The first inkling of their presence was the muffled thudding of hoofs on turf. Ina glanced over his shoulder. The riders were closing fast. Sunlight glinted on helmets and mail. He frowned. Then he caught sight of the drawn swords and lowered spear points. A low oath escaped him. Thrusting Eyvind behind him, he called a warning to the rest and drew his blade.
Almost all their companions were unarmed save for small belt knives. Some started to run. Those few that had weapons turned to face the foe. Then the first horses were upon them and the air filled with cries of pain and terror. The slaughter was swift and ruthless and in moments the turf was littered with bodies. Ina accounted for two of the raiders before three more closed in. He fought valiantly, but he was on foot and outnumbered and his defiance was short-lived. The first blow cut deep into his arm, the next into his side. He staggered, glaring at his enemies. Then he recognised their leader.
‘I might have guessed.’
Grymar’s lip curled. ‘You grow careless, old man.’
‘Better careless than treacherous, you cowardly dog.’
The smile faded. ‘You’ve just delivered your last insult.’
Grymar spurred forwards, sword upraised. Ina tried to block the downwards blow, but pain and blood loss had weakened him and the deadly blade broke through his defence and found its mark. Eyvind screamed and, heedless of milling horses and slashing weapons, ran to the old man and fell on his knees.
‘Ina! Ina!’
The old warrior made no reply. Eyvind sobbed. Then a large hand seized him by the scruff of his tunic and dragged him upright, jerking him off his feet. He kicked and fought. His captor cuffed him hard across the ear. Seconds later he was tossed face down across the pommel of a saddle. Grymar shouted to his companions and, with that, all the horsemen turned their mounts and galloped away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
As the Sea Wolf rounded the rocky headland the bay disappeared from view. Wulfgar’s jaw tightened and he looked away, his gaze turning back to the coastline now stretching away off their starboard side. It was a fine view and ordinarily he would have enjoyed it, as he’d have enjoyed the salt-sharp tang in the breeze and the movement of the ship beneath his feet. This morning the green water was the colour of Anwyn’s eyes. That thought begot others, intimate and sensual, and for a moment he was overwhelmed by a sensation of loss. It was replaced by anger for the memory of their parting was bitter and it smarted like a wound. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his former mental balance, to relocate the focus that had guided him these past five years, but somehow it had vanished like a landmark in fog. The resulting confusion was disquieting and created a feeling that was much like self-disgust.
‘A good day for it, my lord.’
He glanced at Hermund, manning the steering oar beside him. ‘Good enough.’
‘If the weather holds we’ll be laughing.’
‘No doubt.’
Hermund nodded towards the small cove in the middle distance. ‘That’s where we pick up the smoked herring, my lord.’
‘Right.’
‘Man said he’d have it ready and waiting.’
‘Good.’
‘We can be in and out in half an hour.’
Wulfgar grunted, but vouchsafed no reply. Instead he fixed his gaze on the cove. However, he saw nothing of the coastline. All he could see was the hurt on Anwyn’s face as he turned to go. The recollection twisted like a knife and cut more deeply, though not as deeply as her words. If you truly cared…you wouldn’t leave. Wulfgar shuddered and blinked. The cove reappeared in his line of vision.
Hermund regarded him with mild concern. ‘Are you all right, my lord?’
‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You had an odd look on your face.’
Wulfgar frowned. ‘Never mind the look on my face. Just steer the damned ship.’
The words burst out almost before he was aware, but as soon as they were spoken he regretted them. He sighed and let out a long breath.
‘Forgive me, Hermund. I’m out of sorts, that’s all.’
‘Forget it. ’Tis no matter.’
Wulfgar smiled wryly. ‘I know of no one else who would put up with my ill humour as you do.’
‘It’s understandable,’ said Hermund. ‘It’s never easy to leave your woman behind.’
The accuracy of the remark hit hard and Wulfgar had the strange sensation of having been here before. Except that this was different; this time the woman knew who he was; he had warned her from the start what she could expect from him.
‘I was just the same,’ Hermund continued, ‘but a good skirmish would always sort me out.’
Wulfgar’s gaze went to the trackless waste of water ahead, yet try as he might he could not regain the feeling of anticipation it had once inspired. The notion of joining Rollo should have filled him with enthusiasm, but it did not, any more than the thought of dying in someone else’s battle. Your death will not change the past. Anwyn was right, but his death wish hadn’t been about changing the past; it was about losing the present burden of guilt. Perhaps it’s time to forgive yourself… His throat tightened. It was too late to ask forgiveness of Freya and Toki. What excuses did you fob them off with? He grimaced. What hurts is your guilt. The scorn in those words was lacerating, but it did not detract from their truth. Nor could he pretend things were different this time; only the excuses were new.
When he entered into marriage with Anwyn had he not already prepared his exit strategy, dressing it in the guise of openness and honesty? This is what I am prepared to give and no more. Take it or leave it. I am absolved of all other responsibilities. Yet she had stinted nothing; had given all of herself; had trusted him. Nor was she alone in that trust. His fingers closed on the little wooden sword in his belt. So you will remember your promise. The feeling of self-disgust intensified. He was seven and twenty, but in truth no different from the selfish, headstrong youth he had been before; ignoring everything but his own desires; taking the affection of others for granted as if it were somehow his due. He was brave enough in battle, but a coward in all the ways that mattered. I will not swear my undying love…because then, as Anwyn had rightly said, he would have had to offer all of himself, unconditionally and for ever, and he had not been man enough to do it. To love was to be vulnerable, to risk hurts far worse than any battle wound, and that was why he feared it. Wulfgar’s knuckles whitened. Instead of facing his fear he had abandoned those who needed him most and left other men to shoulder his responsibilities.
The knowledge cut like a blade. Time to forgive himself? If there was ever to be forgiveness it was going to have to be earned. He looked at Hermund.
‘Turn the ship around. I’m going back.’
Anwyn tried to concentrate on the torn sleeve she was mending but her mind refused to co-operate. It was filled instead with thoughts of Wulfgar. Their last words had been spoken in anger, words already bitterly regretted. His absence had left a great void that nothing else could fill. Already she could see the long years of aching emptiness stretching ahead with no possibility of solace, save for Eyvind. He was all that remained to her now.
The entrance of a guard roused her from these sombre reflections. ‘My lady, Lord Ingvar is at the gate.’
She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Ingvar, here?’
‘Aye, my lady.’
Disbelief turned swiftly to unease. ‘Has he brought an army?’
‘No, a small escort only. Some half-a-dozen men.’
‘What does he want?’
‘He says he desires to speak with you, my lady. Shall we admit him?’
‘Just him. His men remain outside.’
‘He may intend you harm, my lady.’
‘Then insist he hand over his weapons first.’
The guard bowed and hurried away to the gate. Jodis shook her head.
‘After all that has happened, Ingvar will surely not have the gall to ride in here unarmed and alone.’
‘He’d be taking a serious risk,’ replied Anwyn. ‘There must be a good reason for it. I suppose I’d better find out what it is.’
A short time later the gate swung open and a lone horseman rode through. He was unarmed, having clearly anticipated that his weapons would be removed if he wore them. Anwyn stood alone before the hall, watching the rider approach. He held the horse to a walk, apparently quite at his ease, and looking for all the world as though it were a casual social call. Anwyn’s unease deepened.
Ingvar reined in a few yards away and for a moment neither of them spoke, each taking the measure of the other. Then he smiled faintly.
‘You look well, Anwyn.’
‘What do you want, Ingvar? Why have you come here?’
‘Direct as always. Well, perhaps you are right. Under the circumstances we can probably dispense with the social niceties.’
‘For once we agree.’
He smiled, though the expression stopped well short of his eyes. ‘I note that the Sea Wolf sailed this morning. In truth, if the Viking had any care for you he would not have gone.’