Saved by the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles
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.’
‘You met someone with a stronger will?’
His body went rigid, and the stone planes in his face returned. ‘A long time ago.’
‘I had no choice. You would have tethered me to that horse and made me run simply for the pleasure of it. I’ve heard the stories.’
‘I would have slung you over the back with your hands tied behind your back to prevent you stealing my horse.’ His brows drew together. ‘Humiliating a woman ultimately humiliates the man more. My father taught me that.’
Cwenneth breathed a little easier. Thrand Ammundson was no nightmare of a warrior. ‘I stand corrected.’
‘Courage impresses my men. You never know when you will need allies. You impressed them today. Now let’s see about these blisters.’
He ran a finger along the base of her foot. For such a large man, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Warmth spread up her leg, making her feel alive and cared for. She wanted him to keep stroking, keep kneading the ball of her foot. A sharp pain went through her.
She jerked her foot back. ‘That hurt.’
‘The blisters can be healed. Give me the jar.’ He held out his hand. ‘I will show you how and tomorrow you do it yourself. Morning and night until your feet toughen. Tomorrow we go quicker.’ He took the jar from her unresisting fingers and knelt down before her.
A pulse of warmth radiated from his touch. He touched first one blister, then another, spreading the soothing ointment on. Cwenneth leant back on the green moss and gave herself up to the blissful relief of the pain vanishing.
A small sigh of pleasure escaped from her throat. Immediately, he stopped and dropped the jar beside her.