Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (31 page)

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

T
he 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?'

Nausea rose in her stomach, replacing her sense of well-being. ‘Too soon. Tell me it is too soon.'

‘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.

‘Hagal the Red is the lord in these parts, not you.'

‘He has risen far under Halfdan's patronage. We both serve the same master...for now. Allow me and my men to go about our king's business as the land is at peace.'

‘These Northumbrians need to learn a lesson.' Narfi scratched his nose. ‘They grow bolder by the day—stealing sheep and cattle so that their children can be fed. Hagal has ordered me to take all measures necessary to ensure the Northumbrians understand they lost the war.'

‘Halfdan desires peace in his lands for all his people. Taking food from children's mouths breeds resentment rather than loyalty. Halfdan made the same remarks only last week.' Thrand's fingers itched to draw his sword and knock the smug sneer from Narfi's face. Once he would have done so and accepted the consequences, but his years of warfaring had taught him to wait and allow his opponent to make the first and often fatal mistake. It was about taking the opportunity when presented. Narfi would give him that opportunity...eventually.

‘The king would never have said such a thing in his youth,' Narfi remarked. ‘We need a strong king who will put the needs of the Norse first.'

‘Someone like Hagal?'

‘You said it, not I.' Narfi openly smirked.

‘Hagal does fancy challenging for the crown!' Thrand inclined his head. ‘Thank you for the confirmation. It puts a different complexion on matters. I shall redouble my efforts to be there for the Storting.'

‘I've seen you fight, Thrand. Too much the legend and too little the cold killer these days.' Narfi placed his hand on his sword's hilt. ‘Your reputation as a warrior is exaggerated. Easier to have one demon than a thousand. You or rather your name does have its uses.'

His men nudged each other.

‘Intriguing.' Thrand listened to the confirmation of what he'd long suspected. Others had used his reputation as a cover for their own deeds. A part of him was pleased Cwen had heard the independent confirmation. It bothered him that he wanted her to think of him as more than a mercenary.

‘Hagal is worth ten of you,' Narfi muttered.

‘Your words, not mine.'

Cwenneth forgot to breathe as she waited for the verdict which would allow them to pass unmolested.

Narfi stood not five feet from her, the man who supposedly had charge of her, the man who had murdered Agatha and the rest, and he challenged Thrand. She heard the genuine pleasure in his voice as he tossed off taunt after taunt. He sought a fight with Thrand.

This was going to end badly. She could feel it in her bones. Thrand and his men were outnumbered. She knew what these men were capable of and how they butchered innocent men.

Her knees threatened to collapse and the world started to turn dark at the edges. Cwenneth shook her head, trying to clear it. Fainting was a luxury she could ill afford. If she fainted, or even made a sound, Narfi would be bound to notice and recognise her. Her only hope was to remain like a statue, a statue of a thrall.

Cold sweat pooled at the base of her neck, her mouth tasted of ash and her back screamed from hunching over. The instinct to run and hide grew with each breath. She fought with all her might to keep still and hunched over. Her haircut and stained clothing had to be enough.

In her mind, she repeated Thrand's words over and over again—
Narfi would never equate a thrall with the missing Lady of Lingwold
.

Narfi cast his lifeless eyes over the group.

Pulling her cloak tighter about her, she hastily lowered her chin and hunched her shoulders even more.
Thralls kept their eyes to the ground.

Silently, Cwenneth prayed for a miracle.

Suddenly, Narfi's shoulders relaxed and he beamed with false good humour. ‘Next time call at the hall, rather than sneaking about like a thief, Thrand Ammundson. Hagal keeps a good table for men who belong to his
felag
.'

‘Halfdan holds my oath.'

‘It is the same thing.' Narfi made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Cwenneth released her breath. He accepted Thrand's word. They might get through this without any bloodshed, or Narfi realising who she was.

‘I'll remember for the next time, but today I decline.' Thrand gave a little cough. ‘It never does to keep a king waiting.'

‘What sort of bandits are you looking for?' Knui called out. ‘I know Hagal the Red's reputation for rewarding those who assist him with gold.'

‘Did I say bandits?' Narfi's eyes narrowed. ‘We're searching for a woman. Hagal's bride has been kidnapped. Hagal wants her released. If any of you discover her and brings her to the stronghold, he will give you gold. You have my solemn oath on it.'

Cwen curled her fists and concentrated on the ground. Surely Thrand's men would keep silent. Thrand had made it clear that she belonged to him.

‘We will keep it in our thoughts and, should we discover such a person, I will be sure to let Hagal know,' Thrand said smoothly as he gave Knui a hard stare. ‘You will have to be content with my word, Narfi.'

‘How much gold?' Knui called out.

‘More than you could carry, Knui Crowslayer.' Narfi gave an evil smile. ‘As you have given us information in the past, you know he is a man who keeps his words in these matters.'

Before Cwenneth could make a sound, Knui had reached her and shoved her forward. She stumbled and fell at Narfi's feet. ‘Here you go. Here's your missing woman. Now I want my gold.'

Cwenneth concentrated on Narfi's mud-splattered boots, praying for a miracle. Thrand and his men were outnumbered and Knui had turned traitor.

The tip of Narfi's sword jabbed her cheek, pricking her and forcing her face upwards. Her gaze locked with Narfi's dark one.

‘You thought, my lady, to hide. Pathetic disguise, cutting your hair. You should have stayed in your cart and had a quick death. Better for everyone.'

‘Why?' Cwenneth asked in a trembling voice. ‘Why better for everyone?'

‘Because your husband slew Hagal's close kinsman two Aprils ago.'

‘The woman belongs to me,' Thrand thundered and his sword knocked the blade from her cheek. ‘I've claimed her. I'll not give her up easily. I will deal with the traitor later, but for now this is between you and me, Narfi.'

Cwen scrambled on her hands and knees away from Narfi. When she reached the other side of Thrand's legs, she stopped, put her fingers to her cheek and wiped a drop of blood away. Her stomach roiled. Thrand had come to her defence but for how long? Thrand was a warrior, a warrior like her husband and her husband had died of his wounds.

‘This woman belongs to you? Since when?'

‘You marked her. No one marks my woman.' Thrand concentrated on Narfi as he struggled to keep control of his temper. The small trickle of blood on Cwen's cheek nearly sent him over the edge and in order to survive a fight with Narfi, he had to remain in control. But Narfi would fight him or be branded a coward for ever. ‘Given my mood and the brightness of the day, I was prepared to overlook your insolence about my mission, but not this. You will pay and you will pay in blood.'

‘Make her a present to Hagal.' Narfi took a step towards where Cwen cradled her cheek on the ground. ‘He will be most interested to know where his errant bride has been. He'll arrange a special welcome for you, Thrand, as you discovered her.'

‘Over my dead body,' Thrand said, moving between Cwenneth and Narfi.

‘That can be arranged.' Narfi lifted his sword. ‘Shall we see if the man matches the legend after all?'

There was a hiss of swords as Thrand's men drew their weapons. Thrand held up his hand, checking their movement. They obeyed him in an instant. Knui looked over his shoulder, suddenly unsure. Thrand glared at him. Knui's reckoning would come. He would see to it personally, but first Narfi.

‘A fair fight between you and me, Narfi, with Lady Cwenneth as the prize. Winner takes everything. No need for our men to fight.' Thrand paused, allowing his words to sink into Narfi's puffed-up brain. ‘Unless you are all talk and no sword arm.'

‘I welcome the opportunity to prove the man is much less than the legend.'

Instantly, the air became alive with the men making wagers on who would win. Thrand caught Helgi's eye and nodded. Helgi moved towards Cwen, helping to clear a space for the fighting, but being there to protect her if Narfi's men decided to act before the fight was through.

Narfi made a mocking bow towards where Cwen crouched on the ground. ‘You should have stayed in the cart like you were supposed to, my lady. Your death would have been quicker. I intend to take my time after your so-called champion dies.'

Cwen paled to ghost-white. Hot rage poured through Thrand's blood. Narfi enjoyed baiting her and making her feel uncomfortable. The man deserved to die. ‘Does your arrogance know no bounds?'

‘When you lie dying, you will know what folly it is to believe in the legend of your greatness.' Narfi lifted his sword.

Thrand thrust his sword downwards, catching Narfi on the thigh. ‘I defend what is mine!'

Narfi responded with a swift blow which Thrand easily deflected. The two men circled each other, trading blows, but nothing decisive. A probing of strength and skill to learn as much as possible about his opponent.

In the early days, after his parents' death, Thrand had engaged in many of these fights. It had been the only way to get to two of his parents' murderers. And he had nearly lost his life by being too quick and impatient. He had learnt to sit back and wait for the opportunity. They always overreached in time.

Thrand crouched, tossing his sword from hand to hand, enjoying the faint thrill of combat against a good opponent.

Thrand moved to his right. Narfi stuck out his foot. Thrand rolled, avoiding the blow, and rose to catch Narfi's elbow.

‘That passes for fighting, Narfi? My grandmother would have done better.'

‘Is that who taught you? I had wondered.'

Thrand narrowed his eyes, watching the movement of the sword. Narfi would try again. He fought dirty, relying on the trip and trick, rather than any real skill. But Narfi also left himself exposed every time he tried it. A question of patience and not giving in to frustration or anger.