Defiant in the Viking's Bed. Joanna Fulford

      Chapter Six

      Astrid continued to struggle but resistance was futile; her captors were roughly twice her size and strength and the hands that held her might have been made of steel. Half carried, half dragged, she was propelled across the open ground towards the hall. The doors opened to a blaze of torchlight that revealed the group of men inside. The feeling of sick horror increased and she estimated thirty at least; thirty who had never left and had never intended to leave.

      Conversation stopped as the newcomers entered and the weight of attention turned their way. The two captives were dragged before the high table and Leif flung to the floor. He lay still. In the light of the torches Astrid could see the wound on his head and the blood darkening his hair and running down his face. Had they killed him? Anger mingled with fear and again she tried to free herself but the grip on her arms was inflexible. Thirty pairs of eyes looked on in amusement. She ignored the grinning faces. There was only one man here whose opinion she had to worry about: with pounding heart her gaze went to the high table where her uncle sat.

      Jarl Einar surveyed the unconscious form on the floor for a moment and then turned to the man beside him.

      ‘Well, well. You were right after all. In truth, I didn’t think he’d come.’

      ‘You should have more faith, especially since the trap was so well baited.’

      Astrid’s attention flicked to the speaker, seated at her uncle’s right hand. A cold lump formed in the pit of her stomach as she recognised Hakke. Like many of those present he was physically impressive with the lean muscular build of the warrior. However, the richness of his clothing set him apart. Garnets glowed like blood in the gold brooch that held his cloak. Black hair fell over his shoulders. He might have been handsome, save for the thin-lipped mouth and steel grey eyes. Their gaze rested on Astrid for a moment.

      ‘Very well baited indeed.’ He smiled but the expression stopped well short of his eyes. ‘I am in your debt, my lady.’

      Astrid glared at him. ‘Tell these oafs to let me go.’

      He ignored that. ‘Pray come and sit next to me.’

      The words were not an invitation. Astrid’s captor escorted her to the designated place and shoved her on to a chair. Her cheeks flushed with indignation and she threw him a venomous look. His smile widened. She’d have liked to slap it off his face but knew better than to try. Losing her temper would achieve nothing and might make things worse for Leif. She threw another anxious glance his way. Still he didn’t stir. Misgivings grew. How badly was he hurt?

      Hakke looked at the prisoner and spoke to his men. ‘Remove his weapons and mail shirt. Then strip him to the waist and bind him fast.’

      The task was performed with ruthless efficiency.

      ‘Fetch a bucket of water and bring him round.’

      Jarl Einar regarded his companion in surprise. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to leave him unconscious?’

      ‘No, I want him to be fully aware of what’s happening to him.’

      Although he smiled, the prince’s tone sent a shiver through Astrid. Nor was there any trace of compassion in the steely eyes. The churning sensation in her stomach grew stronger and her hands clenched on the arm of the chair.

      Moments later a man returned with a bucket. He dashed the contents over Leif. The injured man groaned and stirred. Astrid bit her lip, torn between anxiety and relief that he wasn’t dead. She darted a look at the men who stood around him. She didn’t recognise any of them—they weren’t attached to her uncle’s retinue. Nevertheless, it took no more than a second to know what they were: sea wolves who fought only for gain and whose loyalty was to the highest payer. Their attention was currently on the prisoner, their expressions feral, each face lit with cruel anticipation.

      * * *

      A second bucket of water brought Leif to consciousness. For a moment or two he was disorientated, unaware of anything save a crashing headache and pain in his face and ribs. Slowly he became aware of more details: the soiled rushes pressed against his cheek, the smell of stale food and dogs. He tried to move his limbs but couldn’t.

      ‘Get him up on his knees.’

      The voice sounded vaguely familiar but he couldn’t quite place it. Then calloused hands seized his arms and hauled him up. He winced as his injuries protested.

      ‘It’s good to have you back with us, Jarl Leif,’ the voice continued. ‘I should hate you to miss any of this.’

      Leif frowned, and looked in the direction of the speaker. With a jolt of recognition he knew who it was.

      ‘Hakke.’

      The prince smiled. ‘Indeed. May I say I’ve been looking forward to this for some time.’

      ‘We all have,’ said Jarl Einar.

      Leif’s gaze flicked that way and his gut tightened as the implications began to dawn. Then, with a sense of shock, he saw who was sitting next to Hakke. For a moment his gaze locked with Astrid’s. She looked pale but, as far as he could tell, she seemed unharmed.

      The focus of his attention didn’t go unnoticed. ‘You have good taste, my lord, I’ll say that for you,’ said Hakke. ‘But then, a big fish requires special bait.’ He smiled at Astrid. ‘You have played your part to perfection, my dear.’

      She opened her mouth to speak but Leif was before her. ‘What part? What are you talking about?’

      ‘Your interest there hasn’t gone unnoticed. A beautiful woman is a reliable lure, in this case outstanding. Well done, my lady. Without you we could not have brought him here.’

      Leif frowned, his gaze locking with Astrid’s. ‘What does he mean?’

      She paled a little more. ‘It means nothing, I swear it.’

      ‘It means you have been tricked, my lord, and easily too,’ said Hakke. ‘Still, you are not the first to fall for a pretty face and I don’t suppose you’ll be the last.’

      Leif glared at him. ‘It’s a lie!’

      ‘And yet here we are.’

      The outwardly pleasant tone belied the enormity that lay behind those words. It fuelled Leif’s anger. Such treachery was impossible, inconceivable. He looked again at Astrid.

      She shook her head. ‘You mustn’t believe him, Leif.’

      Hakke raised an eyebrow. ‘You are too modest, my lady. After all, it was your message that brought him here tonight.’

      Her face went as white as bleached linen as the extent of the game became apparent and, along with that, her unwitting part in it. Her anguished gaze met Leif’s. In it she read anger and something frighteningly like doubt. Surely he couldn’t have swallowed those lies? He must know she would never have done such a thing; that they were using her for their own ends.

      She shook her head. ‘That’s not—’

      ‘Not what he was expecting,’ interrupted Hakke.

      Leif’s head thumped painfully. His mind was in turmoil, fighting against Hakke’s words. Astrid could not have done this. She wanted to leave; to escape an unwelcome marriage. There had to be another explanation.

      ‘Your presumption with regard to the Lady Astrid will be dealt with in due course,’ Hakke went on. ‘In the meantime, I have other bones to pick with you, my lord, beginning with the deaths of my brothers.’

      ‘They fell in battle,’ replied Leif, ‘and died with swords in their hands.’

      ‘They