Saved by the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles

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СКАЧАТЬ Cwen fingered her throat. She couldn’t confess now. Not now that she knew this man disliked her brother so much that he refused to consider a reward. She’d have to come up with a different plan. That was all. ‘Where do we go?’

      ‘You go where I choose. You tell your story when I choose and to whom I choose. And not before. Like you, I know Hagal the Red did this.’ A bright flame flared in his eyes, transforming his features. ‘I have my own reasons for wanting him to face justice.’

      Until he chose? To become his slave for ever? Cwenneth firmed her mouth and renewed her vow. ‘Who are you? What shall I call you?’

      He made a mocking bow. ‘Thrand Ammundson.’

      Thrand Ammundson. Thrand the Destroyer. Cwenneth gulped. The Norseman whose band of warriors raided Lingwold yearly. The man who loved killing so much that his name was a byword for destruction. The man who was supposed to be in Jorvik, but who was here and probably on his way to raid innocent Bernicians.

      Her luck was truly terrible. Of all the Norsemen to encounter, it would have to be him, the one man other than Hagal the Red most likely to want her dead.

      ‘You’re Thrand the Destroyer?’ she whispered, clasping her hands so tight that the knuckles shone white.

      He was right—her brother had no cause to love him and every cause to kill him. As she had departed for Acumwick, Edward had crowed that he looked forward to having Thrand’s head on a plate and his hide nailed to the parish church’s door.

      ‘Some have called me that, but they are wrong. I have never come to destroy, only to take what is rightfully mine or my liege lord’s. The Norsemen of Jorvik did not start the last war, but they did finish it.’

      ‘That makes it all right because you won,’ Cwenneth remarked drily, trying to think around the pain in her head. Right now she had to put miles between her and Hagal, who definitely wanted her dead. Everything else could wait. Patience was a virtue, her nurse, Martha, used to say.

      ‘The victor commissions the saga, as they say.’

      A soft rustling in the undergrowth made Cwenneth freeze. She instinctively grabbed hold of Thrand’s sleeve.

      ‘Wolf or mayhap a bear,’ she said in a hoarse whisper. ‘My luck goes from bad to worse.’

      Thrand put his fingers to his lips and pivoted so that his body was between her and the noise.

      He started to draw his sword, but then relaxed.

      ‘There, see.’ He pointed with a long finger. ‘No wolf.’

      Cwenneth crouched down and found herself staring into the tusked head of a boar. The animal blew a hot breath over her face before giving her a long disdainful look and trotting off.

      ‘That was unexpected,’ she said, sitting back on her heels.

      ‘Thor has shown you favour,’ Thrand remarked in the quiet that followed. ‘Good luck follows your footsteps in battle when Thor favours you.’

      ‘I don’t believe in the Norsemen’s gods. And I know what those tusks can do. My stepson was gored once. It ended his fighting days and he walks with a bad limp. I wouldn’t call that lucky.’

      She gave an uneasy laugh. A god favoured her? Thankfully he didn’t know about the curse she carried. He’d abandon her in these woods if he did. Pressing her hands together, she tried to control her trembling and breathe normally.

      ‘You’re married? What did your husband say about you travelling with your lady to her new home?’

      ‘My husband died and...and I found myself back in my lady’s service.’ A fresh dribble of sweat ran down her back. The words rushed out of her throat. ‘My luck has been dreadful these last few years.’

      ‘You’re wrong.’ His searing gaze raked her form, making Cwenneth aware of her angles. Her sister-in-law was one of the plump comfortable women which men loved, but Cwenneth had few illusions about the attractiveness of her body—all hard angles with only a few slender curves. ‘You survived the slaughter. That makes you luckier than the corpses back there.’

      Her shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t noticed her slip. ‘I’ve lingered too long in these woods. Can we go from this place?’

      He made a mocking bow. ‘As my lady wishes.’

      ‘I’m not a lady. I am a maid, a person of no consequence.’

      A faint smile touched his lips. ‘It is well you reminded me.’

      She shook her head to rid it of the prickling feeling that he was toying with her. But Norsemen were not that subtle. They used brute force to destroy farms and steal livestock, rather than cunning to discover the hidden stores. She’d bide her time and escape.

      * * *

      ‘What have you found, Thrand? Anything? There is nothing to say who did this here,’ Knui called out as Thrand emerged from the woods with his prisoner in tow. ‘We thought the demons who must dwell in this place had found you and conquered your soul. But then they whisper that Loki has already determined your fate at Ragnarok.’

      ‘A witness,’ Thrand answered shortly, keeping a firm grip on Cwen’s wrist. Binding a woman was always a last resort. He would use her to bring down Hagal and finally revenge his parents. What happened to her after that was none of his concern.

      ‘Will you take her to Hagal?’ Knui asked with an intense expression. ‘The slaughter happened on his land. He will want to find the Northumbrians who did this and punish them. A direct assault on his authority can’t be tolerated. Think about how Halfdan will react when he knows. These bastards want to start the war again. Do they never give up?’

      ‘In my time,’ Thrand answered, giving Knui a hard look. With each word, Knui proclaimed that he was indeed Hagal’s creature. It was only Thrand’s promise to Sven which stayed his hand and prevented him from running the man through. Sven had given his oath his cousin would be loyal with his last breath. ‘I have promises to keep first, as you well know.’

      ‘But won’t she slow us down?’ Knui continued grumbling, seemingly oblivious to the threat in Thrand’s look. ‘The last thing we need is a woman with us. It is going to be difficult enough to get in and out of Bernicia as is.’

      Knui was right in one respect. The last thing he wanted on this journey was a woman, but Hagal, who loved gold more than life itself, wanted her dead. And that was more than enough justification for keeping her with them and alive.

      ‘Let me worry about that.’

      ‘We need to be back before the Storting starts,’ Knui persisted. ‘I want a say in Halfdan’s successor, even if you don’t.’

      ‘You seek to challenge my authority, Knui, son of Gorm, kinsman to Sven Audson?’ Thrand reached for his sword. If Knui wanted a fight, so be it. He had never walked away from a battle. He never would. ‘Do so openly. I’ve no time for games and whispers. Are you prepared to chance your sword arm against mine? Shall we see who the victor will be?’

      Knui glanced over his shoulders and saw the other men had moved away from him, leaving him isolated. The colour drained from his face.

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