The Viking’s Touch(46)

 Unable to contain her mounting anger, Anwyn cut in. ‘You may take me to your bed, Ingvar, but you will never find me willing.’

 He continued, unperturbed, as though she had not spoken. ‘—and whenever I wish it thereafter.’

 ‘I will resist with every means in my power.’

 Ingvar continued to survey her coolly. ‘If I detect the least sign of reluctance in you, the boy will be whipped. If I see any further display of defiance in your manner, he will be whipped. If you ever raise your voice or speak disrespectfully to me again, or even look at me in a way that suggests disrespect, he will be whipped. If you think to take your own life, know now that he will die immediately after you do.’

 Anwyn’s face drained of colour. In that moment she would have given much for a concealed dagger in her sleeve, and the split second of surprise in which to use it. As it was, Ingvar held all the weapons and she dared not antagonise him further.

 He paused. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

 She lowered her eyes lest he should read their expression. ‘Very clear, my lord.’

 ‘I hope so.’ He glanced at Eyvind. ‘So much depends on it, does it not?’





Wulfgar rode slowly back to Drakensburgh, his mind submerged in the emotional chaos of his parting from Anwyn. He had taken wounds in battle, but none of those hurts had ever compared with the pain he felt now. It was as though his heart had been ripped from his breast. Only once before had he ever felt the like. Freya and Toki were lost to him and he could not help them, but while there was breath in his body he would not accept the loss of another wife and child. If he hadn’t been such an accursed fool, they would have been with him now. He should have been there. What kind of man had twice to lose what was most precious before he truly understood its value?

 In that instant he acknowledged the emotion he had tried so hard to avoid: he knew now that he loved Anwyn beyond all reason, that with her he had found what he never thought to have again. Yet when she needed him most he had failed her. The knowledge burned into his brain. How could this ever be forgiven? How could he even think they might have a future together after this? It wasn’t only her he had abandoned. He had failed Eyvind, too. You will come back for me? Wulfgar gritted his teeth.

 ‘I’m back,’ he murmured, ‘and I will come for you, I swear it.’

 With that resolution the chaos began to dissolve and give way to more rational thought. Just let him get them both to safety, and he would do whatever Anwyn wanted afterwards. He did not expect her forgiveness, but he would make what amends he might. As he began to lay his plans, grief was gradually overlain by cold deliberation. He knew better than to underestimate Ingvar; there would only be one chance to save Anwyn and Eyvind and it could only be achieved with nerve and a cool head. When that was accomplished there would be time enough to unleash his rage.





On reaching Drakensburgh he summoned all the men to the hall. When everyone was gathered he called for quiet. Having got their attention, he began with an account of those events of which the Drakensburgh men knew nothing. The news was received in a disbelieving and stony silence. Then the man called Rorik spoke up.

 ‘The scum killed Ina?’

 ‘Aye. And now Ingvar has the boy and Lady Anwyn, too.’

 ‘Then we must go and get them back.’

 The room erupted in a roar of angry agreement. Wulfgar held up a hand for silence.

 ‘We’ll get them back,’ he replied, ‘but it cannot be done with a show of force. At the very first inkling of trouble Ingvar will kill Eyvind. We have to free the boy and Lady Anwyn before we can deal with Ingvar and the rest.’

 ‘How are we going to do that?’

 ‘I’ve been thinking about it and I believe it can be done.’

 Hermund regarded him shrewdly. ‘What have you got in mind?’

 Wulfgar began to explain. As they listened the men’s eyes brightened.

 ‘And after we’ve rescued the boy and his mother, my lord?’ asked Thrand.

 ‘After that,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘all insults shall be avenged in blood.’





Anwyn stood motionless while the women servants prepared her, removing her gown and replacing it with another. It was a fine garment of deep-green wool, richly embroidered with gold thread. They combed out her hair and dressed it again in an intricate style around a thin gold fillet, and looped up the heavy locks behind, interweaving them with matching ribbons. They placed a gold torque around her neck and gold bracelets on her wrists. She made no protest, her face impassive, giving no clue to the terror behind. She would do whatever Ingvar commanded now because there was no choice, but she knew full well that whatever she did could only buy a temporary reprieve for Eyvind. Soon enough the child in her belly would become apparent and Ingvar would know it was not his.

 Wulfgar’s image drifted into her mind, bringing with it the familiar ache in her heart. For the rest of her life she would remember the look in his eyes as she sent him away. It was the hardest thing she had ever done and yet the knowledge that he had cared enough to come back sustained her. It would help her to do what must be done now. It would be the one light in the dark days ahead. She might be forced to share Ingvar’s bed, but it would be Wulfgar’s face she saw in her dreams.

 The servants finished their task and stood back respectfully, holding up a large disc of polished metal for her inspection of their handiwork. Anwyn surveyed it dispassionately. The woman who stared back at her was beautiful, regal in every part of her dress and bearing, but somehow nothing to do with her. She glanced down at the ring on her hand and then reluctantly removed it. If she did not, Ingvar most certainly would. She could easily visualise the pleasure he would take in doing it, and in casting it away. Not only that, he might also take its presence ill and punish Eyvind for her lapse. She couldn’t let that happen. However, neither was she prepared to lose this last treasured connection with Wulfgar. Taking a length of ribbon, she threaded it through the ring and fastened the ends about her neck. When it was done she slipped the ring out of sight under the front of her gown. Later she would have to find another hiding place, but it would serve for now.

 Footsteps sounded in the passage without and a heavy fist rapped at the door. Then a man’s voice spoke.

 ‘It is time.’

 Anwyn took a deep breath and moved towards the door. A servant hastened to open it. Four guards waited outside. They fell in on either side, flanking her. Then they escorted her back to the hall where Ingvar waited.





Since the war band would not be leaving until dusk, Wulfgar ordered the servants to bring them food and drink. He knew it would be the last opportunity to eat for a while. However, he limited the liquid refreshment to ale and that in small quantity. There would be a time for drinking later. He joined his men for the meal, but ate sparingly, his mind on the task ahead. The empty chair beside him was sufficient reminder of how much was at stake. He tried not to think about what might be happening to Anwyn right now, but it wasn’t easy. He guessed that Ingvar would use the child to control the mother, and the certainty of what he would demand fuelled Wulfgar’s rage. What made it worse was knowing that she could not refuse. The idea of any man laying hands on her was unthinkable. That another man should possess her, violate her, was beyond bearing. He could visualise Ingvar’s gloating triumph all too well, a triumph made sweeter for knowing that he took an enemy’s wife to his bed. Would he compound his victory by hurting her in other ways? Wulfgar’s hand clenched round his cup. If Anwyn tried to fight… The thought would not finish itself.

 Leaving his men to finish their meal, he got up and went outside for some air to clear his head. The sun was lower in the sky now and the shadows lengthening. He stood awhile, collecting his thoughts. Only a cool mind would accomplish his purpose now.

 The voice of the guard on the gate rang out. ‘Visitors, my lord. About a hundred men, I reckon.’

 Wulfgar’s first thought was that it might be Ingvar’s force. Then common sense reasserted itself. Ingvar already held too great an advantage to need a show of armed might.

 ‘Do they bear a standard?’ he called back.

 ‘Aye, my lord, they do, but I cannot yet make it out.’ The guard squinted into the distance. ‘Wait! It looks like Lord Osric’s banner.’

 ‘Odin’s sacred ravens,’ muttered Wulfgar. ‘Now what?’

 He took the steps to the rampart two at a time. A bowshot from the gate the approaching force halted; then a group of six riders detached itself from the vanguard and came on. Wulfgar had no trouble recognising their leader. He frowned. The guard eyed him doubtfully.

 ‘Do we open the gate, my lord?’

 ‘You do.’

 He retraced his steps and went to wait before the hall, watching as the riders swept into the compound.

 ‘What in Frigg’s name does that little reptile want?’ said a voice at his shoulder.

 Wulfgar glanced round to see Hermund. ‘Good question.’

 Osric reined in and dismounted, throwing his reins to a servant. Then he favoured Wulfgar with a curt nod.