Saved by the Viking Warrior Page 7
‘If it helps me to sleep, then I’m grateful. It is better you didn’t say or otherwise I’d have worried about the dreams.’
‘You have a different way of looking at things.’
She stretched out a foot. He watched the high white curve of her instep and struggled against the urge to hold it again. ‘My blisters are much better. Your grandmother must have been a very holy woman to create such a miracle cure.’
‘She learnt the recipe from her mother.’ Thrand put his hand on her shoulder and felt her shiver. Her words brought back long-forgotten memories. This sense of disorientation and questioning was so familiar. The memory of sitting and staring at the smouldering heap that had once been his house, knowing that he too should have seen the signs, stirred deep within him. ‘My grandmother used to say the past was written in stone, but the future is written in water. I never understood it until I was forced to grow up.’
She shook his hand off. ‘Then I shall have to ensure Hagal pays for his crimes. It is something I can do to honour the dead.’
Thrand’s muscles tensed. A small beacon of hope. A willing witness, rather than a scared, reluctant one, would give much better testimony. ‘Do you mean that?’
‘Yes, yes, I do.’ She tilted her head to one side, her long lashes making dark smudges against her pale cheek. ‘Is there a way?’
‘I want you to make a statement in front of the Storting, tell them what happened. Loud and clear, looking them in the eye and never faltering.’
‘And if the king chooses to believe Hagal and return me to him? Or if Hagal kills me? Once he knows...’
‘Hagal already wants you dead. It is my job to keep you alive.’
‘I have been thinking. There must be a way to disguise myself, make it less likely to be remembered if we encounter anyone before...before we reach Jorvik.’
‘Then you will do it?’
‘Ensuring Hagal and the men who committed the murders are punished for this must become my life.’
Unaccustomed pity stabbed his heart. A beautiful woman like her should have more than vengeance in her life. Annoyed, he pushed the thought away. Cwen had the right to live her life as she saw fit and what happened to her afterwards was none of his concern. ‘You have courage, Lady Cwenneth.’
‘A compliment, I think.’ In the grey light, he could just make out the crooked half-smile, which changed her features from pretty to heart-stoppingly beautiful.
‘What do you consider your most memorable feature?’ he asked, rather than giving into the renewed temptation to kiss her.
‘My long, blonde hair. One true asset, according to my sister-in-law.’
‘Cut it. Having it short will make you like a thrall, a slave.’
‘Will you do it?’ Cwenneth stared directly at Thrand and willed him to understand. ‘I am afraid my hand will not be steady enough even if I can get a sharp knife.’
‘Right now?’
‘Before we start travelling again. Before I become memorable to any traveller.’
‘Hold your head still.’
He took a knife from his belt and with one swift motion, a lock of golden hair tumbled to the ground, swiftly followed by the next one, until all about her feet a golden carpet lay. Her entire being tingled with awareness of him, the way he moved and the gentleness of his touch for such a large man and his warm, spicy scent.
Cwenneth screwed up her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. It had to be a reaction to the day’s events rather than a true attraction to a man like him. She had never felt this way about Hagal or any of the other North men she’d encountered. And she knew what he’d done, even if the rumours were exaggerated.
‘With the right tools, the task is easily accomplished.’ He stepped back and considered her from hooded eyes. ‘Your hair was too heavy for your delicate features. Your eyes appear much bigger. You were wrong—your hair isn’t your most memorable feature. Your eyes are.’
Her hands paused in their exploration of her shorn head. ‘My mother used to call them the window to my soul.’
His face took on an intent expression. ‘They are. Windows.’
‘I will take your word for it. There is no mirror around here.’ Cwenneth’s heart thumped. Thrand’s eyes were mostly iced over. What did that say about his soul? ‘I had a little silver mirror that had belonged to my mother, but it is gone now. Burnt or stolen. Lost to me at any rate.’
She swallowed to get rid of the lump in her throat. It wasn’t so much the mirror, but losing her connection with her mother.
‘There is a pond where you will be able to spy your face. You can wash the dirty streaks from your skin while you are at it.’
Cwenneth scrubbed her face. ‘I hate having a dirty face. You should have said.’
‘You fell asleep before you ate the evening meal.’ He put a hand on the middle of her back. ‘Come and see the new you.’
He led the way to a small pond, keeping his hand on the middle of her back. A faint mist hung over the lake, and a solitary duck paddled.
‘If you crouch down and lean out...’
‘I know how to do it,’ Cwenneth answered, going over to a flat rock and away from the touch which sent liquid heat coursing through her insides.
She leant out and looked, half expecting to see her usual reflection, but instead a woman with very short hair and enormous blue eyes stared up at her. Thrand spoke the truth. Her eyes were suddenly the most noticeable thing about her face. Her chin and jaw line were far stronger than she’d have liked. A very determined face, but with vulnerable eyes. Her, but not her.
She put out a hand, created ripples in the pond, destroying the image.
‘Not to your liking. I can tell from the way you slap the water.’
Cwenneth concentrated on splashing cold water on to her skin before drying it. ‘Far too fierce and determined. Here I always considered myself to look delicate. I wouldn’t recognise me so that must be a start.’
‘With short hair and the tattered gown, anyone we encounter will think you a thrall and not worth the bother of investigating your identity.’
‘Until I open my mouth.’
‘Keep silent.’ In the pale light, the planes of his face had relaxed, making him far more approachable. ‘Thralls are supposed to be silent. It is part of their charm. Is that possible for you?’
‘You are teasing me now.’ A bubbly feeling engulfed her. How long had it been since anyone teased or joked with her?
His face instantly sobered. ‘I never tease. Ask anyone.’
She bowed her head and plucked at a loose thread on her gown. The bubbly feeling went. ‘Why are you helping me? Why are you willing to shield me from Hagal?’
‘You asked me earlier why I became a mercenary,’ he said slowly. ‘Hagal made me into one. I was a barely bearded boy when he turned me into a killer.’
‘How?’ Cwenneth whispered, watching him. To become a killer at such a young age. Not a warrior, blooded in battle, but a killer. ‘How did he do it?’
‘Along with three other men, he murdered my family. I have dedicated my life to ensuring their murderers were punished. It was the only way I could honour my parents. I slew the first of them that night. It satisfied something deep down in my soul and I discovered I was good at it.’ He stood with his feet apart and hands fisted. His eyes no longer held any light, but were as ice-cold as midwinter. ‘What I have done since that day I do to calm that itch in my soul. I don’t fight for country or king, but because I get paid. And I’ve killed men because I was ordered to.’
‘Your family? Did you find them slain in a similar fashion?’ Cwenneth placed her hands on her head. She was so wrapped up in her own misery that she had missed the obvious point—Thrand never questioned her accusation about Hagal, a man he must have fought alongside.
Her breath caught. Thrand’s desire for revenge had nothing to do with what happened back in the woods and everything to do with past wrongs. She was to be a tool, much like he used a sword or an axe. He wasn’t doing this because he was attracted to her or felt some connection with her and her plight. She pressed her nails into her palms, making half-moon shapes. ‘You knew, before I opened my mouth and accused Hagal, who was responsible. Hagal was involved in your parents’ murder.’
‘Years ago.’ Thrand’s mouth twisted as he stared out at the pond. ‘Justice goes by a different name in Viken now that we have the current king. I left with a price on my head as that king approved of getting rid of the thorn in his flesh who was my father.’
Cwenneth struggled to understand. ‘We are far from the North Country. Hagal has been in Northumbria for years, serving Halfdan, the same king you serve. His elevation to a jaarl shows he has served him well.’
‘My oath to Halfdan forbids me from harming any in the felag as long as they stay loyal.’ He slammed his fists together. ‘I was unaware of Hagal’s presence in the felag or I would never have given my sacred oath. A bad bargain, but a bargain it remains. And simply putting a knife in Hagal’s back would not do it. I want him to suffer.’
She struggled to understand. ‘But surely—’
‘I honour my father by keeping sacred oaths. A man becomes worthless if he breaks his solemn oath and I am unworthy enough as is. He was one of the finest men I ever met. Honourable to a fault.’
‘But strict with those who did not obey him?’
‘My father died for his code.’
‘Fathers only want what is best for their sons.’
Thrand stood in the glade, head up and unrepentant, but underneath she glimpsed the young man who had wept bitter tears when he found his parents. A man who was determined on revenge, but who clung to his father’s code because it was all that remained of his family...because it was the only thing which separated him from his family’s murderers.
Giving into instinct, she cupped his cheeks so he was forced to look into her eyes. ‘Your father would be proud to have such a man as you for a son.’
Their breath laced, caught and laced again.
‘You never met my father. My father had little time or forgiveness for people who failed him.’
‘But I’ve met his son.’ Her mouth began to ache. She wet her lips, not knowing what she wanted, but knowing she was powerless to move away from him. Her hands pulsed with warmth. ‘You gave me that ointment and covered me with the cloak. Now you have cut my hair to help me hide and keep alive.’
‘Hagal wants you dead. It is enough reason to keep you alive. It is the first time he has left a witness. The first mistake he has made in a very long time. I’ve been waiting for it and I plan to use you to destroy him. That is the sole reason I have helped you.’
‘But you have helped me.’ She stroked his cheek with her palm. ‘The action counts, not the reason.’
With a groan, he put his arms about her and his mouth descended on hers. He tasted of spring rain and fresh air, but with more than a hint of dark passion. And she knew she wanted that passion. He made her feel alive, rather than as if she was one of the walking dead, the way she had felt since Aefirth and Richard died.
She pressed her body closer to his hardness, seeking him. She wanted him in a way she had not wanted any other man. She wanted to drown in this kiss and forget everything that had happened to her. She moaned and arched her body nearer.
Instantly, he stepped away from her. The cool breeze fanned her heated cheeks while her body thrummed with liquid heat.
Cwenneth dropped her eyes. She had just pressed her body to a man who was a virtual stranger, inviting him to take her.
‘Please say something,’ she whispered, putting her hands to her head.
‘Return to the others,’ Thrand answered, trying to regain control of his body. He had not intended on kissing her, nor on his body reacting so violently to her nearness. He knew what out-of-control desire for a woman did to him, how he lost perspective and how easy it would be to care for a woman like Cwen.
If anything, with her hair short, she looked more desirable than she had with her long hair tumbling about her shoulders. Her mouth had become crimson from the kiss, and her eyes were dark blue. The memory of her honey-sweet taste invaded his body. ‘Now! Go!’
He half turned to Cwen, knowing if she made a gesture towards him, he’d pull her into his arms and take her mouth again, plundering it for all its warmth, promised passion and the balm it brought to his soul.
His goodness had stopped years ago. He had been the one to disobey his father and to meet Ingrid secretly, even though his father had warned him against becoming involved with the woman. His desire for her had been too great, and he hadn’t believed his father about her past behaviour.
All he’d seen was an ageing man who had hurt his leg in a fall and wanted to spoil his fun. It had been the first time that he had openly defied his father.
After he had found his parents, he had confronted Ingrid and she had admitted the truth—she had lured him away so that his parents could be killed, Hagal could acquire the land he coveted and she could be free of Hagal. He had left her on her knees, begging him to save her. Later her strangled and mutilated body had been discovered and he’d known if he had had an ounce of goodness in him, he would have saved her, but instead he’d left her to her fate.
Cwen did not need to know about that. Or the traps Hagal had managed to wriggle free from over the years. Or the people Thrand had failed to save.
She hadn’t taken to her heels when he roared at her. She simply stood looking at him with those trusting, big eyes as if he could actually protect her.
Something twisted in his gut. He never wanted her to think him a monster. He wanted her to believe the impossible—that there was more to him than simply warfare, battles and killing.
‘Did you hear me, Cwen? Go this instant!’
Her lips turned up into a sad smile, and her shoulders hunched. ‘You called me Cwen. My late husband used to call me Cwennie.’
He released his breath. The crisis had passed. He had regained control of his body and pushed away all thought of drinking from her mouth. ‘You can hardly be Lady Cwenneth with short hair. Cwen suits you.’
Chapter Five
The first rays of the spring sunshine broke through mist, warming Cwenneth’s face and the back of her neck. Without the accustomed weight of her hair, her entire body seemed lighter. So far today, the going had been easier and her feet had hurt less.
The banter between the men bothered her less and she was beginning to figure out the individuals—which ones she liked and which ones were better avoided altogether. The thing which struck her was how little difference there was between these men and her brother’s men or even the men who had served under her husband’s banner.
From what she had seen this morning, she was very glad she’d followed her instincts and had not offered Knui Crowslayer her rings. He took the slightest opportunity to belittle and mock everyone. It made it easier when Helgi muttered that he had been forced on them by their dead friend.
‘Today is going to be a good day. You can taste it in the air.’ She inhaled a deep breath, savouring the tranquillity.
‘Can you?’ Thrand asked, coming to walk beside her as he led his horse.
A tingle ran through her body. After they had returned to the camp, there hadn’t been any time to talk to him and explain about the mistake she’d made in kissing him like that. She had just hoped by ignoring it, everything would go away and they’d return to that ease they’d had before she’d made a mess of things.
‘The air is perfumed with bluebells and the sun is shining.’
‘And how do you explain the sound of horses, coming towards us? At speed?’
‘Hands on swords.’ He gave Knui a hard look. ‘I speak. No one else, whatever the provocation. Farmers on the way to market, most likely. No point in borrowing trouble.’
‘And me? What should I do?’ Cwenneth fought against the rising tide of panic.
‘Hunch your shoulders and keep your eyes down. It should suffice if you keep silent.’
Cwenneth bent down and grabbed a handful of dirt. Silently, she offered up prayers that her fears were unfounded. It was far too soon for anyone to be out hunting her.
The lead horse stopped in a cloud of dust.
The horseman lifted his helm, revealing his dark-blond hair and scarred face. Narfi. Her luck was out.
‘Narfi the Black, fancy encountering you here and in full war gear,’ Thrand said in a loud voice. ‘Is there some problem with the locals? Not paying their tribute on time? And you are going to bully them into it? Nothing new there.’
Narfi curled his lip. ‘Here is a sight that I did not expect to see today. Thrand the Destroyer and his band of merry followers. My master will wish to know why you are here.’
‘No doubt.’ Thrand stood in the centre of the road, his right hand casually resting on his sword.
‘And your business is...? Be quick about it, man. I’ve things to do.’
‘I travel on the king’s business as usual,’ Thrand said, concentrating on Narfi while he fought against every instinct in his body which told him to scoop up Cwen and ride away with her. ‘What do I do but serve my king? Is there some war I need to know about? You appear dressed for battle.’
‘We hunt bandits, Thrand Ammundson. There are many who refuse to accept our law. It is our task to keep the peace.’ Narfi swung down from his horse. He was about half a head shorter than Thrand, stockier and with fists like ham hocks and a strut like a bantam cockerel’s. ‘Do you come to break it?’
‘Keep a civil tongue in your head,’ Thrand said, fixing Narfi with his eye. Off to one side, he saw that Cwen had obeyed his orders. She stood with her shorn head heavily bent. He released a breath.