The Viking’s Touch(41)

 Wulfgar heard the implied rebuke and privately acknowledged the justice of it. However, it didn’t make him feel any better. ‘There will be men enough to protect Drakensburgh.’

 ‘I am sure there will. All the same, a woman and child alone are still vulnerable.’

 ‘They will not be alone.’

 ‘As you say, my lord.’ Ina paused. ‘The boy has grown fond of you. He will miss you.’

 ‘And I him.’

 ‘Lady Anwyn, too, will feel your absence keenly.’

 ‘As I will hers.’

 ‘Of course. How could you not?’

 The words, though quietly spoken, carried a distinct undercurrent. Wulfgar’s jaw tightened. ‘This decision was not lightly made.’

 ‘I did not think it could have been, my lord.’

 Wulfgar made himself meet the other man’s eye though it wasn’t as easy as it once had been. For some reason he felt increasingly wrong-footed and the more he tried to justify his actions the less convincing he knew they sounded. At the same time he didn’t even know why he was trying to justify himself. He was in charge here after all.

 ‘One day I shall return.’

 ‘They must be glad to know that.’ The old man’s gaze never wavered. ‘In the meantime, have no fear. I shall look after them—as you cannot.’ With that he made a courteous bow and walked away.

 Speechless, Wulfgar watched him go, torn between annoyance and disbelief and another feeling that was uncomfortably like guilt.





Anwyn lay staring at the roof beams, waiting for the queasiness to pass. She was thankful that Wulfgar wasn’t there lest he should suspect the truth. If she was careful, he need not find out. Unbidden, two tears trickled slowly down her cheeks. How foolish it had been to think that he might welcome the idea. Although he was kind to Eyvind it did not follow that he would want the kind of encumbrance that children represented. That had never been part of their agreement. A marriage in name only. Well, it had turned into rather more than that and she only had herself to blame. He had been honest with her, had never offered his love. And she had led him to believe that there could be no complications arising from their time together.

 These thoughts were interrupted by Jodis bringing a horn cup of chamomile tea.

 ‘To help settle your stomach, my lady.’

 ‘Thank you.’ Anwyn sat up cautiously. ‘I feel a little better now.’

 ‘Good.’ Jodis set down the cup and then eyed her quizzically. ‘Have you told him yet?’

 ‘I can’t.’

 ‘Why ever not?’

 Anwyn burst into tears. It was a while before she regained sufficient composure to be able to explain. Jodis heard her in growing concern.

 ‘We made a bargain and I cannot now expect to change it.’

 ‘Like it or not, it has changed,’ the maid replied.

 ‘Yes, and I must bear the responsibility for that.’

 ‘It seems to me that he bears half of the responsibility.’

 Anwyn shook her head. ‘I led him to believe there would be no consequences. He had no idea. If he had, the marriage might well have remained in name only.’

 Jodis snorted. ‘Yes, and pigs might fly. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I’ve never seen a man more smitten.’

 ‘He won’t be if he finds out about this.’

 ‘What man is not pleased to learn that his wife is carrying their child?’

 ‘He said that children bind a man. What if I told him, and then he felt compelled to stay?’

 ‘I thought you wanted him to stay.’

 ‘I do, but not under compulsion, otherwise he would come to hate me for it and the child, too,’ said Anwyn. ‘I would rather lose him than let that happen.’

 With so little time remaining to them any such declaration now was going to seem like a ploy to hold him or, if not, to make him feel guilty about going. She had no wish to do either. Having been largely responsible for this situation, she must be the one to deal with it. Although she had been unable to win his love, she would have his child and keep it safe.





Chapter Twenty-One

The remaining days passed quickly and Anwyn found herself secretly wishing that some unforeseen difficulty might occur to delay the ship’s departure, but her hopes proved vain. The preparations for the sailing went without a hitch. Part of her wanted to get Wulfgar alone, to blurt out the truth and beg him to stay. However, she did none of those things. If he must go, then she wanted the last memory of her to be easy on his mind so that, when he did think of her in the months and years to come, it might be with fondness. Then he might also look forward to returning one day.

 On the night prior to their departure she organised a feast in honour of the Sea Wolf’s crew. She dressed herself with care for the occasion, donning one of her finest gowns. Then she took her place beside him and forced herself to act the part of gracious hostess. It was by far the greatest challenge she had faced.

 Wulfgar, alive to every nuance, sensed the tension behind the outwardly smiling manner and understood it. This parting was not going to be easy for either of them and he was grateful that she hadn’t made it harder than it already was. She looked beautiful, the sea-green gown a perfect foil for her hair and eyes. It was an apt choice, too. Had that been deliberate? On reflection he thought it probably was. Anwyn was nothing if not acute. Beauty, wit and intelligence were a heady combination. He was going to miss it. Just then he found it hard to visualise a life in which she was absent.

 ‘You look wonderful,’ he said. ‘As always you do me honour.’

 His look summoned up a familiar glow inside her. ‘Indeed I wish to, my lord.’

 ‘You could never do other.’

 ‘I thank you for the compliment.’

 ‘I meant it.’ He surveyed her steadily. ‘How could I not when you embody all that a man could desire?’

 ‘All things to all men?’

 ‘Does the thought not please you?’

 She shook her head. ‘I had rather be all things to one man.’

 ‘You are particular in your preference, then.’

 ‘I cannot afford to be anything else.’

 ‘In truth, you are more to me than any other woman could be.’

 Her pulse quickened a little. Although he did not speak of love his words offered more than she had expected. It hurt to know that she could never have his heart, but she was glad he had not lied. Kindness, gentleness, tenderness were valuable qualities and rare enough. He had offered them freely. She had no cause for complaint; besides, one could only ever have what the other person was prepared to give.





Wulfgar had no inclination to linger in the hall that night. It was their last and he wanted to give that time to her. Leaving the others to talk and drink, he led her away to their chamber. Then he undressed her with slow care and took her to bed. This time he left the lamp burning, wanting to look and remember. In its soft glow he made love to her, tenderly, passionately.

 And in return she gave him all of herself, arousing and sensual, so that she became for him the embodiment of fantasy. Her caresses lingered, hands memorising every part of him, filling her mind with sense impressions, every nerve attuned only to him. The touch and taste and scent of him both fulfilled and created desire and longing. And the night became a cocoon, a world unto itself where nothing else existed and time was suspended.

 Later they drowsed awhile, until mutual need brought them together again, this time with a fiercer passion. Again she held nothing back, meeting and matching his desire; feeding it and being fed in return, avid for every shared moment.

 The night was far advanced before she slept. Wulfgar watched over her for a while, letting his eyes drink in the details of her face, each line and curve and shadow, and fix each one in his memory. Sleep had softened all traces of strain from her expression. Now she looked peaceful, almost childlike and, withal, strangely vulnerable. He sighed. She would not be vulnerable. He had seen to that. Drakensburgh would be well defended. For some reason the knowledge did not lighten his spirit, or dispel the strange and sombre mood in which he found himself once more. Along with it was the unwelcome sensation of having been here before. The circumstances had been different back then, but the feeling of guilt was just the same—that and the ache in his heart.





Slowly, imperceptibly, grey dawn light filtered through the cracks in the shutters. Anwyn pushed down the sensation of sick dread that lay like lead in her stomach. She had decided to say her farewells at Drakensburgh before Wulfgar and his men left for the ship. Her courage went only so far and she knew she was not equal to watching him sail away. However, when Eyvind had asked she’d told him that he might go with Ina to watch the ship depart. The child had not said much on the subject although he had been rather quieter of late. She knew that he would miss Wulfgar, too, albeit for different reasons, and was glad of Ina’s steady and reassuring presence. He would be their rock as he had been before.

 They went together to the hall and broke their fast with his men. It was a short, snatched meal with little time for speech. The atmosphere was convivial, but purposeful, too, eagerness bright in the faces of the warriors around them. Although it was not apparent from his expression she guessed that Wulfgar felt it, too. If he concealed it, then perhaps it was to spare her feelings. Adventure beckoned. The sea summoned these men; it was in their blood and it ruled their hearts. She could never compete. The knowledge was bitter.