The Warrior's Viking Bride (Harlequin Historical)

by Michelle Styles

  When she was fourteen, she’d thought one of the warriors might be sweet on her. He had a pretty face and legs which went on for ever, but his swordsmanship lacked precision. However, she still liked to watch him move. Arriving early and hoping to catch him alone, she’d overheard him boasting to his friends that he would soon get that pig-ugly creature Dagmar in his bed and the rest could pay him the gold they owed him for doing it. Then he’d find a pretty girl to warm his bed and banish the memory.

  Later that day, she demolished him on the training ground, giving no mercy and leaving him with blood on his pretty face. Then one by one she had defeated his friends in combat. The sniggering and the wagering had stopped and they simply praised her skill with weapons. But she never forgot the lesson—her overly long nose, sharp chin and strong jaw repulsed men rather than attracted them.

  She started to ease her way to safer ground, but his arms tightened about her, pulling her closer.

  ‘Imagine finding you here. Curled up like this.’

  His breath tickled her ear, doing strange things to her insides. She suddenly discovered that the last thing she wanted to do was escape.

  ‘Morning,’ she said, tucking her chin into her neck and inwardly winced. Her voice was far too breathless. She had wanted deceptively casual as if she woke up in a man’s arms all the time, rather than this being the first time. She wriggled slightly, but only succeeded in pressing her body closer to his. She put a hand against his chest. ‘You should’ve woken me. I’d have taken the second watch so you could sleep.’

  ‘You had bad dreams last night and were beyond waking. Sounds echo over the marsh. I’d no wish to alert anyone who might be searching for us.’

  She gave an involuntary shudder, hating that he was right. She should have considered the potential for the dream returning and found a way to remain alert. ‘Some nights are worse than others. I regret disturbing you. Next time, shake me harder.’

  ‘I tried to wake you, but you called out even louder. Cradling you in my arms was the only thing which quietened you. Mor needs her beauty sleep if she is to find our way out of the marshes.’

  ‘I must’ve been exhausted.’ She put her elbow against his chest and pushed. His arms immediately fell away. ‘I’m rested now. I do apologise.’

  ‘Don’t, it isn’t often I get to sleep with a beautiful woman in my arms.’

  ‘I’m far from beautiful. My nose is too long, my ears stick out at odd angles and my mouth is far too big. Ask anyone.’

  He gave a crooked smile. ‘I’m the one who can see your face in the morning dawn. I am the one who makes the judgement about your beauty, not you.’

  Every particle of her was aware of him. A great ache filled her insides. Aedan is this mood was dangerous in a way that he hadn’t been before. She forced a laugh. ‘You walked into an army with just a dog for protection. Your judgement is suspect.’

  ‘But it remains mine.’ He gave a soft laugh which made her insides melt. ‘Mor is more than simply a dog. She is a wolfhound of renowned parentage.’

  Her mouth ached, longing to feel his against it. There was a piece of her which wanted to believe his words about her beauty and that frightened her. ‘We need to get going.’

  Mor gave a low growl and the hairs stood up on the back of the dog’s neck. Aedan’s body instantly tensed.

  ‘Get under the cloak and keep very still if you value your life.’

  ‘Why?’ She hated that her voice sounded as though she had been running. She cleared her throat. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mor always does that when she catches the scent of unknown people. I might be able to get us out of this peacefully.’

  ‘I’ve no fear of men as long as my sword arm has strength.’

  ‘Please. I’m keeping you in reserve if it comes to a fight, but they may be searching for a couple.’

  The request tugged at her heart. He was asking rather than telling her. She gave a small nod and curled herself into a small ball and pulled the cloak firmly over her. ‘Very well. If they overwhelm you, call out my name.’

  ‘Your name might produce unexpected results.’ His voice shook with barely suppressed laughter.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ she retorted through gritted teeth. ‘I will come to your aid.’

  ‘I wish to avoid blood, rather than starting a war. No point in antagonising people until you know the odds. It sounds like a crowd. They may be looking for a stray sheep or cow.’

  ‘I will wait quietly, I promise.’

  ‘I’m counting on it.’ Was it her imagination or did his hand brush her hair as he adjusted the cloak about her? Her hand curled about the short dagger, hidden within its depths that had not been there a breath before. A mistake or deliberate? She burrowed deeper into the cloak, but kept a peephole.

  A group of three men and a boy burst into the hut, talking in loud voices. Their clothes were reasonably well kept but there was a hardness about the eyes that she distrusted. The heavy-set one carried a large satchel. Too lightly armed for warriors, but neither were they simple farmers. They moved with unexpected familiarity about the hut.

  All conversation died when they caught sight of Aedan standing in the centre of the hut. They exchanged glances before the lead man gave an evil leer. Dagmar’s stomach tensed as it always did before battle.

  She curled her fingers tighter about the knife, getting ready to throw it when Aedan called for assistance. He’d seen her safely through the marshes thus far, so she’d wait rather than following her instincts. But if he faltered, she reserved the right to take steps of her own.

  Aedan tightened his grip on his sword while motioning for Mor to stay down. Against expectation, Dagmar had obeyed his instructions and kept hidden.

  ‘Gentlemen. What brings you here on this fair morning? Chasing sheep?’

  ‘We are searching for a missing horse,’ the tallest one said, putting a restraining arm on one of the men and giving a falsely jovial smile. ‘One with a white blaze on its forehead. Went missing in the night.’

  Aedan released a breath. They were not searching for Dagmar, but they remained a potential threat. An air of desperation hung like a bad smell about them. He massaged the back of his neck and willed his muscles to relax. He watched, and waited, rather than seeking trouble.

  ‘No horse here. Just my woman and me, sheltering from last night’s storm.’ He smiled. ‘The sun has risen. We will be on our way and leave you in peace.’

  The tall man scratched his scar. ‘Most give this place a wide berth. Only a few know their way through the marshes.’

  ‘Obviously I am one of the few,’ Aedan said mildly, trying to work out who precisely these men were and what their true purpose was—they did not have northern accents, more the lilt of a Pict. These men could be what they said they were—labourers in search of a horse, rather than thieves returning to their lair, but...he hoped Dagmar had discovered the dagger that he had hidden in the folds of his cloak when he’d adjusted it over her. Given the numbers, he would welcome help if it came to it.

  Their leader eyed him suspiciously. ‘Full of yourself, aren’t you?’

  ‘I merely state the obvious. I’m here and alive. Therefore, I know the way.’

  The man drew his upper lip over his teeth. ‘How long have you been here? Just the night? Where is your woman?’

  ‘We need to move on. My woman’s father requires her.’ He gave them a hard look. ‘Give my woman a moment to compose herself and then we will go, leaving this place in peace.’

  He held out his hands to show that he meant no harm.

  The man did not move. ‘And you have come from where?’

  ‘From the east. There looked to be a battle brewing. Great armies on the move. It is why we braved the marshes.’

  ‘And found your way from the east. Just like that.’

  Aedan shr
ugged. ‘Why would I lie?’

  The spokesman glanced at his companions. One gave an almost imperceptible nod and moved at lightning speed. He drew his sword and placed it against Aedan’s neck while the other one pounced on the cloak, grabbed Dagmar’s arm and hauled her up against him and held her with a dagger against her throat. Aedan gave a low curse under his breath to be caught by such a basic trick.

  ‘It is my regret that on a sunny morning like this, we must take your valuables and enjoy your woman before we kill you because you are lying through your back teeth. A way through the marshes indeed.’

  ‘You might want to put that away and release my woman before anyone gets hurt. She objects to being manhandled. Go before it gets worse for you.’

  ‘Why? Give me one good reason.’ The man pressed the dagger harder against Dagmar’s neck.

  ‘My dog does not take kindly to my woman enduring a stranger’s touch. Release her before my dog rips out your throat. She has quite a taste for man flesh when provoked.’ Aedan made a small motion towards where Mor lurked in the shadows. Her loud growl echoed through the hut.

  As Mor’s growl increased, Dagmar shoved an elbow into her captor’s gut while she grabbed his arm and pulled downwards.

  Forget about letting Aedan handle it in a peaceful manner. Time these men learned that women were not to be used in that fashion.

  Her captor’s brief catch of breath gave her a chance to spin away from the dagger and wrench the man’s arm from its socket. He gave an agonising scream and released the knife. Dagmar kicked it away and crouched low as she assessed the scene.

  Unfortunately, the leader had had the presence of mind to keep his sword against Aedan’s neck. Dagmar silently cursed.

  ‘First man who tries anything with me will be wearing a new sort of smile and singing much higher when I am finished,’ Dagmar said. ‘Release my man and maybe you will live. Otherwise, you will die.’

  ‘A wee lass like you? What can you do?’ One of the men laughed. He signalled to someone outside and Dagmar knew that there were more than these pieces of scum.

  ‘I just broke his arm. Be thankful I did not kill him.’

  ‘Be a good woman and shut your mouth. We will attend to you later. Your man needs to be taught his manners. You don’t stay in people’s huts without first asking permission.’

  A distinct chill went down her back. Not just thieves, but rapists and murderers. Men who took without asking. They deserved what was coming to them. ‘Do you actively desire death?’

  He wiped his hand across his face. ‘By God, I like them feisty. Makes the surrender much more enjoyable.’

  ‘Don’t do anything rash!’ Aedan shouted to her.

  She gave a brief nod to show she understood the implied command and contented herself with tossing the knife back and forth between her hands while she waited for Aedan’s signal. There was no telling how many others might be outside. They had to work as a pair.

  ‘I asked you politely to let us go. You have abused me and my woman.’ Aedan stood with a slightly bored expression on his face. ‘Even now I will give you a chance. Go, leaving my sword, and live, or face the consequences.’

  ‘You bargaining? With us? With a sword against your neck? Don’t you know who we are?’ the first of the gang said.

  ‘Return my sword and we shall forget all about this. We are unlikely to be passing this way again. We can part in peace.’

  Dagmar silently vowed that she would return and clear out this nest of murderers and thieves, once she had dealt with her father.

  ‘A pretty tale you weave,’ the man ground out. ‘But I must decline your offer. I hold all the advantage here.’

  ‘Pity.’ Aedan clicked his fingers.

  With a snarl Mor leapt. Her mouth closed about the leader’s wrist, causing him to drop the sword. Aedan caught it before it fell to the ground and thrusted it upwards. ‘Dagmar, do your worst!’

  At Aedan’s movement, Dagmar rushed forward, giving her battle roar. The men started to run, but Dagmar caught the leader.

  ‘I despise men who threaten women,’ she said, plunging the knife between his ribs. The man fell with a surprised expression on his face. She pivoted and caught the man who held her captive. ‘That goes double for you.’

  That man, too, fell.

  The boy fled, abandoning the sack.

  Mor chased them out the door and they saw the others running, too, but at Aedan’s low whistle, she returned and flopped down at his feet.

  ‘We won!’ Dagmar called out. Giving into an impulse she threw her arms about Aedan. ‘We beat them. They are on the run!’

  He lifted her up, so that her feet did not touch the ground. Then he swung her round and round like her father had done when she was a little girl.

  ‘That we did.’ His mouth was only a breath away. Up close, she could see the vividness of his eyes. Her lips tingled. He was going to kiss her. She wanted him to, desperately.

  Instead she stepped away from him, crossed her arms over her suddenly aching breasts and forced a scowl.

  ‘You are a good warrior, Gael. Your timing is impeccable,’ she said, awkwardly holding out her hand. ‘I’m honoured to be part of your felag.’

  His laugh rang out over the marshes. ‘You’re not so bad yourself, Shield Maiden. Your moves were a joy to watch.’

  He took her hand and enclosed it in his warm embrace. She drew away sharply as a heated pulse travelled up her arm.

  ‘I begin to see why you and Mor are such a formidable team.’ Dagmar quickly cleaned the dagger and stuck it in her belt before he had a chance to ask for it to be returned. She crossed to where she’d kicked the dagger belonging to one of the men she’d killed and put that next to the first knife.

  The simple action helped restore her equilibrium. She had fought in battles, but she had never wanted to kiss a man before. Not in that deep-down spine-tingling way as though there could be something more for her than endless campaigns to be fought.

  He continued to watch her with speculative eyes. ‘Mor is the best dog I have had.’

  At the sound of her name, Mor trotted back and lolled against Aedan, breaking the tension that had sprung up between them. His long fingers fondled the dog’s ears as she stuck her nose into his palm.

  Mor then trotted over to Dagmar, rising up to put her paws on her shoulders and proceeded to give her a big lick on the side of her face. Mor’s tongue was rough against her cheek. Dagmar gave a little laugh. She’d missed having a dog. After her dog died from poisoning, her mother had declared that no space existed for one on a campaign as they could never contribute to the fellowship. Her mother had been wrong about that as well as Olafr. Dagmar bit her lip. How many other things had her mother been wrong about?

  ‘Mor has decided you belong, Shield Maiden. You are now officially part of this fellowship, this felag as you call it.’

  Dagmar blinked hard. Aedan said that she belonged. It felt good to belong and not to be fighting for her place and trying to keep her mother’s band from disintegrating, something she had done ever since her mother had died. At times the feelings of loneliness had threatened to overwhelm her. When they arrived at her father’s, this felag would end and she’d be alone again. But for right now, she was part of something. It was an improvement from yesterday.

  Dagmar made a careful bow. ‘I’m delighted to play my part for as long as the fellowship lasts.’

  He appeared about to say something else, but simply regarded her with his deep blue-green eyes. Her mouth started aching again. She wiped her hand across it and willed the feeling to go.

  ‘We should see if they have left anything of value behind,’ she said to fill the awkward silence that had sprung up. ‘Anything we can use on our journey.’

  ‘Excellent thinking.’ Aedan went quickly through the pack the boy had abandoned in his haste to leave. �
��Some food, a few gold coins, a necklace and a woman’s gown, far finer than I would have expected. That is fortunate.’

  He held out a gown of dark-blue wool. She hated to think of what must have happened to that unknown woman. Hopefully what had just transpired in the hut provided some justice for her.

  The fabric held a slight shimmer and rippled in his hands. It was the sort of gown that Dagmar had seen the fine Pict ladies wear at Constantine’s court, rather than a peasant’s dress. She’d occasionally envied them their beauty and grace, but not enough to ever wish to wear one of their gowns or pluck her eyebrows as they had done or wear their elaborate headgear. ‘A lady’s gown. You want to take it?’

  ‘Then you are agreed we take the items.’

  ‘The gold, jewels and food, yes.’ Dagmar wrinkled her nose. ‘I doubt we will need a gown.’

  A dimple fluttered at the corner of his mouth. ‘Might come in useful when you meet your father. The ladies of his court are always finely decked out.’

  Dagmar pursed her lips. There was no point in telling him that she would greet her father naked rather than wear a gown. Her father was going to have to understand that she came as a shield maiden, rather than a peace-weaver, and her attire was the best way to do it.

  Her mother had always striven to make her point visually. Her face might not be painted any longer or her hair elaborately plaited, but she would wear these clothes, her clothes, the clothes which proclaimed to the world that she was a shield maiden who only ever considered the arts of war.

  ‘My father shall see me as I am. I will never wear a gown in front of him. Leave it here. The mice can use it for their nests.’

  Aedan calmly folded the gown and stuffed it into his pack. ‘I will keep the gown if only to keep it out of the gang’s grubby paws.’

  ‘I hope it fits you then,’ Dagmar muttered.

  His eyes flared and she knew the barb had struck home. She winced. Aedan was the one person she didn’t want to risk offending. Her and her quick tongue. At this rate, their fellowship would be over before it had begun.

  ‘We shall see who wears it when the time comes.’ He shouldered his pack. ‘If you are quite ready...if you think we haven’t forgotten to do anything of importance, we go.’