what was your role in all this?’ asked Wulfgar.

 ‘To help him get into Drakensburgh, and finish the job if he failed.’

 More angry muttering greeted this. Anwyn felt cold, thinking of what she had almost lost this night.

 ‘And how did you get in?’ Wulfgar continued.

 ‘Used a grappling iron and rope to get over the wall. Then we hid and waited for our chance.’

 ‘Well, you missed your chance, you slimy, worm-ridden piece of filth,’ growled Hermund. The edge of the sword pressed closer, drawing a faint line of blood along Sigurd’s throat.