The Viking’s Touch(33)

 She lifted one arched brow. ‘Are you jealous?’

 ‘Fiercely jealous. I will not suffer you even to spare him a thought.’

 ‘Then he is dismissed.’

 ‘Good.’ He reached out and drew her against him. ‘I should be forced to drive him out else.’

 She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. ‘How exactly would you do that, my lord?’

 ‘Don’t you know, Anwyn?’

 The implications sent a flush of warmth along her skin. ‘You are quite shameless.’

 He grinned. ‘That’s right.’





Chapter Sixteen

Anwyn slept soundly and woke just after dawn. She wasn’t sure what had woken her at first, until she felt the light pressure of a man’s lips on her shoulder. She smiled and stretched lazily, turning to face him. Remembering what had passed between them last night, she smiled.

 ‘Good morrow, wife.’

 The use of that term only served to reinforce the memory. ‘Good morrow, husband.’

 Wulfgar leaned closer, gently nibbling her ear lobe. His tongue probed further, sending a delicious shiver the length of her body.

 ‘Still so lustful, my lord?’

 ‘You have no idea.’ He shifted a little and then his mouth was on hers, taking a leisurely kiss while his hands explored elsewhere, sending tingling warmth to her loins. The exploration continued with gentle, unhurried expertise. Hungry for his touch, Anwyn responded eagerly now, wanting to give pleasure in return. She recalled then what had pleased Torstein, but this time there was no fear or loathing, only mounting desire.

 Her caresses became more intimate. Wulfgar caught his breath, every part of him alive to her lightest touch. He turned to face her, but she pushed him gently back on to the bed. With delicious anticipation he watched her straddle him, felt himself slide into her and then the slow rocking motion of her hips. His hands reached for her, pulling her deeper. The rocking movement became stronger and he bit back a groan, pleasure setting every nerve alight. Lifting his hips, he thrust into her, moving with her, building the fire anew and letting it consume him in a heart-pounding climax.

 Afterwards they rested a while, temporarily sated. Wulfgar watched her drowse, his hand idly stroking her hair. He had always believed her capable of passion, but the extent of her sensuality astonished and delighted him. When he had dreamed of her submission he never imagined it would be like this. He had meant to arouse her, to leave her wanting more. He had not anticipated how much more his own desire would increase. Nor was it only about desire; Anwyn aroused emotions in him that he had not expected to feel again. There had been women over the years, but never any relationship lasting beyond the satisfaction of a physical need. He took what they offered and forgot them. However, no man would forget this woman—unless he was dead.

 Unbidden, his thoughts moved ahead to the intended alliance with Rollo and to the adventure that beckoned. It held out the promise of great wealth. Of course, the corollary to that was enhanced risk. The gods might have favoured him with extraordinary luck, but his luck wouldn’t hold for ever. He was seven and twenty. How many more years would be permitted him before the Nornir severed the thread of his life? How much of that time would be spent with Anwyn? Precious little in all likelihood. He frowned. That was the reality, but it would not be easy to leave her, especially now. He had wanted her from the first and had been determined to win her; he had expected to enjoy their physical coupling. What he had not foreseen was the extent of his emotional involvement. Feelings he had thought long dead had proved to be only dormant and their slow, insidious growth had crept up and taken him unawares. His weren’t the only feelings involved, either. The knowledge only compounded the sensation of guilt.

 He sighed, then, taking care not to disturb his slumbering wife, eased himself out of bed and looked around for his clothes. The bandage on his arm was sufficient reminder that there were matters outstanding to be attended to. Shifting the focus of his thoughts to more certain ground, he dressed quickly.





By the time Anwyn woke he was long gone. Rather guiltily she realised that she, too, should have been up and about by now. Hurriedly she bathed and dressed, feeling a certain amount of trepidation. What happened last night had wrought a change so deep, created such happiness, that she was certain everyone would look at her and know it. Her cheeks grew warm at the thought. However, when she looked into the small disc of polished metal that served as a mirror, her face was unchanged. Involuntarily she lifted a hand to her lips. She could still feel Wulfgar’s kisses there. Their smooth pinkness gave no hint as to what had occurred although the memory raised a smile.

 In fact none of the servants seemed to find anything unusual in her appearance. Only Jodis noticed the new sparkle in her mistress’s eyes.

 ‘You look happy today, my lady.’

 ‘I am happy. Is it not a glorious morning?’

 The tone reinforced the earlier thought and the maid smiled. ‘Indeed it is.’

 ‘Where is Eyvind?’

 ‘He went out earlier with Ina to practise with his sword.’

 ‘He thinks of nothing else now,’ said Anwyn. ‘Wulfgar encourages him.’

 Jodis nodded. ‘They are on the way to becoming firm friends.’

 Recalling the scene in the exercise yard, Anwyn could only agree. ‘He shows more patience with the child than Torstein ever did.’

 ‘It’s a pity Lord Wulfgar won’t be around long enough to help Eyvind complete his training.’

 The words, though artlessly spoken, sent a little shiver of foreboding through Anwyn. All at once his words returned: I won’t stay for ever…nor will I swear my undying love. The knowledge took the edge off her earlier happiness. Nevertheless, it was the plain truth and he had not tried to deceive her.

 ‘Are you all right, my lady?’

 Anwyn forced a smile. ‘Yes, of course.’

 She turned her attention to a pile of mending but, although her hands were busy about their task, her mind was at leisure to reflect. What she had shared with Wulfgar had been wonderful beyond belief, but it wasn’t going to last. Neither of them had expected this marriage to be more than a business arrangement. The fact that it had become rather more than that did not change things. This brief interlude might be all they would ever have. The knowledge brought a sense of impending emptiness and loss for it was difficult now to imagine a future without him. The days spent with him had made her feel more alive than all the rest of her years put together. His going would hurt more than any pain she had ever known. Yet if it were all to do again she knew she would rather have this than nothing at all.





Wulfgar’s first encounter that morning was with Hermund and Thrand. They had conducted a thorough search now, but there was no indication that the would-be assassins had brought more accomplices.

 ‘The story about them coming over the wall is true, my lord. We found the rope and grappling hook,’ said Thrand.

 ‘And none of the guards heard anything?’

 ‘No. I questioned them.’

 ‘The traitors chose their moment well—unless they had inside help.’

 Hermund nodded. ‘That occurred to me, too, but, if they did, it came from among the Drakensburgh men, not our crew.’

 ‘We haven’t any proof yet,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘and I won’t create bad feeling on mere speculation. Say nothing at present. Nevertheless, I want a stronger presence on the gate and wall. No one gets in without being searched and their business verified.’

 ‘I’ll deal with it, my lord.’ Thrand turned to go, then checked as he remembered something else. ‘What do you want us to do with Thorkil’s body?’

 ‘Send his head back to Ingvar and bury the rest.’

 ‘Right.’

 Thrand left them then to expedite Wulfgar’s commands.

 Hermund smiled grimly. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall when Ingvar realises his plan has failed, but he won’t be slow to hatch another.’

 ‘Which is why we must forestall him.’

 ‘How?’

 ‘I need information about what he’s planning and when.’

 ‘Time for another chat with Sigurd, then.’

 ‘Just so,’ said Wulfgar.

 A night among Torstein’s hounds had clearly been a sleepless and unpleasant experience to judge from Sigurd’s battered and bedraggled appearance. Nor had his captors handled him gently. In spite of this the prisoner retained a degree of desperate defiance.

 ‘I’m a dead man whether I tell you or not.’

 ‘True,’ said Hermund, ‘but, like I said, there are many different ways to die.’

 A muscle jumped in Sigurd’s cheek, but he said nothing. Wulfgar surveyed him in silence a moment and then shrugged.

 ‘Please yourself. Take him back to the kennels.’ As the escort moved to obey, he turned to Hermund. ‘Only don’t feed the hounds today, or tomorrow.’

 Sigurd’s eyes widened and he darted a glance from one to the other. ‘No, please…’