The Viking’s Touch(7)

 ‘Pleasing? To whom?’

 ‘To me, certainly.’

 ‘So that you could sell me for a profit later?’

 ‘Oh, I wouldn’t sell you,’ he replied and was gratified to see her blush deepen. ‘However, the situation doesn’t arise since I am not in a position to do any such thing. You are therefore quite safe.’

 Safe was not the word she would have chosen just then. Nor was she entirely sure how much of what he said had been spoken entirely in jest. The expression in his eyes was sufficient to bring back all her former self-consciousness.

 Seeing her indecision, he smiled faintly. ‘Should I not receive the benefit of the doubt?’

 Anwyn was silent, trying to order her scattered thoughts. He was an avowed mercenary, a pirate. She had known him less than a day. How far could she trust him? Eyvind looked up at her anxiously.

 ‘Please, Mother?’

 ‘I think you’re outvoted,’ said Wulfgar.

 She threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right. I give in.’

 Eyvind jumped up and down with glee. ‘Can we go now?’

 ‘Why not?’ replied Wulfgar. ‘No time like the present.’





In spite of his suggestion that she might bring a large escort, Anwyn contented herself with Ina and half-a-dozen others. As the ship couldn’t go anywhere it seemed unlikely that Wulfgar would do anything untoward. They rode back to the bay, she having lent him a horse for the purpose. When they arrived it was to the sound of hammering and banging. Men swarmed all over the deck and the sand where the striped sail was still spread above the tide line. Eyvind took it all in wide-eyed.

 Beside him, Anwyn quietly surveyed the vessel’s sleek lines. Built for speed and manoeuvrability, she would descend on an enemy like a hawk on its prey. Resistance would be swiftly overcome. Her crew were hunters, too, like the man who led them, the stranger beside her now. The knowledge sent a frisson down her spine.

 ‘A fine ship,’ she observed.

 ‘Would you care to take a closer look?’ he asked.

 Eyvind regarded him eagerly. ‘Can I go on board?’

 ‘Of course.’

 The child looked at his mother, waiting.

 ‘You may go.’ She looked at Ina. ‘Stay with him.’

 The old warrior dismounted and lifted the boy down in his turn. Wulfgar summoned Hermund.

 ‘Go on ahead and show our guests around.’

 ‘Delighted, I’m sure.’ Hermund gestured towards the vessel and the three of them set off.

 Wulfgar turned to Anwyn. ‘My lady?’

 Seeing little other choice now, Anwyn dismounted. He followed suit and once again she was forcefully reminded how powerful he was, in every sense of the word. It did little for her equanimity. Neither did that unfathomable blue gaze.

 ‘Shall we?’ He glanced towards the ship.

 She inclined her head and they set off together, he shortening his stride to match hers. Although he made no move to touch her, his closeness set her skin tingling. Yet what she felt was not fear. It was a strange mixture of anticipation and excitement.

 ‘How old is Eyvind?’ he asked.

 ‘Five now.’

 ‘It must have been hard for him to lose his father.’

 ‘He has Ina.’

 It wasn’t what he expected to hear, and the words elicited a swift sideways glance. However, her attention was apparently on the three in front.

 ‘A woman alone is vulnerable, too,’ he said.

 ‘I have protection.’

 ‘A dozen men?’

 ‘There are plenty more.’

 His eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, yes, I had forgotten—forty more—hiding in the dunes.’

 It drew a rueful smile. ‘All right, I fibbed about that part, but there really are more than a dozen men.’

 ‘I’m glad to hear it, given the warlike nature of your neighbours.’

 ‘Grymar was presumptuous.’

 ‘You are charitable.’

 ‘I cannot afford to be at odds with his master.’

 ‘That would be Lord Ingvar?’

 ‘Yes.’

 ‘Is he so powerful, then?’

 ‘Powerful enough to make me want to keep the peace.’

 She had spoken matter of factly, but he heard the seriousness beneath and understood it. However, she did not elaborate further.

 Anwyn’s attention was claimed now by the ship. It was an arresting sight. She guessed the vessel to be roughly seventy feet long and perhaps fifteen or sixteen feet wide. Clinker built, her strakes were formed of solid oak planks fastened with tree nails and iron bolts and caulked with a cord of plaited animal hair. Anwyn’s gaze moved on, taking in the wooden planks that comprised the deck; the tall mast; the rowers’ benches and wooden storage lockers; the circular rowlocks in the main strake and the great oars—sixteen to a side. However, it was the magnificent prow that seized her imagination; a piece of oak intricately carved in the likeness of a snarling wolf.

 ‘She’s beautiful.’

 ‘She’s not the largest vessel afloat, but she’s swift enough and handles well.’

 ‘How long have you had her?’

 ‘Three years or so. We captured her as a prize of war.’

 ‘Oh.’ Looking at that carved prow again, Anwyn was forcefully reminded of the company in which she found herself. ‘You must have taken many prizes over the years.’

 ‘Enough,’ he replied.

 The word was casually spoken, but it sent another tremor through her. In their way these men were every bit as dangerous as Ingvar’s war band. Though she said nothing, he sensed her unease.

 ‘What are you afraid of, Anwyn?’

 The use of her name brought the warm blood to her cheeks, but she could detect nothing in his manner that suggested over-familiarity. On the contrary, it had sounded natural on his lips.

 ‘I…nothing.’

 ‘Something, I think.’ The tone was quiet, inviting confidence. Her confusion mounted.

 ‘I hardly know myself. Perhaps it is because I have never been so close to a warship before.’

 ‘Then let us allay your fear.’ He ran lightly up the gangplank that had been erected to allow easier access from the sand. Then he turned back to face her. ‘Come.’

 The word was both invitation and command. Anwyn took a deep breath and followed. Around them the smell of brine mingled with rope and wood and tar, and the air rang with the sound of male voices, punctuated at intervals by laughter.

 Having reached the top of the gangplank, she checked a little, mentally negotiating the step down on to the rowing bench and thence to the deck. Wulfgar saw the hesitation.

 ‘Allow me.’

 Strong hands closed round her waist. There followed a brief sensation of absolute weightlessness before she was set down beside him. Just for a moment she breathed the scent of wool from his tunic and beneath it the musky scent of the man. It was unexpectedly arousing, like the warmth of his hands through her clothing.

 ‘Welcome aboard the Sea Wolf,’ he said.

 In the name of self-preservation she took a step away, but had forgotten the now angled deck and stumbled. A strong arm caught her by the waist and prevented her from falling.

 ‘Oh, I…er, thank you.’ Her heart was thumping so hard she was sure he must hear it.

 If he was aware of any awkwardness, it was not apparent. ‘Take care. I would not have you break an ankle.’

 ‘Yes. No.’ Her face reddened. ‘I mean I will take care.’

 Gently she disengaged herself from his hold and was relieved when he made no attempt to stop her. Rather he spoke about the ship, pointing out various aspects of her design as they went. Anwyn relaxed a little. In front of them she could hear Hermund patiently answering Eyvind’s questions. Wulfgar surveyed the pair for a moment.

 ‘The boy has an enquiring mind.’

 ‘Enough for half-a-dozen children.’ She smiled fondly at her son. ‘He has really come out of his shell.’

 ‘He was not always so forthcoming?’

 ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘His father was overly strict with him. It made the child shy and fearful.’

 He thought he detected anger beneath the quiet tone and was suddenly curious. ‘Some firmness is essential, but a child should not be afraid of its father.’

 ‘My late husband was not a patient man.’

 ‘I see.’

 Anwyn had no wish to talk about Torstein. He was a part of her life she wished to forget. Accordingly she changed the subject.

 ‘Do you have sons, my lord?’

 He should have been expecting that, but it caught him unawares. ‘No.’

 ‘A wife?’

 ‘No.’

 He did not elaborate and something about those succinct replies forbade further inquiry. Perhaps the life of a mercenary was incompatible with domestic ties. Such men took their pleasure where they found it. She shivered a little. Had he ever taken a woman by force? Almost immediately she rejected the idea—a man like this would never have a problem getting women to share his bed. Her experience was limited, of course, but she guessed that most would not object. That thought led to others, unexpected and disquieting. Quickly she looked away lest he should read her face.