The Viking's Touch

‘I thought … I thought he had killed you.’

Her voice shook with delayed reaction and he heard it with some surprise.

‘I am not so easy to kill, my sweet.’ He hesitated. ‘Would it have grieved you, then, if he had?’

‘Of course it would.’

‘Gold would buy you another protector.’

‘I don’t want another protector.’

Anwyn swayed towards him. Then his mouth was on hers. He felt her arms slide around his neck, her body pressed against his. And then she was kissing him back. His heart seemed to skip several beats. The kiss grew deeper, more intimate. Desire flared.

AUTHOR NOTE

The birth of Wulfgar at the conclusion to THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE not only rounded off the story, but left it on a note of optimism for the future. It also offered the possibility of a sequel. Twenty-seven years after the events in that book, England was a different place. The Danelaw had been established in the north and Alfred had defeated the great Viking leader, Guthrum. However, other Viking raiders still harried the coasts of England and Europe. Among the most notorious was Rollo. He was clever as well as daring, and seemed to be an ideal candidate for a projected partnership with my hero. Of course events don’t play out as Wulfgar expects, because on his way to join the pirate force a storm blows his ship off course. The need for urgent repairs causes him and his men to put in at an apparently deserted bay on the coast of East Anglia. That in turn sets off a chain of unforeseen events and life-changing decisions.

Having lived in Norfolk as a student many years ago, I am familiar with East Anglia. A fascinating area, with a rich and diverse history, it certainly repays exploration. It is also scenically attractive, with gentle green countryside and the huge skies that have proved an inspiration to so many painters. The coast has its own attractions. The big resorts like Great Yarmouth and Hunstanton draw thousands of visitors every year. I have always preferred the more remote, less populated areas, with their rolling dunes, sandy bays and huge expanses of grey-green water. I have drawn on those experiences in this book. When one stands on the edge of the dunes and looks out across the North Sea it isn’t hard to visualise a striped sail on the horizon.

About the Author

JOANNA FULFORD is a compulsive scribbler, with a passion for literature and history, both of which she has studied to postgraduate level. Other countries and cultures have always exerted a fascination, and she has travelled widely, living and working abroad for many years. However, her roots are in England, and are now firmly established in the Peak District, where she lives with her husband Brian. When not pressing a hot keyboard she likes to be out on the hills, either walking or on horseback. However, these days equestrian activity is confined to sedate hacking rather than riding at high speed towards solid obstacles.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE VIKING’S DEFIANT BRIDE

(part of the Mills & Boon Presents … anthology,

featuring talented new authors)

THE WAYWARD GOVERNESS

THE LAIRD’S CAPTIVE WIFE

THE COUNTERFEIT CONDESA

Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Viking’s Touch

Joanna Fulford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In loving memory of Pam Barnard

Prologue

Northumbria—AD 889

Tongues of flames from the roof leaped thirty feet into the night sky and the heat grew so intense that it forced the spectators back. Grim-faced, they watched helplessly as the hall was consumed, beam and rafter and shingle backlit in a blaze of scarlet and orange. Acrid smoke oozed from the timbered walls and poured from the doorway, thickening the eerie glow. No one spoke. The only sounds were of crackling wood and the roar of the fire.

Wulfgar stood unmoving, like a man petrified by fell enchantment, and looked upon the destruction of the place he had once called home, the pyre of those he loved most. The light of the flames dyed his face blood-red and lent his gaze a terrible aspect. All the thoughts behind lay buried, overwhelmed by grief and anger too deep for utterance. His sword companions stood a little way off with the rest, watching in horrified silence from the edges of a vast darkness.

Time lost all meaning. Oblivious to fatigue and chill, Wulfgar remained there until grey dawn stole through the trees. Its pallid light revealed a black and smoking ruin. He did not notice the soft thud of hoof falls on turf or the creak of saddle leather as the rider dismounted. Only when the horseman stood beside him did he look round and, as one emerging from a long sleep, come slowly to consciousness.

The vivid blue gaze that met his might have been the mirror of his own. The face, lined now with age, also bore a striking resemblance to his. However, his father’s hair was now more grey than dark. Similar in height to Wulfgar, he bore himself erect and his powerful frame carried yet its familiar aura of power. For the space of several heartbeats the two men surveyed each other in silence. Wulfgar was the first to look away.

‘I should have been here,’ he said.

Wulfrum shook his head. ‘It would have changed nothing.’

‘I failed them when they needed me most.’

‘You could not have foreseen this.’

‘She begged me not to go, but I paid no heed. Tried to convince myself it was for her and the child I was doing it.’ Wulfgar’s voice shook. ‘It was my own selfishness that brought them to this.’

‘You could not have saved them, any more than you could have saved all the others who died.’

‘I could have tried.’

‘Aye, but the result would likely have been the same. The fever makes no distinctions. It kills noble and base-born together.’

‘That doesn’t help.’

‘No, only time will do that.’

‘Will it?’

Wulfrum paused. ‘What will you do now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You could return to Ravenswood for a while.’ The words were casually spoken, but underlain with something quite different. ‘There will always be a place for you.’

‘My place was here,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘but there is no going back.’

His father pursed his lips and looked away, past the ruin to the trees beyond. ‘So, you will rejoin Guthrum then?’

‘Guthrum grows old and his days of war are over. It’s my belief he’ll not live much longer.’

‘What then?’

‘I don’t know. Something else.’

‘You don’t have to decide now. Take some time, think about it.’

‘Ah, what was it you once said? “We are the decisions we make.”’ Wulfgar’s lip curled in self-mockery. ‘Well, mine are turned to ashes and I am to blame for that.’ He turned to face his father. ‘If there is any future for me now, it will not be found here.’

Chapter One

East Anglia—Six years later

Wulfgar stood at the ship’s prow, his keen gaze scanning the curve of yellow sand and the rolling dunes beyond, but the small bay was deserted save for the gulls riding currents of air. Heavy cloud scudded across a lowering sky, the remnant of the previous night’s storm. The only sounds were the wind and the crash of the surf along the shore where churned sand and a line of bladderwrack and driftwood remained to testify to its passing.

‘This will do well enough,’ he said. ‘We’ll bring her in here.’

Beside him Hermund nodded. ‘Where do you reckon here is?’

‘The Anglian coast probably, although it’s hard to be certain.’

‘Well, it seems quiet enough, my lord.’

‘All the same, we’ll send out a party of men to check.’

‘Right you are.’

Wulfgar gave the order and a few minutes later the ship’s keel ploughed into sand. The crew shipped oars and Wulfgar, with half-a-dozen others, vaulted over the gunwale into the surf and waded ashore. They sprinted up the beach and climbed the dunes. Beyond lay an expanse of heath interspersed with rough turf and clumps of yellow gorse. In the distance were cultivated strips and stands of trees.

‘It’ll do,’ said Wulfgar.

Hermund surveyed the surrounding landscape, his weathered face thoughtful, shrewd grey eyes missing nothing. At three and thirty he was six years older than his companion and a few strands of grey hair showed among the brown, but the quiet deference with which he treated the latter revealed their relative positions in the world.

‘Aye, my lord. All the same those fields must belong to someone.’

‘We’ll post guards.’

‘The local inhabitants may be friendly, of course.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied Wulfgar. ‘Although I wasn’t planning on staying around long enough to get acquainted. We have an appointment to keep.’

‘Rollo won’t quibble; he needs warriors and he wants the best.’

‘He’ll get them, and pay handsomely for the privilege.’

Hermund grinned. ‘Naturally.’

They turned and led the way back to the ship where teams of men had already begun to drag her higher up the beach.

‘We’ve done all right in the last six years,’ Hermund continued. ‘If luck stays with us, we’ll be able to retire soon on the proceeds.’

Wulfgar made no reply. His silence was not due to inattention; he had heard the words perfectly well and privately acknowledged their truth. He commanded a body of fighting men whose reputation went ahead of them: they could name their price in the full expectation of it being paid without argument. And luck had certainly been with them in that respect. Some even went so far as to say that their leader bore a charmed life for he emerged unscathed from every conflict. He had no fear of death; for a while he had actively sought it. Yet, perversely, death mocked him, often tantalisingly close in the heat of combat, but remaining always out of reach. He had resigned himself to it now, watching with cynical amusement as his wealth increased.

Unaware of his chief’s thoughts, Hermund surveyed the damage to the ship. ‘Torn sail, broken yard, cracked rudder … but we got off lightly, all things considered. Only three men hurt, too.’

‘Aye, it could have been worse.’

‘Several times back there I thought we were food for the fishes.’

‘If we don’t fix the damage, we soon will be,’ said Wulfgar. ‘Organise a work detail while I check on the injured.’

Moments later Hermund’s voice rang out, ‘Thrand! Beorn! Asulf! Get that sail down! Dag and Frodi, help them to free that yard! The rest of you over here …’

As they hastened to obey, the ship became a hive of activity. Wulfgar watched for a few moments, then went over to see the injured men. In the course of the storm one had fallen and concussed himself and a second had a deep and ragged gash along his arm, which was going to require stitching. The third had broken ribs. However, now that they were ashore the injuries could be treated more easily, and Wulfgar offered what reassurance he could.

Having done that, he rejoined the others. Several days’ hard labour lay ahead, but he didn’t mind it; hard labour meant forgetfulness, his mind focused on the present. Time dulled pain, but not memory. Only work could do that, for a while at least.

It was about an hour later when one of the lookouts recalled his attention. ‘Riders approaching, my lord.’

Wulfgar looked up quickly, narrowing his eyes against the wind. He saw the strangers at once: six horsemen reined in on the edge of the bay some hundred yards distant. Their attention was clearly focused on the ship.

‘Damn.’

The word was softly spoken, but Hermund caught it all the same. ‘What do you want to do?’

‘That depends on them. We’ll wait and discover their intent. It may just be curiosity.’

‘Perhaps.’

Wulfgar surveyed the newcomers. ‘We’re not looking for trouble. Tell the men to keep their weapons within reach, but no one’s to use them without my say so.’

‘Will do.’ His companion glanced at the riders again. ‘At least there are only six of them.’

‘That we can see.’

‘Point taken.’

The horsemen rode out on to the beach at an easy pace. Now they were closer Wulfgar could see that all of them were armed. However, their hands were conspicuously clear of their sword hilts. He noted it; if there really were only six, they weren’t about to stir up trouble, particularly when they didn’t know as yet whom they might be dealing with.

The riders halted a few yards clear of the nearest crew members. Their leader, a burly figure in his late thirties perhaps, leaned on the saddle pommel and looked around, stony-faced, impassive, cold eyes taking in the details. Sound died as the crew returned the attention. For several moments both groups weighed each other up.

‘Part of somebody’s war band or I miss my guess,’ murmured Hermund.

Wulfgar nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘My thought exactly. The question is, where are the others and how many?’

The leader of the horsemen broke the surrounding silence. ‘Who is chief of this rabble crew?’

‘That would be me.’ Wulfgar strolled forwards. ‘Was there something you wanted?’

The stranger’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘You’re trespassing.’

‘The shore belongs to no man,’ replied Hermund.

‘Not this bit of shore.’

‘Unfortunately my ship was damaged in the storm last night,’ explained Wulfgar. ‘We need to carry out repairs.’

‘Well, go and do them somewhere else. You’re not wanted here, Viking.’

Wulfgar held his temper. ‘The work will only take a few days. When it’s complete we’ll leave.’

‘You’ll go now if you know what’s good for you. Lord Ingvar doesn’t like intruders, especially not pirates.’

‘That is unfortunate.’

‘Unfortunate for you right enough.’ He smiled nastily, an expression mirrored in the faces of his five companions.

‘That remains to be seen.’

‘So you’re telling me you’re not leaving?’

Wulfgar nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’

For a moment the other met and held his gaze. Then he shrugged and turned his horse’s head. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’

With that the mounted group turned and cantered away.

‘Nice,’ said Hermund. ‘I reckon we can expect another visit quite soon, and with reinforcements.’

‘They could have been bluffing,’ replied Thrand.

Hermund shook his head. ‘Not a chance. He’d never have made the threat unless he knew he could back it up.’

‘Hermund’s right,’ said Wulfgar.

Thrand grinned. ‘Do we get ready for a fight then, my lord?’

‘We do.’

The men around them exchanged anticipatory glances. Thrand’s fist closed on the hilt of his dagger.

‘I’ll look forward to silencing Big Mouth myself.’

‘Don’t count your chickens,’ said Hermund. ‘We don’t know how many friends Big Mouth has got yet.’

‘Just so,’ replied Wulfgar, ‘which is why we need to be ready for them. Arm yourselves.’

Chapter Two

Anwyn held her mount to a steady walk, her gaze on the horizon where the grey sea formed a darker smudge against the sky. White caps chased across the bay and even from this distance she could hear the roar of surf along the strand. The breeze was cool and smelled of salt and damp earth, a reminder of last night’s storm. Even so, it was good to be out of doors again. Good to have the choice.

‘The clouds will soon be gone now, my lady.’ She glanced at her maid riding alongside her and smiled faintly. ‘I hope so, Jodis.’ Privately she wondered if the clouds were not gathering about them rather than dissipating. However, to have said so just then would have been to destroy her companion’s cheerful mood.

The girl had accompanied her when, five years earlier, Anwyn had been sent by her father to wed Earl Torstein. In those dark days she had acted more as friend and confidante than personal maid. At twenty Jodis was much of an age with her mistress, too, though taller and more sturdily built. Now she gestured towards the older man and child who rode a little way ahead.

‘Eyvind has taken well to horsemanship,’ the maid observed.

‘Yes, he has.’

‘He used to be such a quiet child but he’s gained more confidence since—’ Jodis broke off and amended hastily, ‘gained more confidence now.’

‘It’s all right. You can say it. He has gained confidence since his father died.’ Anwyn’s green eyes deepened with contained emotion. ‘Of late he has really begun to come out of his shell.’

Jodis nodded. ‘That he has.’

‘Ina has played a large part in that. He is a good mentor for the child.’ Anwyn smiled faintly. ‘Eyvind looks up to him. These days almost every sentence starts with “Ina says …”’

‘Aye, it does. I think if Ina told him to stand on his head in the midden, Eyvind would do it.’

‘That he would. For all his gruff ways, Ina has been more of a father-figure than Torstein ever was.’

‘You are both free now, my lady. Torstein cannot hurt you more.’

‘He cannot.’

Jodis heard the inflection and understood at once. ‘But Lord Ingvar could.’

‘His reputation is well known.’

Jodis shuddered. ‘And well earned, too, as we have proof.’

‘No solid proof; he’s too clever for that. The loss of livestock or the burning of a rick might easily be attributed to other causes.’

‘That’s a lot of unexplained mishaps.’

‘Too many, and yet I dare not openly accuse him. In any case it is his men who carry out these deeds, not he himself. Thus he can pretend innocence. By keeping up the pressure he thinks that I’ll give in eventually.’

‘How does he dare to face you?’

‘Pretence comes naturally to him. The man is a predator. One only needs to be in his company for ten minutes to know it.’

The maid looked up quickly. ‘He has not taken liberties, my lady?’

‘No, he’s not that stupid. He hides cruelty behind a smooth manner and honeyed words. I will never deliver myself or my son into his clutches, nor my people, neither.’

‘No-one could blame you for that. All the same, he grows more importunate.’

Anwyn sighed. ‘Don’t I know it?’

Lord Ingvar’s face loomed large in her mind; with its almost aristocratic lines framed by pale gold hair some might have considered it handsome, but for the thin-lipped mouth and the slanting gold-brown eyes that reminded her of a hunting cat. A little above the average height, he also had the lean form of a cat. The words of their last conversation were etched on her memory …

‘Think about it, Anwyn. Beranhold lands adjoin yours. What could be more practical or more sensible than to merge our two estates? My war band is strong. Put yourself under my protection.’

‘I thank you, my lord, but I have protection enough.’

‘Ah, yes. Torstein guarded you well, did he not? I don’t blame him for that; I would do exactly the same.’

A sudden chill raised gooseflesh along her arms. ‘I am quite sure of it.’

His voice grew softer, almost tender. ‘Would you not prefer to let a man shoulder the burdens for you?’

‘I can shoulder my own burdens well enough.’

‘That you are courageous is not in doubt. However, widowhood is a sad condition and a lonely one, especially for so lovely a woman.’ One hand reached out and lightly touched the edge of her braid. ‘Do you not long for a man to share your bed again—especially a man who appreciates beauty and knows how to please a woman?’

Her gut tightened. ‘I am not ready to marry again.’

‘You say so now, but I know how to be patient.’

‘Do not hold out hopes of me, my lord.’

‘When I set my heart on something I use every means at my disposal to get it.’

Anwyn suppressed a shiver at the memory. ‘I refused his suit long since,’ she continued, ‘yet barely a week goes by without his calls on some pretext or other.’

‘He is much smitten.’

‘Smitten with lands and wealth more like.’

Jodis shook her head. ‘A woman alone is vulnerable. You won’t be able to hold him off for ever, unless …’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you were to find another husband.’

‘I have no desire to marry again.’

‘If you do not, your father will choose for you.’

‘He has already intimated as much,’ replied Anwyn, ‘or at least my brother did when last he visited. Torstein had barely been dead three months! Osric takes after Father in his determination to increase our family’s wealth and holdings.’

‘Both of them are determined, my lady, and they see you as the key to future success.’

‘Another marriage for me; another step on the ladder to power for them. A wealthy northern earl, Osric said.’ Anwyn grimaced. ‘But I will not suffer them to make another match for me.’

‘You will likely have no choice, my lady. Your father is powerful and ambitious.’

‘He has furthered his ambitions at my expense already.’

‘But you remain a desirable marital prize.’

‘Maybe so, but the very thought of another marriage is repugnant to me.’

‘I did not mean a husband like Earl Torstein,’ Jodis replied, ‘but a good man, a kind man even.’

‘A man who is both good and kind? Now there’s a thought.’

Before either of them could say more, the child’s voice broke in. ‘Mother, can we have a canter now?’ He and his mentor had halted their mounts, waiting for her to draw level. The child’s green eyes were eager, pleading. ‘Ina says I can if you give your permission.’

Anwyn looked over his head at his companion. For all his fifty years the old warrior was still an upright figure whose sturdy frame spoke of compact strength. Grizzled locks and beard belied a shrewd mind and his dark eyes missed very little. He had besides an air of quiet authority. In the days after Torstein’s death he had been an invaluable ally, one she had learned to trust.

‘Very well, then, just as far as the dunes.’ She paused. ‘And be sure to take it steady.’

Needing no further encouragement, Eyvind turned the pony’s head and clapped his heels to its sides. The sturdy little creature broke into a canter. Beside him, Ina reined back, checking his mount’s longer stride to keep pace. Anwyn grinned and looked at Jodis.

‘How about it?’

Moments later their horses were cantering after the others. It was perhaps four hundred yards to the dunes, but the swifter pace was exhilarating and Anwyn fought the temptation to let the horse out to a gallop. It felt so good to ride out again without constraint, to feel the wind in her face, to feel almost free.

When at length they pulled up she found herself laughing, her spirit lighter than it had been earlier. She leaned forwards and patted the horse’s neck. Eyvind eyed her hopefully.