Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's ListSaved by the Viking WarriorThe Pirate Hunter

by Annie Burrows

  He gulped a mouthful of life-giving air and regained control of his emotions. Task at hand, not longing for something which could never happen.

  ‘We walk very slowly, but we put a distance between this place and us,’ he said with exaggerated patience.

  ‘I am a lady, not your slave. I dislike being ordered about.’

  ‘Humour me, Cwen. Please.’

  Cwenneth pressed her lips together, hating that Thrand was being logical. They had stayed here for far too long, but she had not had a choice. Keeping him drugged had been the right thing to do. She could not face losing him to an infection, not after seeing how Aefirth had suffered.

  She watched as Thrand kicked dirt over the fire, extinguishing it, then tested it for heat and putting more dirt over. A hard lump settled in her stomach.

  She wished she had thought of the risk of being seen, instead of staring into the flames and thinking about Aefirth’s last days.

  She picked up her cloak and concentrated on shaking it out. ‘I will bow to your superior wisdom—after all, you must have experience at escaping.’

  He turned back to her. ‘If you give me the pack, I will see about Myrkr.’

  ‘I will handle the pack and the horse,’ she said between gritted teeth and shouldered the heavy bag. ‘I’m hardly some useless lady who can’t lift more than a feather.’

  Thrand slowly turned back towards her. The planes of his face softened, making him human. ‘I have never considered you weak.’

  A warm glow infused her body. He thought her strong. Aefirth had always considered her helpless. She hated the disloyal thought.

  ‘We take frequent breaks. I refuse to have you act like a martyr.’ She glared at him. ‘Do you understand? I can give orders as well.’

  A muscle twitched in the corner of his cheek. ‘Few would dare order me about like that. My reputation precedes me.’

  ‘I know the man, I don’t fear the legend.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘The only thing I care about is getting to Jorvik and making my statement to Hagal. You are a means to an end. That is all.’

  Her heart protested at the necessary lie. She wanted him to live because...he’d saved her life. Cwenneth balanced the pack on her shoulder and refused to think beyond that reason.

  ‘It is good to know where your priorities lie.’

  * * *

  ‘There. Is the pack on Myrkr to your satisfaction this time?’ Cwenneth’s entire being was aware of Thrand standing directly behind her, watching her every move, but he had listened to reason and allowed her to put the pack on the horse. He had just made her do it three times until he was satisfied.

  He put a finger to her lips. ‘Hush. Listen.’

  A faint jangle of a bridle sounded on the early-morning breeze.

  ‘Sounds travel far in the mist,’ she whispered as her muscles froze. ‘They are not coming this way...’

  ‘Caution saves lives.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder. His breath tickled her ear, causing her stomach to swoop with an altogether different emotion. Cwenneth concentrated on breathing steadily.

  ‘Caution?’

  ‘We hide until they leave.’

  ‘How do you hide a horse like Myrkr?’

  Thrand led the way farther into the woods, stopping beside a small knoll. He gave Myrkr a slap on his hind quarters and the horse obediently trotted off. ‘Like that. He will come when I whistle.’

  ‘What’s your secret?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘My secret?’

  ‘Myrkr obeyed you instantly and without question.’

  ‘He trusts me. You should try it some time. It could be a good habit to get into.’ Thrand turned back to her. ‘Get down and wait. Whatever happens, keep your head down and keep silent.’

  Her heart thudded in her ears. ‘I can be quiet.’

  ‘With any luck, they will ride on past without investigating if the fire remains warm now that the smoke is gone.’

  ‘And if they don’t?’

  ‘We face it when it happens. But my sword arm has never failed me yet.’

  Cwenneth gulped hard. ‘We need to stay together. Going off scouting will increase our chances of being seen.’

  His large hand covered hers. The simple touch eased her and she found she could breathe again. ‘There is no need to give in to panicked fear.’

  ‘I’m not afraid,’ she lied, hoping he’d believe her.

  ‘That makes one of us then. It is fine to be afraid, Cwen, but use it, rather than panicking.’

  Cwen pressed her lips together. ‘I’ll remember that.’

  He lay down in the hollow, stretched out, but his hand hovered over the hilt of his sword. ‘Let’s hope Thor still favours you.’

  Cwenneth manoeuvred her body so that their shoulders were just touching. Even that innocent brush sent a pulse of warmth throughout her body. ‘Aren’t your gods supposed to be fickle?’

  He put his finger to her lips. ‘All will be well, Cwen. It is far too dark for them to want to go into the woods.’

  The cold dew seeped up into her body as they lay there in the grey mist of dawn, waiting. The jangling of the bridles came louder and stopped.

  ‘Anyone there?’ a Northumbrian voice called. ‘Answer us or we are coming in.’

  Cwen glanced at Thrand, who quickly shook his head.

  She crouched lower, tried to make her body smaller.

  ‘I don’t know what your lad saw,’ came another voice, rougher but with a lazy authority. ‘But nobody ever uses this hut, not since Simon the Fat died. His ghost haunts it.’

  ‘There was someone,’ a young boy’s voice protested. ‘I saw the smoke when I brought the cows in from the far field. Ghosts don’t cause smoke.’

  ‘Do you think it was him? With our new lord’s lady?’

  ‘Wherever Thrand the Destroyer is, it won’t be here,’ an older, rougher voice said. ‘Why would he be going north? There ain’t nothing for him. You’ve roused me from a warm bed and a willing wench for this! Your lad thought he saw wolves circling the sheep the other week and it were nothing.’

  Several men agreed with him. Cwenneth risked a breath. In the grey light, she counted five shapes. Five against one. The odds were terrible.

  ‘We should check,’ the first voice said. ‘My lad knows what he saw and where.’

  The door of the hut creaked.

  ‘The coals are warm...barely,’ someone called. ‘But they ain’t here. No telling who it was. Could have been the Destroyer and his men.’

  ‘In your nightmares!’

  The uneasy laughter followed the swift retort.

  ‘Only one horse,’ someone else shouted. ‘Doesn’t the Destroyer always travel with more men?’

  Cwen and Thrand exchanged glances. Thrand eased his sword out of the sheath. She nodded and resumed praying, more in hope than expectation.

  ‘We should search for them. They won’t go far.’ The boy started towards where Cwen and Thrand hid. Cwen shrank deeper into the hollow. Her muscles tensed, ready for flight.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone as we rode in,’ someone shouted and the boy halted inches from their hiding place. ‘If the Destroyer has left here, our farms are in danger. Our women.’

  ‘They will have left before it became dark. Stands to reason.’ Rough Voice gestured to the boy, calling him back. The boy scampered back to the others. Cwen breathed again.

  ‘And if it is the Destroyer, he won’t be alone. He will have his men with him. Hardened warriors, not farmhands. And more than one horse. Do you want to face them?’

  ‘But we should let the Norseman know. He promised a substantial reward.’

  ‘And you are a Northman’s lapdog now?’

  ‘I know what is go
od for me and mine.’

  ‘What do you think will happen if they find him here? Do you think they’d reward you with gold? Or take all your crops like they did last year?’ Rough Voice snorted. ‘I know what Norsemen’s rewards are like. He is as likely to rob you blind as fill your pockets with gold. Best to keep your head down and out of their affairs. You don’t want them to have any knowledge of treasure you might have.’

  ‘He’ll come back to it later!’

  ‘I hadn’t considered that. I don’t want any trouble.’ The man drew his boy closer.

  ‘I’m not minded to do any Norseman’s bidding,’ Rough Voice said. ‘Even if he was here, what business is it of mine as long as he leaves my crops and gold alone?’

  Others murmured their agreement.

  ‘Let them find the Destroyer themselves, I say,’ Rough Voice proclaimed in ringing tones. ‘A plague on all greedy Norsemen.’

  ‘And if they return?’ the boy piped up.

  ‘If they return and ask, we tell the truth—we checked but no one was here. But why bother trouble if trouble ain’t bothering us? I have lambs to birth and cows to milk.’

  After a pause which felt like a lifetime, they all agreed with Rough Voice.

  The tension in Cwen’s shoulders eased as Thrand released his grip on his sword.

  Discussing the perfidy of Norsemen, the likelihood of an early raiding season and the state of lambing, they departed.

  Cwen rolled over on her back and stared at the rose, dawn-streaked sky. Her blood fizzed as she drank in mouthfuls of life-giving air.

  ‘They have gone. Truly gone.’

  He put his hand on her shoulder. ‘I told you—you have Thor’s favour. It could have gone either way and it went in ours. Thanks to you and your luck.’

  She propped herself on one elbow and regarded his face. His dark-blonde hair streamed out across the ground and bristle shadowed his jaw.

  ‘I’m pleased you didn’t have to kill that boy.’

  ‘I’m a warrior, not a suicidal maniac. I only fight when I have to.’ He expelled a long breath and stood up without touching her. ‘The odds were not in my favour and as long as our hiding place remained undetected, there was no need. But I wouldn’t have hesitated.’

  ‘I know.’ Cwenneth stood up and brushed the dirt from her skirt.

  Thrand gave a low whistle which sounded more like an owl than a human. True to his prediction, the horse returned within a few heartbeats. Thrand leaned over and rubbed the horse’s nose.

  ‘They’ve no appetite for the search. You heard the one with the rough voice. Do you think we will be safe on the road?’ she asked.

  He raised a brow. ‘No more roads. And we skirt all settlements. The fewer people who know about our business, the better. We’ve no idea how far Hagal’s rumour has spread.’

  She held back the words saying that, despite everything, she had found a little bit of peace in this hut. She had proven that she could heal, that some of the more damning things whispered about Aefirth’s and Richard’s deaths were untrue. Not everyone she tried to heal died. But that would be revealing too much of herself to this man. ‘And your stitches? Are they up to a long ride?’

  ‘You sew a fine seam. I’d expect no less from you.’

  ‘A compliment?’

  He shrugged. ‘You’re a strong woman, Cwen, and a lucky one. Never allow anyone to tell you differently.’

  Their gazes caught and held. She cleared her throat. ‘How do you propose me getting on that horse?’

  Her voice was far more breathless than she would have liked.

  He jerked his head towards a stump. ‘Use that as a mounting block. The sooner we are away from Hagal and his men, the better. Every day we delay is another day that Hagal has a chance to spread his poisonous lies about me kidnapping you. And the next time, the farmers might not be as wary of Norsemen as that lot was.’

  Cwenneth hugged her arms about her waist. She had been foolish to think that he might want an excuse to hold her. And she had nearly embraced him after the men left. What sort of person was she that she needed to face the humiliation of rejection more than once?

  Chapter Eight

  Desire. What he felt for Cwenneth was nothing more than desire. He had been without a woman for months now. He had intended finding a willing woman the night Sven had died, but after that there had not been time. He had learnt his lesson after Ingrid—not to allow his heart to become involved. Purely physical and avoid complications.

  Cwen was not the sort of woman one used and discarded. She was the other sort, the sort his father had told him that you protected and looked after, a woman like his mother. Strong and full of integrity. Thrand pushed the thought away. Cwen was his means of achieving revenge for his mother’s death. That was all.

  ‘Shall we stop here?’ Cwen said, half turning. Her delicate brows puckered into a frown. ‘Here beside this stream is as good as any place to camp for the night. Stopping before it gets too dark.’

  The small wooded glade with a stream running through it would serve for the night. And his back was on fire. ‘You have a good eye. It will meet our needs. I will take the first watch. You look exhausted. We’ve gone far enough away from any pursuers.’

  She put her hand on his arm. ‘And if you think to fool me by saying your back doesn’t hurt by agreeing to my request, I must warn you, your brow is creased with pain and you winced when you mounted Mrykr the last time. You need to sleep. After all we’ve been through I won’t lose you to an infection.’

  Thrand drew his upper lip over his teeth. She had noticed his discomfort. He struggled to remember the last time anyone had noticed how he was, rather just accepting his bland words. Probably his mother. What would she have thought of Cwen?

  Thrand shook his head, trying to clear the thought. He knew what his mother had hoped for him—a wife and children—but that would have to wait until he had avenged her death. He couldn’t do both. He’d seen the terrible things that happened when men became distracted.

  ‘The last thing I need to do is sleep.’ He gave a crooked smile as she slid down from the horse. ‘I spent enough time the last few days asleep. Someone has to keep watch.’

  ‘I can take the first watch.’

  ‘When were you trained in swordplay, my lady? It will be safer for all if I remain alert.’

  ‘I never had the chance to learn.’ Cwen tucked her chin into her neck. ‘My late husband considered it beneath my dignity, or rather beneath his wife’s dignity. Perhaps I should have questioned his authority, but he was much older than I and much wiser in the ways of the world.’

  ‘He made a mistake.’

  ‘How hard can it be to use a sword? All you have to do is to remember which end to strike with.’

  ‘There is more to it than that.’ Thrand paused and silently vowed that he would teach her to fight before they reached Jorvik. For her own safety, she needed to learn. He didn’t want to think about her being alone and vulnerable, dying like his mother had done. She, too, had not known how to use a sword and believed that there would always be someone there to protect her. ‘My dreams are troubled ones. I’m used to getting by on little sleep.’

  ‘I hate dreaming.’ A vulnerable light shone in her eyes. ‘I worry about your wound becoming infected. I lost my husband to one and if I lose you...how will I survive?’

  A sudden stab of jealousy went through Thrand. He only hoped her much-older late husband had deserved her. ‘It wasn’t your fault he died. Destiny. We can’t chose the date of our birth or the date of our death. Warriors die of infections all the time. I’m very tough.’

  ‘Aefirth said the same when he lay there. He absolved me of all guilt. He was old, and I had my whole life ahead of me. It didn’t make it any easier.’ Her fist balled. ‘And you’re wrong about me bein
g lucky. Any who seek my help will die. My stepson’s nurse called out a curse when I put her from the hall and now I’m destined to lose everything I love.’

  ‘And because your husband died, you believe an old woman’s words?’

  ‘More people died.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Our son. He was two,’ she said, turning from him. Her shoulders hunched. ‘He died days after Aefirth. Of a fever. I wanted to die as well, but it didn’t happen. I have had to live with the knowledge of how I had failed. If I’d been a better person, I would have saved them both. But I’m wicked and so was punished. My stepson didn’t even allow me to lay flowers at Richard’s grave. He was afraid of the curse spreading.’

  Thrand sucked in his breath. Cwen had had a son. She had had a life before now. She had been a mother. She had had a child. The emptiness of his life grated. Never once had he had the joy of holding his own child. In the stillness of the evening he envied her.

  He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the feeling of wanting something more to his life. He knew what he did and why. It was the only life he had known since his family was slaughtered. It had to be until he had disposed of Hagal. Longing to have anything else led to a dulling of his sword arm and his appetite for fighting. There was no room in his life for anything but hate and killing.

  ‘You’re not cursed,’ he muttered.

  ‘You’ve never lost a child. It was as if my heart had been torn from my body. I prayed to God to let me die, but here I am. In the woods that first day, I found that I wanted to live. Even the thought of being with my son held no comfort.’

  ‘We cannot control when people die. The Norns of fate are tight-lipped crones and only they know what sort of thread they have spun for a man’s life. You are a good person who experienced bad times.’ He knew the words were inadequate and far too harsh. He had never been good at the soft words. Even Ingrid had teased him about that. Actions for him were always more important than words. ‘But it is how you respond to those times which is important. My mother used to say that to me.’

  At Cwenneth’s anguished look, he ran his hand through his hair. He hated having to provide comfort. He always said the wrong thing. ‘What I mean is that it is a tragedy when a young child dies. Far harder than when a man does. But to think we have a say in it is wrong. Outrunning your fate is impossible. Whatever words I say, it won’t make your burden any easier.’