The Viking’s Touch(35)

 ‘It’s a risk, my lord.’

 ‘A calculated one. We have the element of surprise.’

 ‘Will the new recruits be up to it?’

 ‘They have a good grounding,’ he replied. ‘Now they need to apply what they’ve been taught. Besides, they’ll learn more during five minutes of battle than they will in six months of drill.

 ‘Their first test has come sooner than expected.’

 ‘They’ll have my men alongside them and the seasoned Drakensburgh warriors as well.’

 She managed a smile. ‘That’s true.’

 Wulfgar finished undressing and climbed into bed, propping himself on one arm beside her. ‘Don’t be afraid, my sweet. It will all be well.’

 ‘If anyone can defeat Ingvar, it will be you,’ she replied. ‘All the same, I cannot help but feel anxious at the thought of a battle.’

 ‘If all goes according to plan, it’ll be the last one we ever have to fight, against this particular enemy anyway.’

 ‘Will you slay him, Wulfgar?’

 ‘If I can. He will certainly try to slay me.’

 She shivered. ‘Don’t say such things.’

 He reached out and gathered her to him. ‘I told you, my reason for coming back is much stronger than his.’

 He bent and kissed her, letting his hands explore the soft curves of her body in a leisurely embrace that set every nerve alight. She pressed closer, wanting him, needing the strong reassurance of his touch. He recognised the need and the longing because it found an answering chord in him. It also revived a conflicting sensation of guilt. He knew that she cared for him, and each caress only strengthened the bond of feeling. Severing that bond was going to hurt, something he had never intended, but it was unavoidable now. It would have been wiser never to have begun this shared intimacy and yet he could not regret it. To lie with her was to increase desire and to inflame every sense. Even when she was out of sight her memory remained with him, bright and vivid, seducing his thoughts. Although their time together could not be long, he could at least ensure that what she took from it was positive and memorable—for all the right reasons. Thus he took his time, making love to her and using his skill to give her pleasure. And afterwards he held her in his arms and watched her sleep.





Chapter Seventeen

Wulfgar stood with Hermund on the dark hilltop, listening for any sound that might reveal the presence of the enemy force. No hoofbeats, no jingling harness broke the stillness. The air was cool and the light wind carried with it the mingled smells of wood smoke and cattle and dry grass. Other than that the night was still, as though the earth held its breath. Wulfgar felt the skin prickle along his spine.

 ‘They may not come tonight,’ murmured Hermund. ‘The new moon won’t appear for a day or two yet.’

 ‘They’re coming,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘I can feel it.’

 He glanced over his shoulder to where his men lay concealed below the rim of the hill. He could sense their readiness, feel the silent tension all around him.

 ‘There!’ said Hermund.

 Wulfgar followed the direction of his gaze and saw the glow of a lighted torch. He estimated it must be on the edge of the wood. A few moments later, he saw another and then another, until there were a dozen of them moving in the direction of the hamlet.

 ‘Let’s hope the other companies are in position,’ his companion continued.

 ‘They will be.’

 The torches moved nearer and then a flaming brand was thrown aloft. Wulfgar tracked its trajectory, watched it fall. The brand stopped well short of the ground. Almost at once the small glow flared and became a much larger one.

 ‘They’ve fired a roof,’ said Hermund.

 Wulfgar nodded. ‘So it begins.’

 He turned and raised his sword and whole force moved forwards, guided by the ever-growing beacon ahead of them. Two more roofs blossomed into flame. He gritted his teeth. That was another grievance to be settled with Ingvar when the time came. At least the inhabitants had been evacuated and were now safely within the pale at Drakensburgh. Anwyn would see to their welfare. For a brief instant her image filled his mind. Then it was gone and the night filled with distant shouting and the clash of arms. The team with Thrand and Asulf had sprung their surprise attack.

 Wulfgar halted his men some two hundred yards short of the conflict, now backlit by the flames. Darkness thickened and the sky grew murky with towering plumes of acrid smoke that hid the stars. He could see the figures of men, black against the ruddy glow, locked in fierce hand-to-hand fighting. Already bodies littered the ground.

 ‘Thor’s bones! Where are the rest of the swine?’ demanded Hermund.

 Before his companion could reply, the noise of battle was drowned by a roar from fifty throats as the remainder of Ingvar’s force broke from the cover of the wood to join the fight. Thrand and his companions formed up in a wedge-shaped shield wall in front of one of the remaining houses. The press around them grew thick, but the available space to attack was small so that, although heavily outnumbered, they were able to inflict much more damage than their foes.

 Seeing all attention turn that way, Wulfgar lifted his sword. ‘Now!’

 His men surged forwards like a tide, racing across the open ground to attack from the rear. At that signal, the other two companies of the Drakensburgh force swept in on either flank. For a short time Ingvar’s warriors were unaware of the danger and by the time they realised what was happening they were under attack from all sides. The fighting was close and brutal. Wulfgar carved a path forwards, stepping over the bodies of the slain, his sword smoking red, eyes narrowed against the heat, always seeking one man. And then, through the shimmering haze, he saw him.

 ‘Ingvar!’

 The furious, bellowing challenge carried over the din and the warrior turned, looking swiftly about him. Then he saw his foe and checked, eyes glittering with recognition and hatred.

 ‘I have waited for this moment, Viking.’

 With that he launched himself into the attack. Wulfgar feinted and the edge of the sword glanced off the rim of his shield. Almost instantaneously he swung his own blade in a slashing cut across the ribs. Saved by his mail shirt, Ingvar reeled back a pace, then recovered and came on. Their swords locked. Ingvar bared his teeth in a smile, his face just inches from his enemy’s.

 ‘Did you really think to keep her from me?’

 ‘Your battle is already lost,’ growled Wulfgar.

 ‘On the contrary, it’s just begun.’

 ‘No matter. I’ll keep her safe from you.’

 Wulfgar threw his opponent off and there followed a fierce exchange of blows. The heat around them increased and he blinked away sweat, his nostrils filled with the stench of blood and smoke, his arm rising and falling instinctively, blocking his enemy’s blade, seeking an opening. Ingvar broke and circled, the smile never leaving his face.

 ‘She’ll never be safe from me, Viking. I know how to be patient, you see. And one day you’ll grow careless. Then I’ll take back what is rightfully mine.’

 ‘She was never yours, nor ever will be.’

 He renewed the attack, harrying his opponent hard, but still he could find no way past his enemy’s defences. Ingvar laughed.

 ‘Perhaps I won’t kill you straight away. Perhaps I’ll let you watch while I take her. It’ll be the last thing you see before I have your eyes put out.’

 Wulfgar’s lip curled. ‘Hot air, braggart.’

 ‘I’ll make good the boast, believe me, and keep her closer than Torstein ever did. One night in my bed and she’ll forget she ever knew your name.’

 ‘The very thought of your bed would sicken any woman.’

 Ingvar’s eyes glinted red in the light of the flames and the blades clashed again in a short, fierce exchange. Then they parted once more.

 ‘She’ll come to my bed, Viking, and that right often. My appetites require feeding and they enjoy variety.’

 ‘You will not sate them with her.’

 ‘She’ll do whatever I may command. If not, her son will pay a heavy forfeit for his mother’s disobedience.’

 The words conjured a powerful image of the woman and child in all their terrible vulnerability. Once delivered into Ingvar’s clutches their fate would be dire indeed. Wulfgar had no trouble visualising the details and his jaw tightened in anger and disgust. With an effort he controlled both. While he had breath in his body and a sword in his hand, Anwyn and Eyvind would never come to harm.

 Fuelled by that knowledge, he renewed the attack, pressing his opponent harder, forcing him on to the back foot beneath a rain of punishing blows. Ingvar parried fast and gave ground. All trace of bravado vanished to be replaced by fury. Around them the number of his force began to dwindle. Noting it, Wulfgar smiled grimly and came on, driving Ingvar backwards, pace by pace. Then his foot slid on a patch of mud and Wulfgar’s blade found its opening. Ingvar staggered, cursing and clutching his thigh with one hand. Blood welled through his fingers. Breathing hard, he shot a baleful glance at his opponent and began to retreat. Before Wulfgar could close for the kill, two other fighting men backed into his path. He swore fluently. Hemmed in on every side, he could only watch in impotent wrath as Ingvar turned and fled into the darkness.