The Viking's Touch. Joanna Fulford

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      Anwyn darted a glance at the silent warrior band and felt her heartbeat quicken. For a brief instant she wondered if she had not made a terrible mistake: visions of capture and slavery loomed large. Then resolution reasserted itself. She had come too far to back down now.

      Turning her horse, she rode the last few yards towards them. They let her come. What she saw left her in no doubt that Ina was right: they were professionals, bearing themselves with the quiet confidence of men who have nothing to prove. Far from showing any expression of hostility, their faces revealed a very different range of emotions. These covered everything from rapt interest to amusement and frank enjoyment. For some reason it was far more disconcerting than warlike intent could ever have been. Anwyn lifted her chin and took a deep breath. Then, under the gauntlet of their eyes, she sought out the man who led them.

      ‘Which one of you is chief here?’

      From the van of their ranks a man stepped forward. ‘I am.’

      For the space of a few heartbeats they surveyed each other in silence. Her gaze took in a lithe and powerful figure clad in a mail shirt worn over leather tunic and breeches. One hand held a fine sword, companion no doubt to the dagger that hung from his belt, and on his left arm he carried a linden-wood shield embossed with iron. The upper part of his face was hidden by the guards of a helmet whose crest bore the likeness of a hunting wolf. Below it she could make out the strong lines of his jaw and mouth. Undisturbed by her scrutiny, he turned and handed the shield to one of his men. Then he removed the helmet and tossed that over, too. As he turned back again, Anwyn’s breath caught in her throat. The face with its chiselled clean-shaven lines was striking for its good looks. A vivid blue gaze met and held hers. In it she saw the same light of amusement she had detected before in his men. Her chin lifted a little higher.

      ‘Do you have a name?’

      ‘Do you?’ he replied.

      ‘I asked first.’

      His lips twitched. ‘Lord Wulfgar, at your service.’

      ‘I am Anwyn, Lady of Drakensburgh.’

      ‘I beg you will forgive our trespass, my lady. My ship was damaged in the storm yester night and we sought a quiet haven in which to carry out repairs.’

      ‘A quiet haven?’ she replied. ‘It has hardly been that.’

      ‘No, but matters would have been much worse had you not intervened.’ He paused. ‘Why did you?’

      ‘Because I would not have blood shed here for no good cause.’

      ‘Your neighbours do not share that view.’

      ‘They had no right to pronounce on the matter.’ Anwyn met his gaze. ‘Yet their suspicions were perhaps not without foundation.’

      ‘We intend no harm if that is what you mean. We have business elsewhere and once our repairs are complete we will leave.’

      ‘I see. May I ask whither you are bound?’

      ‘We go to join Rollo.’

      ‘Rollo? But he’s a notorious pirate.’

      ‘That’s right.’

      Anwyn paled a little. ‘You are mercenaries then.’

      ‘Correct.’

      This frank admission was deeply disquieting, and rendered all the more so by her inability to read what lay behind that outwardly courteous manner.

      ‘However,’ he continued,’ until we can repair our vessel all else is irrelevant.’

      ‘I can see that.’

      ‘Have we your permission to stay and do the necessary work?’

      She took a deep breath. ‘I think you have no choice since your ship cannot leave without it.’

      ‘We could leave under oars,’ he replied, ‘but the next large wave we encountered would likely sink us.’

      ‘How long will it take to mend the damage?’

      ‘With luck, a few days only.’

      Relief washed in. She nodded. ‘Very well. Carry out your repairs if you will.’

      ‘I thank you.’ He paused. ‘One thing more I would ask.’

      ‘And that is?’

      ‘The use of a forge if you have one—and a carpenter’s workshop.’

      ‘That’s СКАЧАТЬ