Seeing their leader flee and demoralised by their thinning numbers, others of his force broke away from the fighting and followed. Soon the rest were in full retreat, pursued by the Drakensburgh men. The battle continued to the edge of the wood where Wulfgar called a halt.
‘Enough! It’s blacker in there than the wings of Odin’s ravens. I’ll not lose men thus.’
‘There were precious few of Ingvar’s force left in any case,’ said Hermund. ‘They’ll go home to lick their wounds.’
‘Unfortunately the one I gave Ingvar wasn’t enough to kill him.’
They turned back towards the burning hamlet, now a scene of carnage. The burning huts had collapsed, casting a sullen light on the bodies of the slain and injured. However, almost all of them were Ingvar’s men. The Drakensburgh warriors were jubilant. Wulfgar located the group who had baited his trap, clapping Thrand on the shoulder.
‘You did well this night. Any losses?’
‘No, my lord. The scum couldn’t break our shield wall.’
Asulf grinned, his teeth very white in his smoke-blackened face. ‘I doubt they’ll be back.’
‘Not if they know what’s good for them,’ growled Beorn.
‘They know,’ said Asulf. ‘Didn’t you see them run?’
Jeering laughter testified that they had. Wulfgar grinned and turned to Hermund.
‘Let’s get our injured home. We’ll return to bury the dead later.’
‘Looks like most of the hamlet has been destroyed.’
‘Huts can always be rebuilt,’ replied Wulfgar.
Night was turning into morning before the men returned. Anwyn heard their arrival and hastened to meet them, her gaze desperately searching the crowd for Wulfgar. At last she located him, filthy but indisputably alive, and her spirit soared. His companions laid aside their weapons and began to remove their war gear, then gathered at the trough to wash off the blood and grime of battle. Having given orders for the tending of the wounded, Wulfgar went to join the group of men at the well. He, too, removed his sword and then dragged off the heavy mail shirt in order to strip off the sweat-soaked tunic and shirt beneath. Watching him, Anwyn breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief. The blood she had seen on his mail clearly wasn’t his. The hard-muscled torso was unmarked by any fresh wounds. He laved his hands and then sluiced his face and neck and chest, using the shirt to dry himself afterwards. Then, as though sensing himself watched, he looked up. The blue gaze warmed. Then he began to thread his way through the knots of talking men towards her.
Wulfgar’s eyes never left her. In the back of his mind he could still hear Ingvar’s taunts. The result was fierce, possessive anger and a desire to protect. Underlying that was physical need, the familiar earthy passion that all men knew after combat. Seeing her before him in the flesh did nothing to diminish the sensation.
Several glances came their way, but he was unaware of them, his attention entirely on the woman before him. For a moment neither one spoke. Then he saw her smile and his blood turned to fire. He returned the smile.
‘Do I take it that you defeated Ingvar’s force?’ she asked.
‘Soundly.’
‘Oh, Wulfgar, I have been so worried these past hours.’
‘No cause, my sweet.’
‘Sigurd’s information was accurate then.’
‘Aye, it was.’
‘What will you do with him now?’
‘Nothing. He can stay where he is until the morrow.’
She paused. ‘You must be hungry. There is food and drink ready in the hall.’
‘Presently,’ he replied.
The blue gaze locked with hers, the expression unfathomable, yet something about it caused her pulse to quicken, like his closeness now. In spite of his recent ablutions she could feel the heat coming off him.
‘Is anything amiss, Wulfgar?’
For answer his arm closed round her waist, pulling her hard against him. A moment later his mouth came down on hers in a searing kiss that drove all other thought away. When he drew back from that she had no difficulty in reading his expression. Without another word he bent and scooped her up. Heads turned in their direction and she glimpsed grinning faces. Her cheeks turned pink.
‘My lord, your men are watching.’
‘Let them.’
He strode towards the bower. Anwyn tried to wriggle free, but he held her easily.
‘Wulfgar?’ She tried harder, but to no avail. ‘Wulfgar!’
‘Be still. You’re not going anywhere.’
‘Put me down.’
‘No.’
‘You can’t…’
On reaching their destination he kicked the door shut behind them and continued on to their chamber. There he spilled her on to the bed, following her down, pinning her there and silencing her protest with another kiss. It grew deeper and more demanding. Protest forgotten now, Anwyn returned it. She could feel his arousal and the answering glow in the core of her body. He smelled of musk and iron and smoke, pungent and dangerous, the scent of the warrior. Her hands slid over the silver arm rings to the hard-muscled flesh between. The inner glow flared and became fire. Her hands fumbled for the fastenings of his clothing, found them, tugged them loose, closing her fingers around him. He drew in a sharp breath, looking into her face, the blue eyes darkened now to violet.
‘Odin’s blood, I want you, Anwyn, but I fear I cannot be gentle.’
For answer she drew his face down to hers and kissed him, a long and passionate kiss that tasted of honey. Her tongue teased his, seductively probing. Seconds later her skirts were round her waist. What followed was not gentle, but a hot, fierce coupling that made her cry out and sent shock waves of pleasure crashing through the length of her body. Gasping, she arched against him, reaching for him. Wulfgar pushed her down, clamping her wrists to the bed. She writhed beneath him, but he held her fast, riding her hard, until with a cry of triumph he reached his own shuddering climax. Then, chest heaving, he collapsed beside her.
Anwyn turned her head to look at him, temporarily speechless. She had thought that his earlier lovemaking was the sum of all pleasure. Now the error of that assumption was all too apparent. The implications sent a thrill of anticipation through her entire being.
‘That was incredible,’ she said then.
‘It’s called post-battle lust.’
‘Worth waiting for again,’ she replied.
Wulfgar smiled and brushed her lips with his. Then he began to remove her gown. ‘It isn’t finished yet, my sweet. Not by a long way.’
Chapter Eighteen
The following morning Wulfgar had the prisoner brought before him. Sigurd darted nervous glances at the warriors gathered around, clearly expecting the worst.
‘What do you want us to do with him, my lord?’ asked Hermund.
‘Fetch a horse,’ said Wulfgar, ‘and tie him on. Then send him back to Ingvar. I’m sure his master will be pleased to see him. He may wish to question him about the reasons for his recent rout at our hands.’
His men grinned appreciatively. Sigurd’s face registered panic and he began to resist the hands dragging him towards the waiting horse.
‘I’m only sorry I won’t be there to witness that interview,’ said Hermund. ‘Frodi, you and Dag see he gets safely back.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ replied Frodi.
When Sigurd was securely tied to the horse and the trio was ready to depart, Asulf raised a hand in farewell.
‘Be sure to remember us to Ingvar, won’t you?’
The response was a brief look of fury and loathing before the horse and prisoner were led away.
The aftermath of battle had left much work to be done. Wulfgar’s next task was to organise a burial detail for the slain who, with the exception of three men, were exclusively Ingvar’s warriors.
‘If the fight had been out in the fields somewhere, I’d be tempted to leave the bodies to the foxes and the crows,’ said Hermund.
‘So would I,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘but as it is we dare not, lest the stink and corruption breed a pestilence.’
‘You’re right, of course, though the swine are little deserving of the honour.’ Hermund glanced at the heap of weapons and mail taken from the bodies of the dead. ‘At least their war gear will go to arm our own men now.’
Thrand, who had been examining the corpses closely, gave it up and came to join them, his expression suggestive of disappointment. ‘Grymar Big Mouth isn’t here, my lord. He must have fled into the wood with the others.’
‘More than likely,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘The man is a survivor if ever I saw one.’
Thrand sighed. ‘Ah, well. I’ll find the cur one day.’
‘In the meantime we’ve got more important things to think about,’ said Hermund. ‘Let’s start by getting this carrion into the ground.’
‘When it’s cooled down enough we’ll set some men to clearing the fire debris,’ said Wulfgar. ‘The rebuilding should start as soon as may be. These folk have lost enough.’