Saved by the Viking Warrior

‘I’m not a sack of wool. I will walk. Where are we headed? South to Jorvik?’

‘North to fulfil an oath to my late helmsmen. But I intend to return to Jorvik before the next Storting.’

‘When is that?’

‘Less than a month.’ He made low bow. ‘That will have to satisfy you, Lady Cwenneth. And you had best keep up. I have no time for stragglers, particularly when they are pampered Northumbrian ladies.’

Cwenneth touched her neck, her hand automatically seeking the reassurance of her lost pendant and Richard’s lock of hair. She forced her fingers down. ‘I will walk until it is time to stop. Have no fear on that. I won’t need special assistance.’

‘I shall be interested to see you try.’ He raised his voice so it rang out loud and clear. ‘Lads, the lady is for walking and reckons she can keep up. Do I have any takers? Will she be able to and for how long?’

All about her, Thrand’s men began to wager on how long she’d last. Several remarked on how all Northumbrian ladies were pampered and unused to hard work. One even predicted she would not make but a few yards beyond this place before she demanded to ride. Cwenneth gritted her teeth and silently damned them all to hell.

* * *

‘Do you always keep at this pace?’ she asked, trying to wring out her gown as she trudged through the mud. She must have blisters on top of blisters. Every fibre of her being longed for a warm hearth, a roof over her head and a soft bed to sink down in. But with every step she took and mile she passed, she took satisfaction in proving another Norseman wrong.

‘Getting through the woods and putting distance between us and the massacre is a priority.’

‘We’ve put miles between us and...and where the massacre happened. Surely it must be time to find shelter for the night.’

Every sinew in her body ached. She hurt even where she didn’t think she had muscles.

Thrand half turned from where he led his horse through a muddy puddle and lifted an arrogant eyebrow. ‘We need to make up for lost time. I want to get through these woods before night falls and the rain starts in earnest. We camp in safety. Does that suit your ladyship? Or has my lady changed her mind and now wishes to become a sack of wool?’

The exaggerated patience of his tone grated on her frayed nerves. She stopped and put a hand in the middle of her aching back. ‘Leave me at a farmhouse. Do your raiding or whatever you are going north to do and pick me up on your return. I’ll wait patiently.’

‘How would I know that you’d stay there? Waiting patiently?’

‘I’d give my word.’ She fixed him with a deliberately wide-eyed gaze, but kept her fingers crossed. If the opportunity to go happened, she wouldn’t linger, but she would send a reward once she made Lingwold. ‘No one has questioned it before.’

He made a disgusted noise. ‘If I had taken your word earlier, I would still think you the tire woman. Underestimating my intelligence does neither of us any credit.’

Cwenneth ground her teeth. Fair point. She forced her feet to start marching again. ‘A necessary deception. I had no idea if you were friend or foe.’

‘Once having deceived someone like that, how do you build trust? I’m curious to hear your answer, my lady.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Cwenneth admitted and concentrated on skirting the next puddle. ‘But you should consider the suggestion if you think I am slowing proceedings down. A good commander thinks of all his men. My late husband used to say that.’

‘Consider being left at the farmhouse.’ He slowed his horse slightly and kept pace with her feet. ‘Hagal and his men will begin hunting you once they suspect you live. They will not stop until you are dead or you have defeated Hagal. How will you ensure that farmer’s loyalty when his crops are threatened? A good commander should think about all eventualities before coming to a decision.’

Cwenneth’s stomach knotted. Hagal’s men, in particular Narfi, knew every farmhouse in the area. They were bound to check once they discovered the buried bodies and that hers wasn’t there. Her flesh crept. Thrand was right—why would any farmer shelter her? She wouldn’t be safe until Hagal was dead and she was back inside Lingwold’s walls. ‘I failed to think that far ahead.’

‘If you want to stay alive, let alone gain the revenge you want, you will have to start thinking ahead and you will stay with me. I’m your best...no...your only hope.’

‘But we are staying at a farmhouse. The thought of a bed and a pillow has kept me going for a while.’

His face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘People do remember travellers and when Hagal’s men come, they will answer their questions.’ He gave a half shrug, but his eyes were sharp as if seeking something from her. ‘A lone woman travelling with a group of Norsemen... I doubt many fine ladies travel through this part of the country. If Hagal’s men fail to find your body in the woods, they will check with the surrounding farms. It is what I would do.’

Cwenneth regarded the ground, rather than meeting Thrand’s direct stare. To think she had earlier dismissed him as being all brawn and no brain. He had considered several steps ahead rather than thinking about immediate needs. She needed to start thinking smarter and stop giving in to prejudice. Thrand Ammundson was highly intelligent as well as a formidable warrior.

Some place deep within her chimed in that he was also good-looking when he wasn’t scowling. She ignored it. She had not been interested in men since Aefirth died. Her very being had been encased in ice.

She narrowly avoided another muddy puddle and tried to think about what her next move should be in this real-life game of cat and mouse she was playing, rather than what Thrand looked like when he wasn’t scowling. The only advantage she held was that Hagal thought her dead.

‘You’ve fallen silent, my lady. Do we stop at the next farm? I can see smoke rising in the distance. There will be a welcome of sorts.’

Cwenneth hiked her gown up to keep it out of the mud and silently bid goodbye to all thoughts of a feather bed. The only thing keeping her out of Hagal’s clutches was his belief that she was dead. ‘You’re right, we need to continue on and stopping at a farm is far from a good idea. The stress of today is addling my nerves.’

‘Here you had dreams of a bed,’ he said with heavy irony. ‘Have you given up on your dreams so quickly? Are all Northumbrian ladies this weak willed?’

‘Do you know many Northumbrian ladies?’

‘I’ve met enough.’

‘They weren’t me.’ Cwenneth made a show of placing her feet down, even as the pain from the blister seared up her right leg. ‘I can keep going as long as you require it. There is no need to stop at a farmhouse or any settlement. The open air suits me fine.’

A hearty laugh rang out from his throat. ‘You learn quickly.’

‘Did you plan on stopping at a farm? Before...before you encountered me?’

He pulled his horse to a halt. All good humour vanished from his face. ‘I’ve my reasons for not wishing to be remembered.’

‘And they are?’

‘My own.’

* * *

Just when Cwenneth was convinced they would be trudging through the dank mud all night, Thrand imperiously lifted his hand and pulled his horse to a halt. The entire company stopped. ‘We will make camp here tonight. We should be safe. The ground is good in case of attack...from anyone or anything.’

Cwenneth sucked in her breath, giving silent thanks her walking for the day was done. But she was also pretty sure that she had beaten all wagers against her. It was strange—whenever she had considered quitting, she remembered the wagering and became more determined to prove them, particularly Thrand, wrong. ‘Expecting trouble?’

‘It is better to expect trouble than to encounter it, unprepared,’ Thrand said before issuing orders to his men. ‘Perhaps if your men had...’

‘They were outnumbered. The outcome would have been the same,’ she answered, placing her hands in the middle of her back, rather than giving in to the desire to collapse in a heap. Once down, she had her doubts about getting up again. ‘I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done, but my brother was determined on the match. He threatened me with a convent of his choosing and no dowry. I considered being the wife to a Norse jaarl was the better bet. Without a dowry, I’d have been little better than a scullery maid. It shows how wrong a person can be.’

‘And defeating me means more to your brother than his sister’s life?’

She pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘Edward had no part in this. He wanted to believe Hagal’s assurances and saw the marriage as a way to gain a powerful ally. But he’d never have sent me if he suspected the truth. A dead sister is no use to him in his quest for power within the Bernician court.’

His level gaze met hers. ‘There was nothing you could have done once the events were set in motion. The only mistake Hagal has made in this enterprise is to allow you to fall into my hands alive.’

‘But...’

‘He will pay for it. Now sit and rest. Women like you have no experience at setting up a camp and cause delays.’

‘You have a very low opinion of Northumbrian ladies.’

‘My dealings with them have been deliberately kept to a minimum.’ The glacial blue of his eyes thawed slightly. ‘However, you did better today than any of my men thought you would. You have earned your rest.’ He shook his head. ‘You are far stronger than even I thought you would be. You have made me revise my opinion of ladies. Not all are pale, puny creatures with less stamina than a mouse.’

‘Good.’ Cwenneth sank to the ground, rather than argue. Her feet throbbed and burnt. Sitting, being ignored, was bliss. But her journey home and back to her family had just begun. Somewhere along the way, she’d teach that arrogant Norse warrior that ladies from Lingwold were to be reckoned with. She clenched her fist and vowed it on her son’s grave.

‘Far from smart to provoke him, you know. His temper is legendary.’

She glanced up and saw a slender Norseman standing before her. She shaded her eyes. He’d been the one who had objected to Thrand bringing her along. Her own temper flared. ‘His nickname gives it away—the Destroyer. I doubt he acquired it through being kind and gentle to his enemies.’

‘Thrand is a great fighter. When a battle comes, he always wins. Halfdan’s most potent weapon. They say rather than take the risk, people shower him with gold when he appears on their doorstep.’

‘Have you travelled with him often?’

‘First time.’ The man leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘I promised my cousin on his deathbed I’d come. Someone has to see right for his child as it is kin. And Thrand, he is the sort of man to lead an expedition into enemy territory and return, more than likely with bags full of treasure and gold. Sven had a good war because of his friendship with Thrand. There are iron-bound chests full of gold back in Jorvik.’

‘That I can well believe.’ Cwenneth said a fervent prayer that Thrand and his men would not be returning to Jorvik with more treasure looted from Bernicia.

‘I want gold,’ Knui stated flatly. ‘Lots of it. But then you don’t have any as Thrand will have already taken it. So I’m not sure why I’m bothering with you.’

Her hand hit her belt. Her rings. Aefirth would have understood. Cwennie, survive, he would have said. Rely on no one but yourself. Maybe this warrior would go to Lingwold and let her brother know she survived.

Edward would raise an army to free her if he thought Thrand the Destroyer had her. He’d march to Jorvik and make his demands heard. She had to have patience and think long term. Her hand started to fumble for the rings and her blood became alive with excitement.

A warning sounded in her gut. Why was a Norseman trying to make friends with her? Did he guess that she possessed even a little bit of gold? Why mention it otherwise?

Her hand stilled and dropped to her side. She had to proceed with caution and trust no one.

‘Knui Crowslayer! Where have you hidden yourself this time?’ someone called. ‘I need some help with the firewood!’

‘It was good to speak with you,’ Cwenneth called after him. ‘We must speak another time.’

She hugged her knees to her chest, oddly pleased that she didn’t give up her rings at the first hint. If today had taught her anything, it was not to be blindly trusting. She would wait for her opportunity, rather than acting on impulse.

There was more than one way to get back to her old life. All she needed was patience and a workable plan. Thinking ahead rather than regretting mistakes.

* * *

‘You have remained in the same place since we arrived.’ Thrand’s voice rolled over her. ‘Is that wise? Surely my lady must have a complaint about the primitive standards of this camp.’

Cwenneth lifted her head. All of her muscles screamed with pain and the shadows had grown longer. She wasn’t sure if she had slept or if her mind had become mercifully blank. Now everything came flooding back. She remained in the nightmare and it was about to get worse because they had stopped for the night. And she had no idea of Thrand’s plans. He had claimed her as his woman.

Did he expect her to become his concubine? There had only been Aefirth. She knew how to be a wife, but she had little idea how to be a mistress. Refusing the position was out of the question, not if she wanted to live.

‘I wait for my orders, to find out what I need to do, rather than presuming.’ Muscles protesting at the slightest movement, Cwenneth struggled to stand, but he motioned she should stay seated. She gratefully sat back down.

‘Are you capable of following orders?’ Up close she was aware of his height, the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt tightened across his chest. There was power in those muscle-bound arms, but gentleness as well. She could clearly remember how he’d approached the wild boar—slowly and carefully, rather than scaring it. ‘Doing whatever I ask of you?’

‘If I’m going to stay alive, I have to learn.’

‘Clever woman.’

‘I’ve kept my word so far. There is no need to tie me up. I’m not going to run away tonight, not on these feet.’

His gaze slowly travelled over her, making her aware of how her hair tumbled about her neck and the way her gown was now hopelessly stained with mud. She must look like something the dog had dragged in.

His thin smile failed to reach his eyes. ‘I doubt you’d have the strength.’

‘I kept going today.’

He put a hand on her shoulder. Heat flooded her. She wanted to lean into his touch. ‘My men wagered that you wouldn’t.’

‘I heard them when we started. Who won in the end?’

‘I did.’

‘You bet on me?’

The blue in his eyes deepened. ‘My purse is heavier. But you lasted even longer than I thought you would. Impressive. I thought, back by the farm, you’d beg for a ride.’

‘Giving up is not an option if I want to return to my old life. It is better to be unbound. It makes me believe that one day I will regain my freedom.’ She kept her head erect. ‘I have my pride. The lords and ladies of Lingwold never beg.’

‘And you want to return?’

‘Very much. It is my home.’ Cwenneth looped a strand of hair about her ear. ‘Life is good at Lingwold. The walls are strong. Food is plentiful and everyone sleeps soundly in their bed. I would even kiss my sister-in-law and stop complaining about her silly rules about how you weave tapestry.’

‘If it is in my power, word will be sent after I have finished with you.’ He balanced the pouch of gold in his hand. ‘But you have presented me with another problem. You walked too slow.’

‘I hate horses.’ Cwenneth leant forward, wrapping her hands about her knees. There was no way her feet would harden by morning. ‘There, I have admitted it. My fear of horses was stronger than my hurting feet. Tomorrow may be a different story.’

She had been wary of horses ever since Edward’s stallion had bitten her arm when she was ten. All she had done was try to give it a carrot. Edward had laughed at her fear.

‘Here.’ He tossed a small phial of ointment to her. It landed in her lap. She twisted off the top and wrinkled her nose.

‘And this is?’

‘For your feet. An old family recipe. My grandmother used to swear by it. It heals blisters.’

She blinked twice as her mind reeled. She had thought he’d come to mock or worse. ‘Why?’

A faint smile touched his features, transforming them. A woman could drown in those eyes, Cwenneth thought abstractly as a lump formed in her throat. She refused to hope that he was being kind. She doubted Thrand the Destroyer knew the meaning of kindness or simple human decency. He probably had another wager that he wanted to win.

‘Put the ointment on. We will have to go miles tomorrow and I have no wish for you to hold the men back. Purely selfish. I need to be back from the north within the month.’

She weighed the small jar in her hand. The man she thought devoid of all humanity had shown that he wasn’t and that made him all the more dangerous. ‘I will in time.’

He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. ‘It goes on now. Your feet need to have a chance to heal.’

Without waiting for an answer, he knelt down and eased off her boots. Her feet were rubbed raw with large blisters on the heels and base of her feet.

Cwenneth gave a moan of pain as the cool air hit them.

‘You kept going on these? Impressive.’

‘For a Northumbrian lady?’ She held up her hand. ‘Please, I did overhear banter when the men were wagering. I’m not deaf or daft. And, of course, Narfi thought I was a pampered pet who would not last the night.’

‘What do you think of Norsemen?’

‘That they are muscle and—’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘And I have seen firsthand your intelligence.’

‘You would do well to remember that.’ He nodded towards her feet. ‘And it is for anyone. I have seen young men in tears over less. And I think you do yourself a disservice. You have a stronger will than most other women I’ve met.’

‘You met someone with a stronger will?’

His body went rigid, and the stone planes in his face returned. ‘A long time ago.’

‘I had no choice. You would have tethered me to that horse and made me run simply for the pleasure of it. I’ve heard the stories.’

‘I would have slung you over the back with your hands tied behind your back to prevent you stealing my horse.’ His brows drew together. ‘Humiliating a woman ultimately humiliates the man more. My father taught me that.’

Cwenneth breathed a little easier. Thrand Ammundson was no nightmare of a warrior. ‘I stand corrected.’

‘Courage impresses my men. You never know when you will need allies. You impressed them today. Now let’s see about these blisters.’

He ran a finger along the base of her foot. For such a large man, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Warmth spread up her leg, making her feel alive and cared for. She wanted him to keep stroking, keep kneading the ball of her foot. A sharp pain went through her.

She jerked her foot back. ‘That hurt.’

‘The blisters can be healed. Give me the jar.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will show you how and tomorrow you do it yourself. Morning and night until your feet toughen. Tomorrow we go quicker.’ He took the jar from her unresisting fingers and knelt down before her.

A pulse of warmth radiated from his touch. He touched first one blister, then another, spreading the soothing ointment on. Cwenneth leant back on the green moss and gave herself up to the blissful relief of the pain vanishing.

A small sigh of pleasure escaped from her throat. Immediately, he stopped and dropped the jar beside her.

She glanced up at him. His eyes had darkened to midnight-blue.

‘Why do you stop?’ Her voice came out far huskier than she intended.

‘Finish it. You have the idea.’

‘Thank you for this,’ she said, reaching for the jar. A liquid heat had risen between her legs. He hadn’t even kissed her or touched her intimately, and she had behaved like...like a woman of the street rather than the lady she was. He was her enemy, not her friend. Her cheeks burnt with shame. Ever since Aefirth had died, she had been encased in ice. She had been so sure she’d never feel anything like that again and now this. With this man who should be the last person on the planet she was attracted to, her enemy but also her saviour.

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