The Warrior's Viking Bride. Michelle Styles

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СКАЧАТЬ Olafr Rolfson?’ Aedan asked the grizzled warrior.

      The man gave the briefest of nods towards the warrior who had greeted him. ‘Now he has to wait until you have said your piece, to see if it brings him some advantage. He is greedy, that one, make no mistake.’

      ‘Why are you telling me this?’

      ‘You’re from her father rather than that witch of a stepmother. You mean to take her back. There is no point denying it or causing your dog to growl at me. I’m far too long in the tooth, but I know the meaning of the sword you carry. Now that her mother has died, I am the only one left who does. You are to be treated like a friend, not an enemy. After all this time, he remembered the signal.’

      ‘That surprises you?’

      The warrior gave a lopsided smile. ‘I know what he is like. His daughter takes after him in many ways, except she wants her way, not his.’

      Aedan narrowed his eyes, wondering how much he should confide. ‘My honour and my people depend on me fulfilling this quest.’

      The man nodded. ‘I always knew he would send someone honourable one day. Where is the she-witch of a second wife? Quickly now.’

      Aedan cocked his head to one side. ‘His wife died. It is why he has sent for his daughter. He wants her near.’

      ‘A hard woman, that one, but Kolbeinn was obsessed with her. He destroyed 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 СКАЧАТЬ