The Viking’s Touch(45)

 ‘Can you ever forgive me for leaving?’

 ‘There is nothing to forgive, Wulfgar. You did what you thought you had to do.’

 ‘I’ve been a damned fool,’ he replied. ‘Not for the first time either. I have already lost a wife and child through my own selfish folly. I will not make that mistake again.’

 ‘You once told me that you would not stay for ever.’

 ‘When I said it I did not know how deeply I would come to feel for you,’ he replied. ‘After what happened before I took care to avoid emotional entanglements. In truth, I feared them. And then you rode into my life and everything changed. I tried to pretend it hadn’t but, when I sailed away from you today, I realised I was following my head instead of listening to my heart.’

 ‘I have wished for so long that I might have a place in your heart.’

 ‘You do have a place there, Anwyn—you and Eyvind both.’

 ‘I am glad. The time I spent with you was the happiest of my life. Not only for me—Eyvind also loved you well.’

 Her words caused his heart to leap. Perhaps there was hope after all. It took him a moment to realise that she had used the past tense.

 ‘We will get him back, I promise you.’

 ‘There is only way to ensure his safety now,’ she said tonelessly.

 It was another moment or two before the implications dawned, bringing with them the first icy touch of fear. He stared at her, incredulous. ‘You cannot mean to obey Ingvar’s behest.’

 ‘He gave me one hour, Wulfgar. The time is almost run.’

 ‘I will not let you go.’

 ‘You must.’

 ‘Never!’

 ‘If I do not arrive Ingvar will maim and kill my son.’ Fear and anger warred in her green gaze.

 ‘And if you do?’

 ‘Then Eyvind will live.’

 The expression in Wulfgar’s eyes became steely. ‘And what exactly were the terms of the bargain?’

 She drew a deep breath. ‘That I renounce my marriage to you and wed him.’

 The words dropped into a well of silence. Then, when he could control his voice, he said, ‘I see.’

 ‘There is no other choice now.’

 ‘I will not let you do this, Anwyn.’

 ‘It’s too late, Wulfgar.’

 ‘It’s not too late. I’ll find a way.’

 ‘This is the way.’

 ‘I will not lose you to Ingvar.’

 ‘You will never lose me to Ingvar,’ she replied, ‘but if you care for me at all you will let me go.’

 His face grew deathly pale. ‘Is that what you want?’

 Somehow she found the strength to meet his eye. ‘This is not about what I want, only about what must be done. I must go to Ingvar and you must return to your ship.’

 A muscle jumped in his cheek. ‘Run away?’

 ‘For my sake and Eyvind’s you must go—you and all your crew. Ingvar will spare the rest of the Drakensburgh folk if you do.’

 ‘As he spared Ina?’

 Now it was Anwyn who paled. ‘What do you mean?’

 ‘He must have been trying to protect Eyvind, but Ingvar’s men slew him all the same.’

 She blinked back tears. ‘They slew that dear, good old man?’

 ‘Aye, along with all the poor, unarmed wretches with him.’

 ‘Then truly there is no mercy left.’

 ‘It is not a quality known to men like Ingvar,’ he replied.

 ‘You are right, and that is why I must go. It is the only hope I have of saving Eyvind now.’

 The resolution in her voice chilled him to the core and he knew then that he could not dissuade her. As the ramifications became clear, love and fear and dread mingled with admiration for her spirit and her courage. Dredging up the remains of his own, he slackened his hold on her reins and found his voice again. ‘Then each of us will do what we must.’

 ‘Goodbye, Wulfgar.’ She managed another smile. ‘I will never forget that you came back.’

 Then, lest her resolution should fail, she touched the horse with her heels and cantered away. He sat motionless, gazing after her until she vanished over the crest of the next slope. Despair swelled like a boil. He threw back his head and a great visceral howl tore from his throat, telling of impotent rage and pain and loss.





Chapter Twenty-Three

Anwyn rode slowly towards the fortress of Beranhold, her gaze taking in the guard towers above the entrance and then the great spiked palisade stretching away on either side. Above the gate flew Ingvar’s standard: a snarling black bear on a red field, the beast for which the place was named. Her fingers tightened round the reins. Somewhere within that gloomy lair was Eyvind. He was all that mattered now.

 She pulled up some twenty yards short of the gate. Men’s voices sounded within and moments later the great portal swung open. She took a deep breath. Then, holding her horse to a walk, she rode on through under the eyes of the grinning guards. She ignored them, looking neither to left nor right, her attention focused on the hall ahead. Behind her the gate crashed shut and the heavy locking bar thudded into place. Her jaw tightened. For a moment she was transported back to her arrival at Drakensburgh when she was brought there to be Torstein’s bride. Only now the man who stood before the hall was Ingvar instead. He was flanked by Grymar and half-a-dozen others. Anwyn reined to a halt and waited, heart thumping, her eyes seeking a glimpse of Eyvind. There was none.

 Ingvar left his cronies and came forwards to meet her. ‘Lady Anwyn, welcome.’ The tone was courteous, but was belied by the mocking smile that accompanied it. ‘Please, won’t you step down?’

 Since there was nothing for it she dismounted and came to face him. ‘Where is my son?’

 ‘All in good time, my lady.’ He gestured towards the hall. ‘Shall we?’

 As they passed, the group of men nearby watched with appraising eyes and their grins widened. Grymar made her an exaggerated bow. Anwyn lifted her chin and accompanied Ingvar into the hall. Immediately she was hit by the stale smell of roasted meat and soiled rushes that mingled with the stink of dogs and urine and male sweat. Her stomach churned. Two huge hounds started up from their place by the hearth and advanced with low rumbling growls. The growls turned to yelps as Ingvar’s boot found their ribs. He rapped out an order and they slunk away again to the hearth. Anwyn swallowed hard, fighting disgust and fear.

 Ingvar turned towards her. ‘Will you take a cup of wine, my lady?’

 ‘No.’

 ‘Then we will proceed to business.’

 With an assurance she was far from feeling she met his eye. ‘I will do nothing until I have seen that my son is safe.’

 Ingvar was silent, appearing to deliberate, and for a terrible moment she thought he was going to refuse. However, she saw him nod instead.

 ‘Very well. Come.’

 Taking a firm grip on her arm, he conducted her through the building and out through a rear door. The fresh air was a blessed relief after the noisome fug of the hall and she breathed it gratefully, hurrying to keep up with her captor’s longer stride. He led her, not to another building as she had expected, but to an area of open ground beyond. Out on its own was a large wooden cage, in one corner of which sat a small, forlorn figure. Anwyn’s heart missed a beat.

 ‘Eyvind?’ In cold fury she turned to face Ingvar. ‘How dare you treat my son thus?’

 He seemed quite unperturbed. ‘The remedy for that lies in you.’

 The small figure in the cage looked up and then rose uncertainly to its feet. ‘Mother?’

 Wrenching herself free of Ingvar’s hold, she ran across the intervening space, falling on her knees before the bars. Eyvind flung himself towards her, his hands gripping hers tightly. His face was tear-stained and he was dirty and dishevelled, but otherwise he seemed unhurt.

 ‘Mother, it really is you!’

 Anwyn blinked back tears. ‘Yes, it’s me, my love. Are you all right? Have they hurt you?’

 He shook his head. ‘They’ve killed Ina. They cut him down.’

 She closed her eyes for a moment, striving to conquer the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I know, my love. I’m so sorry.’

 ‘Are you come to take me home?’

 ‘Eyvind, I—’ She broke off, looking up quickly as Ingvar’s shadow fell across them.

 ‘This is your home now, boy.’ He looked pointedly at Anwyn. ‘How long you continue to live in it depends on your mother.’

 With that he leaned down and, regaining his hold on her arm, dragged her to her feet. Her heart thumped in her breast, but fury temporarily conquered fear.

 ‘Free him, Ingvar.’

 ‘When all my conditions are met.’

 ‘You have already named your conditions, and I would not be here if I were not prepared to meet them.’

 ‘There is one more that I didn’t mention,’ he replied.

 ‘What do you mean?’

 ‘In a little while my servants will prepare you for your wedding. Then, before all my men, you will renounce your present marriage and take me as your husband. This night you will come willingly to my bed and—’