The Viking’s Touch(44)

 ‘Do not presume to judge him.’

 ‘He does not deserve your loyalty.’

 ‘I give my loyalty where I see fit,’ she replied coldly.

 ‘He does not deserve you at all—or the farewell party his leaving attracted. Your son was among their number, wasn’t he?’

 Her stomach wallowed. ‘What is your interest in my son?’

 ‘Considerable, I assure you.’ He paused. ‘He is now under my protection, you see.’

 Anwyn blenched. ‘Where is he? What have you done with him?’

 ‘Have no fear. He is quite safe.’

 ‘What is it that you want, Ingvar? Tell me.’

 ‘What I have always wanted, Anwyn.’

 ‘Speak plainly. What is your price for Eyvind’s life?’

 ‘You are,’ he replied.

 ‘My life for his? I will give it gladly.’

 ‘A noble sentiment and one that does you credit. However, that is not what I intend.’

 ‘Then what do you want?’

 ‘You will renounce your marriage to the Viking and you will marry me. Thereafter all Drakensburgh lands will be amalgamated with mine.’

 Anwyn felt as though she had been turned to stone. ‘And if I refuse?’

 ‘Then you will not see your son alive again.’

 ‘And if I give the order you will not leave here alive.’

 Ingvar nodded. ‘Quite possibly, but then word of my death will precipitate his.’

 She realised she ought to have foreseen it. ‘That is why you rode in so confidently.’

 ‘Just so. However, no one need die.’

 ‘Please, Ingvar. I beg you, let him go.’

 ‘You have one hour to decide.’ The gold-brown eyes burned into hers. ‘You will come alone to Beranhold and present yourself at my gate. If not…’

 Anwyn shook her head. ‘You could not be so cruel.’

 ‘I am not used to jest, Anwyn. If you do not come I shall send you earnest of my seriousness—one of Eyvind’s fingers, or an ear perhaps. His death will not be swift.’ He paused, seeing the tears on her cheeks. ‘But, if you do as I ask, he shall not be harmed in any way. It’s your choice.’

 ‘What choice?’

 He gathered his reins. ‘One hour, Anwyn. I’ll be waiting.’

 With that he turned his horse and rode slowly back towards the gate. It swung open and he continued on through. Moments later she heard the sound of hoofbeats as he and his escort rode away.





Wulfgar and his crew were close to shore when first they saw the circling scavenger birds.

 ‘What is it that so interests them?’ asked Thrand.

 ‘Dead sheep or cow probably,’ replied Asulf.

 ‘Must have died suddenly then.’

 ‘How come?’

 Thrand sighed. ‘Well, it wasn’t there when we left or we’d have noticed the birds then, wouldn’t we?’

 Wulfgar said nothing, but the feeling of foreboding grew stronger and he waited with mounting impatience for the ship’s keel to touch the strand.

 ‘I reckon we’ll come with you and investigate,’ said Hermund.

 Leaving half-a-dozen men to guard the ship, they made their way back through the dunes and reached the heath a short time later. Then they saw the reason for the flocking scavenger birds. The sward was littered with bodies, scattered across a wide area. A swift glance at the first few told its own tale. More disturbingly, it revealed that the faces were familiar.

 Beorn frowned. ‘These are Drakensburgh folk.’

 ‘They were also unarmed,’ replied Hermund. ‘Most of their wounds are behind. They were taken by surprise and then cut down as they tried to flee.’

 Wulfgar nodded, his expression grim. ‘It certainly looks that way.’

 They continued their inspection. Then Asulf stopped in his tracks and called to the others.

 ‘Over here!’

 His companions hastened to join him and then they, too, stopped and stared at the corpse by their feet.

 ‘It’s Ina!’ exclaimed Thrand.

 The others exchanged incredulous and wrathful glances. Wulfgar’s gaze hardened as he stared upon the body, taking in every detail of the savage wounds now encrusted with dried blood and blackened by flies. Close by lay the bodies of two armed men. The old warrior had clearly given a good account of himself before he was cut down. The knowledge filled Wulfgar with cold rage.

 ‘He was a brave and worthy man and he has earned his place in Odin’s hall,’ he said.

 ‘Which is more than will ever be said of the cowardly earslings who did this,’ muttered Asulf, glancing around.

 ‘The perpetrators will pay,’ replied Wulfgar.

 Thrand nodded. ‘You speak true, my lord. Their worst nightmares could not conjure the half of what they will suffer when we find them.’

 A loud and growling chorus of agreement greeted his words. Then Beorn looked around.

 ‘If Ina’s here, where’s the boy?’

 His words were greeted with absolute silence, the faces all around him registering angry shock as the implications sank in. Wulfgar’s knuckles whitened round the hilt of his sword.

 ‘Eyvind,’ he murmured. Then, glancing round, ‘Find him. Find my son.’

 They resumed the search, fanning out, to cover the remaining ground. Wulfgar joined them, moving swiftly from one body to the next, his heart like lead in his breast. Only once before this had he known a pain so deep. He swallowed hard. Did Anwyn know of this yet? The thought of her grief smote him. She must surely lay the blame at his door, and rightly, too. There could be no forgiveness for this. The knowledge was bitter indeed.

 They examined all the bodies of the slain, but the quest proved vain.

 ‘The child is not here, my lord,’ said Hermund.

 Wulfgar exhaled slowly, and some of the dread he had felt just moments before began to dissipate. ‘Are you sure?’

 ‘Quite sure. The rest of the slain are adults.’

 ‘Maybe the lad escaped in the confusion,’ said Thrand.

 ‘Aye, maybe,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘In any event there’s only one way to find out. We push on to Drakensburgh.’





They covered the ground at a jog trot and reached the gate a short time later. The guards’ expressions revealed blank astonishment, but they were quick to open the gates and admit the returning warriors. Wulfgar paused just long enough to get a brief account of recent events, news which did nothing to improve his mood, and then hurried off to find Anwyn.

 However, when he reached the bower it was devoid of company save for Jodis, whose swollen eyelids and tear-stained face spoke more than words could. On hearing his footsteps she looked up, staring as though he were an apparition. Then she began to sob anew. Wulfgar seized her by the shoulders.

 ‘Where is Lady Anwyn?’ he demanded. ‘Where is Eyvind?’

 ‘G-gone, my lord.’

 ‘Gone where?’

 It took some moments before she was calm enough to speak and thus, by slow degrees, he got the story out of her. As he listened his face went white and his heart filled anew with rage and dread.

 ‘When did she leave?’

 ‘Not long ago, my lord.’

 Wulfgar left her and ran to the stables. Five minutes later he was mounted and riding in the direction of Beranhold. The horse was fresh and swift and Wulfgar prayed to every god he knew that he might overtake Anwyn before she reached her destination. The thought of her fear and sorrow was like a scourge, and the rage he felt turned inwards and was compounded by self-recrimination. What he had done was unpardonable and that made everything so much worse.

 He pushed the horse until it was running flat out, covering the ground in a mile-eating gallop. At the top of the next hill he reined in to get his bearings and scan the countryside. His heart sank as he detected no sign of her. Then, as he was about to give up hope, he spied movement in the distance and he saw the other horse perhaps a quarter of a mile ahead of him. Gritting his teeth, he urged his mount on again. It was not too late. He would catch her.





Anwyn was too deeply sunk in dejection to be aware of pursuit until the other horse was almost upon her. With a start of fear she was jerked out of her gloomy reverie, visualising Ingvar’s men. Had he lied? Was this all a ruse? Having lured her out of Drakensburgh, did he mean to have her killed? Leaning forwards she urged her horse on, but the other was bigger and faster and soon drew level. Its rider leaned across and grabbed her reins, pulling both animals to a halt. Only then did she see who the rider was and the resulting flood of emotion almost undid her.

 ‘Wulfgar.’

 The sight of her wondering smile cut deeper than tears ever could. ‘Anwyn, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

 ‘Ingvar has taken Eyvind.’

 ‘I know. Jodis told me.’ He paused, his gaze fixed on her face. ‘When she said you had already left I feared I was too late, but the gods have answered my prayers.’

 She swallowed hard. ‘I thought I would never see you again.’