The Viking's Touch. Joanna Fulford
in the name of the Nidhoggr could Big Mouth have this many friends?’ muttered Thrand.
Beorn shook his head. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’
Wulfgar made no reply, mentally estimating the distance between themselves and the advancing warriors. Seventy yards … fifty yards … forty. He watched as the line of their spears shifted from the vertical to the fore.
‘Here we go,’ muttered Hermund.
Beside him, Wulfgar drew his sword. ‘All right, lads—’
He broke off, seeing a blur of movement from the corner of his eye. The blur became a galloping horse. Moments later the rider reined hard and the animal plunged to a halt between the two opposing forces. Almost simultaneously a woman’s voice rang out.
‘Stop this at once! All of you!’
The oncoming warriors stopped in their tracks. All eyes turned towards the speaker. Wulfgar mentally registered a slender figure in a deep blue gown. It was partly concealed by a grey mantle over which a thick red-gold braid flowed like a river of fire. Then she turned in his direction and for a moment he forgot to breathe.
‘Thor’s blood,’ muttered Thrand.
Beorn stared. ‘Am I really seeing what I think I’m seeing?’
‘No, you’re dreaming, Brother.’
‘Don’t wake me then, I beg.’
Wulfgar could understand the thinking, although clearly the woman before him was a living being and not a dream. Before he could pursue the thought she spoke again.
‘There will be no bloodshed here!’
Hermund leaned on his spear and his craggy features split in a broad grin. ‘Well, Frigg alone knows where we are, but it was worth coming just for this.’
Wulfgar’s eyes gleamed and he relaxed the grip on his sword hilt. ‘You never said a truer word, my friend.’ Even as he answered his mind was buzzing. Who was she? Why had she intervened? What manner of woman would dare to come between two opposing war bands? Not only dare to come between, but do it in the expectation of being obeyed? His curiosity mounted.
Ignoring the collective attention focused on her, Anwyn turned to confront Grymar. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
He jerked his head towards the ship’s crew some twenty yards distant. ‘My men and I were about to get rid of these scurvy intruders, my lady.’
‘On whose orders?’
‘Those of Lord Ingvar.’
‘These are my lands,’ she replied. ‘Lord Ingvar has no jurisdiction here.’
Grymar reddened. ‘He desires that we protect you, my lady.’
‘That is most kind of him, but I have my own protection.’ She gestured towards Ina. ‘Your help is not required.’
‘One old man? He couldn’t defend an argument.’
‘Put the matter to the test, oaf, and we’ll see what I can defend,’ growled Ina.
‘I wouldn’t take advantage.’
‘You’d be foolish to try,’ replied Anwyn, ‘especially as there are forty more of my men waiting in the dunes yonder.’
A muscle spasmed Ina’s cheek. However, Grymar missed it, darting a glance to the place she had indicated. The dunes were quiet, the only movement the wind in the marram grass. He regarded her suspiciously.
‘There’s no-one over there.’
Ina raised a grizzled brow. ‘Are you calling my lady a liar?’
Grymar reddened further. ‘I did not say so. I meant only that I cannot see anyone.’
‘That’s because they’re hidden.’
‘Be that as it may, what I am saying is that yonder riff-raff are trespassers.’
‘So are you,’ replied Ina, ‘but if you and your men leave now we’ll overlook it—this time.’
Grymar’s glare was poisonous. ‘Lord Ingvar isn’t going to like this.’
‘Dear me, how awful.’
Anwyn threw Ina a warning glance, knowing she could not afford to make an enemy of Ingvar. He was strong and potentially dangerous. Somehow he had to be kept on side while she made it clear that she would not tolerate this kind of interference in her affairs.
‘Lord Ingvar has always been a good neighbour,’ she replied. ‘He would never have sanctioned such a violation as this.’
Ina nodded. ‘You are right, my lady. It’s my belief that Grymar has acted on his own initiative in an excess of zeal.’
She saw the chance and seized it. ‘Yes, that must be it. His lordship will no doubt be greatly angered when he discovers what has happened.’
Grymar scowled. He knew enough about his master’s ambitions to realise that he would not be pleased by the creation of an open rift with Lady Anwyn. Moreover, it looked now as if all the blame was shifting his way.
‘If I have offended you, my lady, I am sorry for it.’
She favoured him with a haughty stare. ‘You have indeed caused me offence. You will take your men and leave.’
He threw a last look of detestation at her escort and at the ship’s crew, then turned his horse and barked an order to his men. Moments later the whole horde marched away up the beach. As she watched them depart, Anwyn let out the breath she had been holding.
‘Good riddance.’
Ina grimaced. ‘Good riddance indeed, as far as that goes.’
‘They won’t be back’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘they won’t, but that lot are still very much here.’ He jerked his head towards the watching crewmen. ‘And now we have their undivided attention.’
Chapter Three
Anwyn darted a glance at the silent warrior band and felt her heartbeat quicken. For a brief instant she wondered if she had not made a terrible mistake: visions of capture and slavery loomed large. Then resolution reasserted itself. She had come too far to back down now.
Turning her horse, she rode the last few yards towards them. They let her come. What she saw left her in no doubt that Ina was right: they were professionals, bearing themselves with the quiet confidence of men who have nothing to prove. Far from showing any expression of hostility, their faces revealed a very different range of emotions. These covered everything from rapt interest to amusement and frank enjoyment. For some reason it was far more disconcerting than warlike intent could ever have been. Anwyn lifted her chin and took a deep breath. Then, under the gauntlet of their eyes, she sought out the man who led them.
‘Which one of you is chief here?’
From the van of their ranks a man stepped forward. ‘I am.’
For the space of a few heartbeats they surveyed each other in silence. Her gaze took in a lithe and powerful figure clad in a mail shirt worn over leather tunic and breeches. One hand held a fine sword, companion no doubt to the dagger that hung from his belt, and on his left arm he carried a linden-wood shield embossed with iron. The upper part of his face was hidden by the guards of a helmet whose crest bore the likeness of a hunting wolf. Below it she could make out the strong lines of his jaw and mouth. Undisturbed by her scrutiny, he turned and handed the shield to one of his men. Then he removed the helmet and tossed that over, too. As he turned back again, Anwyn’s breath caught in her throat. The face with its chiselled clean-shaven lines was striking for its good looks. A vivid