The Warrior's Viking Bride. Michelle Styles

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СКАЧАТЬ his marriage and his daughter’s life to be with her.’ He gestured towards where Dagmar stood, waiting with her sword raised. ‘Her mother bargained her entire life’s work away to keep her daughter safe.’

      ‘And this is what she considered safe?’ Aedan regarded the woman with the strange blue markings on her face and plaited hair which quivered like snakes when she spoke. From what he could tell she was slender to the point of being mannish under the armour she wore. But she waved her hand with absolute authority.

      ‘We advance,’ she cried. ‘As long as our shields hold, Constantine holds the field. Thorsten and his Northmen have overreached. We will carry the day and with it, our lands, the lands Constantine has promised. Our servitude is at an end. One more battle. One more victory.’

      The men cheered and gave their battle cry and beat their swords against their shields.

      ‘Can she fight?’ Aedan asked in an undertone.

      ‘Her mother saw to that. Few men can compete with her. Kolbeinn in his prime, maybe.’ The man shrugged. ‘I do not worry about the enemies in front of her. I worry about the ones behind her. Gunnar drank the goblet Olafr intended for her this morning and now his bowels suffer.’

      ‘How do you know this?’

      ‘I switched them.’ The old man gave a chuckle. ‘Serves Gunnar right for throwing his lot in with Olafr.’

      ‘You are her protector.’

      ‘Helga was far from an easy woman, but I gave her my oath to protect her daughter and I do.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘What does her father require from her now that the witch is dead?’

      ‘He wishes to speak with her. I am to return with her.’

      ‘Where precisely is Kolbeinn these days?’

      ‘Out to the west, in command of Colbhasa,’ Aedan said, naming the Hebridean island where most of the Northmen from the Western fleet were based. ‘He requires his daughter by All Hallows or my people will die.’

      ‘I see your difficulty.’ The old man nodded gravely. ‘She will not go willingly to see her father. But you must first guard against that snake Olafr.’

      ‘Would Olafr shift his allegiance on the battlefield?’

      The man was silent for a long heartbeat. ‘I believe in my heart he is capable of that.’

      Aedan nodded. His mission had suddenly become more complicated. Not only did he have to convince Dagmar to meet with her father, he might also have to save her life first.

      A horn sounded and the lines moved forward. Out of the corner of his eye Aedan kept a watch on Olafr. He hung back slightly, never quite being part of the action while there was no doubting Dagmar’s courage. She shouted orders, rushed to reinforce the shield wall and encouraged her men to keep going forward.

      Slowly, against the odds, it appeared that she was gaining the upper hand in the battle. She was keeping her vow, delivering the victory for Constantine.

      * * *

      When the battle was at its height, Olafr raised his sword and lifted his shield, shouting for Thorsten over and over again. A sudden hush fell over the battlefield. Aedan froze in mid-swipe of his sword. Immediately several of Dagmar’s men stopped fighting, allowing the shield wall to collapse and the Northmen from the Black Pool to stream through.

      ‘Treachery!’ someone yelled.

      Aedan hacked his way to where Dagmar fought against several warriors. In a matter of heartbeats, she would be dead along with his hopes for his people and their freedom. The sword he carried shattered as he reached her.

      He brought the hilt of his broken sword down on the back of her head. She crumpled.

      He scooped her unconscious body up. She was slender, but all sinewy muscle, rather than soft womanly curves.

      ‘You go to her father?’ the old warrior cried.

      ‘God and the saints willing.’

      The man smiled and tossed him a brooch. ‘Look after her. I will distract them. Give her that when she goes to rip out your throat. Tell her that Old Alf kept the faith.’

      He gave a shout and went forward, drawing the opposing warriors to him, giving Aedan a corridor to escape.

      ‘Good.’ Aedan whistled to his wolfhound who bounded forward, snarling. ‘Time to fulfil our vow and return to the West.’

      Behind him, he heard the old man’s dying agonies, but he honoured his sacrifice and did not slacken his pace.

       Chapter Two

      Dagmar slowly struggled from an all-engulfing black pit and tried to make sense of the world. Positively, she lived. She knew that from the faint drizzle which landed on her face and the prickle of pine needles in her back. However, instead of the sounds of battle raging about her, there was a low hum of crickets and the faint chirp of some bird.

      She flexed her fingers and toes, relieved everything seemed to work. Her right arm was a bit stiff and her thighs screamed like they always did after a battle.

      Her mouth was drier than the sand on the beach below Constantine’s court at St Andrew’s. But mostly, it was the back of her head which pained her, a great searing ache which made her nauseous and threatened to cause the enveloping blackness to return.

      She tried to piece together how she’d arrived here but could only remember in snatches—the sword thrust towards her chest that she’d been certain would end her life, the sudden searing pain in the back of her head, the bumpy movement of a galloping horse and the strong arms about her as a low voice told her she would live if she obeyed. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to rid the buzzing noise from her ears.

      She cautiously raised herself up on one elbow. A wave of pain rocked her, causing the world to spin and blur, but she fought against it, refusing to return to that black nothingness. Gradually it cleared and her eyes focused.

      She lay on a bed of dry leaves and pine needles. From the sky, she reckoned it was nearing owl-light, then she immediately revised her opinion. The world was becoming lighter by the breath. She’d lost at least one day and night. A large multi-coloured wolfhound stood guard over her. Nearby she saw a dark auburn-haired figure sitting on a log, watching her intently. But her men had vanished. Neither were there any horses. She put a hand to her head, trying to remember where she’d seen her captor before.

      At her small movement, the man straightened, his hand going to his sword and recognition crashed through her. The Gael! The man who claimed to have a message from her father. The man had kidnapped her! She’d been ten thousand times a fool not to consider such a possibility.

      ‘Aedan mac Connall!’ she spluttered, but it came out weaker than a kitten’s mewl.

      She ground her teeth. Olafr had not required a confrontation; he’d simply arranged for her removal. She had been fooled by the oldest trick in the book. Her father would never have sent a Gael. He despised them. The only mistake Olafr had made was that she still lived. СКАЧАТЬ