Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (29 page)

‘If you want to stay alive, let alone gain the revenge you want, you will have to start thinking ahead and you will stay with me. I'm your best...no...your only hope.'

‘But we are staying at a farmhouse. The thought of a bed and a pillow has kept me going for a while.'

His face took on a thoughtful expression. ‘People do remember travellers and when Hagal's men come, they will answer their questions.' He gave a half shrug, but his eyes were sharp as if seeking something from her. ‘A lone woman travelling with a group of Norsemen... I doubt many fine ladies travel through this part of the country. If Hagal's men fail to find your body in the woods, they will check with the surrounding farms. It is what I would do.'

Cwenneth regarded the ground, rather than meeting Thrand's direct stare. To think she had earlier dismissed him as being all brawn and no brain. He had considered several steps ahead rather than thinking about immediate needs. She needed to start thinking smarter and stop giving in to prejudice. Thrand Ammundson was highly intelligent as well as a formidable warrior.

Some place deep within her chimed in that he was also good-looking when he wasn't scowling. She ignored it. She had not been interested in men since Aefirth died. Her very being had been encased in ice.

She narrowly avoided another muddy puddle and tried to think about what her next move should be in this real-life game of cat and mouse she was playing, rather than what Thrand looked like when he wasn't scowling. The only advantage she held was that Hagal thought her dead.

‘You've fallen silent, my lady. Do we stop at the next farm? I can see smoke rising in the distance. There will be a welcome of sorts.'

Cwenneth hiked her gown up to keep it out of the mud and silently bid goodbye to all thoughts of a feather bed. The only thing keeping her out of Hagal's clutches was his belief that she was dead. ‘You're right, we need to continue on and stopping at a farm is far from a good idea. The stress of today is addling my nerves.'

‘Here you had dreams of a bed,' he said with heavy irony. ‘Have you given up on your dreams so quickly? Are all Northumbrian ladies this weak willed?'

‘Do you know many Northumbrian ladies?'

‘I've met enough.'

‘They weren't me.' Cwenneth made a show of placing her feet down, even as the pain from the blister seared up her right leg. ‘I can keep going as long as you require it. There is no need to stop at a farmhouse or any settlement. The open air suits me fine.'

A hearty laugh rang out from his throat. ‘You learn quickly.'

‘Did you plan on stopping at a farm? Before...before you encountered me?'

He pulled his horse to a halt. All good humour vanished from his face. ‘I've my reasons for not wishing to be remembered.'

‘And they are?'

‘My own.'

* * *

Just when Cwenneth was convinced they would be trudging through the dank mud all night, Thrand imperiously lifted his hand and pulled his horse to a halt. The entire company stopped. ‘We will make camp here tonight. We should be safe. The ground is good in case of attack...from anyone or anything.'

Cwenneth sucked in her breath, giving silent thanks her walking for the day was done. But she was also pretty sure that she had beaten all wagers against her. It was strange—whenever she had considered quitting, she remembered the wagering and became more determined to prove them, particularly Thrand, wrong. ‘Expecting trouble?'

‘It is better to expect trouble than to encounter it, unprepared,' Thrand said before issuing orders to his men. ‘Perhaps if your men had...'

‘They were outnumbered. The outcome would have been the same,' she answered, placing her hands in the middle of her back, rather than giving in to the desire to collapse in a heap. Once down, she had her doubts about getting up again. ‘I keep wondering if there was something more I could have done, but my brother was determined on the match. He threatened me with a convent of his choosing and no dowry. I considered being the wife to a Norse
jaarl
was the better bet. Without a dowry, I'd have been little better than a scullery maid. It shows how wrong a person can be.'

‘And defeating me means more to your brother than his sister's life?'

She pressed her hands to her eyes. ‘Edward had no part in this. He wanted to believe Hagal's assurances and saw the marriage as a way to gain a powerful ally. But he'd never have sent me if he suspected the truth. A dead sister is no use to him in his quest for power within the Bernician court.'

His level gaze met hers. ‘There was nothing you could have done once the events were set in motion. The only mistake Hagal has made in this enterprise is to allow you to fall into my hands alive.'

‘But...'

‘He will pay for it. Now sit and rest. Women like you have no experience at setting up a camp and cause delays.'

‘You have a very low opinion of Northumbrian ladies.'

‘My dealings with them have been deliberately kept to a minimum.' The glacial blue of his eyes thawed slightly. ‘However, you did better today than any of my men thought you would. You have earned your rest.' He shook his head. ‘You are far stronger than even I thought you would be. You have made me revise my opinion of ladies. Not all are pale, puny creatures with less stamina than a mouse.'

‘Good.' Cwenneth sank to the ground, rather than argue. Her feet throbbed and burnt. Sitting, being ignored, was bliss. But her journey home and back to her family had just begun. Somewhere along the way, she'd teach that arrogant Norse warrior that ladies from Lingwold were to be reckoned with. She clenched her fist and vowed it on her son's grave.

‘Far from smart to provoke him, you know. His temper is legendary.'

She glanced up and saw a slender Norseman standing before her. She shaded her eyes. He'd been the one who had objected to Thrand bringing her along. Her own temper flared. ‘His nickname gives it away—the Destroyer. I doubt he acquired it through being kind and gentle to his enemies.'

‘Thrand is a great fighter. When a battle comes, he always wins. Halfdan's most potent weapon. They say rather than take the risk, people shower him with gold when he appears on their doorstep.'

‘Have you travelled with him often?'

‘First time.' The man leant forward and lowered his voice. ‘I promised my cousin on his deathbed I'd come. Someone has to see right for his child as it is kin. And Thrand, he is the sort of man to lead an expedition into enemy territory and return, more than likely with bags full of treasure and gold. Sven had a good war because of his friendship with Thrand. There are iron-bound chests full of gold back in Jorvik.'

‘That I can well believe.' Cwenneth said a fervent prayer that Thrand and his men would not be returning to Jorvik with more treasure looted from Bernicia.

‘I want gold,' Knui stated flatly. ‘Lots of it. But then you don't have any as Thrand will have already taken it. So I'm not sure why I'm bothering with you.'

Her hand hit her belt. Her rings. Aefirth would have understood.
Cwennie, survive
, he would have said.
Rely on no one but yourself
. Maybe this warrior would go to Lingwold and let her brother know she survived.

Edward would raise an army to free her if he thought Thrand the Destroyer had her. He'd march to Jorvik and make his demands heard. She had to have patience and think long term. Her hand started to fumble for the rings and her blood became alive with excitement.

A warning sounded in her gut. Why was a Norseman trying to make friends with her? Did he guess that she possessed even a little bit of gold? Why mention it otherwise?

Her hand stilled and dropped to her side. She had to proceed with caution and trust no one.

‘Knui Crowslayer! Where have you hidden yourself this time?' someone called. ‘I need some help with the firewood!'

‘It was good to speak with you,' Cwenneth called after him. ‘We must speak another time.'

She hugged her knees to her chest, oddly pleased that she didn't give up her rings at the first hint. If today had taught her anything, it was not to be blindly trusting. She would wait for her opportunity, rather than acting on impulse.

There was more than one way to get back to her old life. All she needed was patience and a workable plan. Thinking ahead rather than regretting mistakes.

* * *

‘You have remained in the same place since we arrived.' Thrand's voice rolled over her. ‘Is that wise? Surely my lady must have a complaint about the primitive standards of this camp.'

Cwenneth lifted her head. All of her muscles screamed with pain and the shadows had grown longer. She wasn't sure if she had slept or if her mind had become mercifully blank. Now everything came flooding back. She remained in the nightmare and it was about to get worse because they had stopped for the night. And she had no idea of Thrand's plans. He had claimed her as his woman.

Did he expect her to become his concubine? There had only been Aefirth. She knew how to be a wife, but she had little idea how to be a mistress. Refusing the position was out of the question, not if she wanted to live.

‘I wait for my orders, to find out what I need to do, rather than presuming.' Muscles protesting at the slightest movement, Cwenneth struggled to stand, but he motioned she should stay seated. She gratefully sat back down.

‘Are you capable of following orders?' Up close she was aware of his height, the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt tightened across his chest. There was power in those muscle-bound arms, but gentleness as well. She could clearly remember how he'd approached the wild boar—slowly and carefully, rather than scaring it. ‘Doing whatever I ask of you?'

‘If I'm going to stay alive, I have to learn.'

‘Clever woman.'

‘I've kept my word so far. There is no need to tie me up. I'm not going to run away tonight, not on these feet.'

His gaze slowly travelled over her, making her aware of how her hair tumbled about her neck and the way her gown was now hopelessly stained with mud. She must look like something the dog had dragged in.

His thin smile failed to reach his eyes. ‘I doubt you'd have the strength.'

‘I kept going today.'

He put a hand on her shoulder. Heat flooded her. She wanted to lean into his touch. ‘My men wagered that you wouldn't.'

‘I heard them when we started. Who won in the end?'

‘I did.'

‘You bet on me?'

The blue in his eyes deepened. ‘My purse is heavier. But you lasted even longer than I thought you would. Impressive. I thought, back by the farm, you'd beg for a ride.'

‘Giving up is not an option if I want to return to my old life. It is better to be unbound. It makes me believe that one day I will regain my freedom.' She kept her head erect. ‘I have my pride. The lords and ladies of Lingwold never beg.'

‘And you want to return?'

‘Very much. It is my home.' Cwenneth looped a strand of hair about her ear. ‘Life is good at Lingwold. The walls are strong. Food is plentiful and everyone sleeps soundly in their bed. I would even kiss my sister-in-law and stop complaining about her silly rules about how you weave tapestry.'

‘If it is in my power, word will be sent after I have finished with you.' He balanced the pouch of gold in his hand. ‘But you have presented me with another problem. You walked too slow.'

‘I hate horses.' Cwenneth leant forward, wrapping her hands about her knees. There was no way her feet would harden by morning. ‘There, I have admitted it. My fear of horses was stronger than my hurting feet. Tomorrow may be a different story.'

She had been wary of horses ever since Edward's stallion had bitten her arm when she was ten. All she had done was try to give it a carrot. Edward had laughed at her fear.

‘Here.' He tossed a small phial of ointment to her. It landed in her lap. She twisted off the top and wrinkled her nose.

‘And this is?'

‘For your feet. An old family recipe. My grandmother used to swear by it. It heals blisters.'

She blinked twice as her mind reeled. She had thought he'd come to mock or worse. ‘Why?'

A faint smile touched his features, transforming them. A woman could drown in those eyes, Cwenneth thought abstractly as a lump formed in her throat. She refused to hope that he was being kind. She doubted Thrand the Destroyer knew the meaning of kindness or simple human decency. He probably had another wager that he wanted to win.

‘Put the ointment on. We will have to go miles tomorrow and I have no wish for you to hold the men back. Purely selfish. I need to be back from the north within the month.'

She weighed the small jar in her hand. The man she thought devoid of all humanity had shown that he wasn't and that made him all the more dangerous. ‘I will in time.'

He made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. ‘It goes on now. Your feet need to have a chance to heal.'

Without waiting for an answer, he knelt down and eased off her boots. Her feet were rubbed raw with large blisters on the heels and base of her feet.

Cwenneth gave a moan of pain as the cool air hit them.

‘You kept going on these? Impressive.'

‘For a Northumbrian lady?' She held up her hand. ‘Please, I did overhear banter when the men were wagering. I'm not deaf or daft. And, of course, Narfi thought I was a pampered pet who would not last the night.'

‘What do you think of Norsemen?'

‘That they are muscle and—' She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘And I have seen firsthand your intelligence.'

‘You would do well to remember that.' He nodded towards her feet. ‘And it is for anyone. I have seen young men in tears over less. And I think you do yourself a disservice. You have a stronger will than most other women I've met.'