The Viking's Touch

She threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘All right. I give in.’

Eyvind jumped up and down with glee. ‘Can we go now?’ ‘Why not?’ replied Wulfgar. ‘No time like the present.’

In spite of his suggestion that she might bring a large escort, Anwyn contented herself with Ina and half-a-dozen others. As the ship couldn’t go anywhere it seemed unlikely that Wulfgar would do anything untoward. They rode back to the bay, she having lent him a horse for the purpose. When they arrived it was to the sound of hammering and banging. Men swarmed all over the deck and the sand where the striped sail was still spread above the tide line. Eyvind took it all in wide-eyed.

Beside him, Anwyn quietly surveyed the vessel’s sleek lines. Built for speed and manoeuvrability, she would descend on an enemy like a hawk on its prey. Resistance would be swiftly overcome. Her crew were hunters, too, like the man who led them, the stranger beside her now. The knowledge sent a frisson down her spine.

‘A fine ship,’ she observed.

‘Would you care to take a closer look?’ he asked.

Eyvind regarded him eagerly. ‘Can I go on board?’

‘Of course.’

The child looked at his mother, waiting.

‘You may go.’ She looked at Ina. ‘Stay with him.’

The old warrior dismounted and lifted the boy down in his turn. Wulfgar summoned Hermund.

‘Go on ahead and show our guests around.’

‘Delighted, I’m sure.’ Hermund gestured towards the vessel and the three of them set off.

Wulfgar turned to Anwyn. ‘My lady?’

Seeing little other choice now, Anwyn dismounted. He followed suit and once again she was forcefully reminded how powerful he was, in every sense of the word. It did little for her equanimity. Neither did that unfathomable blue gaze.

‘Shall we?’ He glanced towards the ship.

She inclined her head and they set off together, he shortening his stride to match hers. Although he made no move to touch her, his closeness set her skin tingling. Yet what she felt was not fear. It was a strange mixture of anticipation and excitement.

‘How old is Eyvind?’ he asked.

‘Five now.’

‘It must have been hard for him to lose his father.’

‘He has Ina.’

It wasn’t what he expected to hear, and the words elicited a swift sideways glance. However, her attention was apparently on the three in front.

‘A woman alone is vulnerable, too,’ he said.

‘I have protection.’

‘A dozen men?’

‘There are plenty more.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Ah, yes, I had forgotten—forty more—hiding in the dunes.’

It drew a rueful smile. ‘All right, I fibbed about that part, but there really are more than a dozen men.’

‘I’m glad to hear it, given the warlike nature of your neighbours.’

‘Grymar was presumptuous.’

‘You are charitable.’

‘I cannot afford to be at odds with his master.’

‘That would be Lord Ingvar?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he so powerful, then?’

‘Powerful enough to make me want to keep the peace.’

She had spoken matter of factly, but he heard the seriousness beneath and understood it. However, she did not elaborate further.

Anwyn’s attention was claimed now by the ship. It was an arresting sight. She guessed the vessel to be roughly seventy feet long and perhaps fifteen or sixteen feet wide. Clinker built, her strakes were formed of solid oak planks fastened with tree nails and iron bolts and caulked with a cord of plaited animal hair. Anwyn’s gaze moved on, taking in the wooden planks that comprised the deck; the tall mast; the rowers’ benches and wooden storage lockers; the circular rowlocks in the main strake and the great oars—sixteen to a side. However, it was the magnificent prow that seized her imagination; a piece of oak intricately carved in the likeness of a snarling wolf.

‘She’s beautiful.’

‘She’s not the largest vessel afloat, but she’s swift enough and handles well.’

‘How long have you had her?’

‘Three years or so. We captured her as a prize of war.’

‘Oh.’ Looking at that carved prow again, Anwyn was forcefully reminded of the company in which she found herself. ‘You must have taken many prizes over the years.’

‘Enough,’ he replied.

The word was casually spoken, but it sent another tremor through her. In their way these men were every bit as dangerous as Ingvar’s war band. Though she said nothing, he sensed her unease.

‘What are you afraid of, Anwyn?’

The use of her name brought the warm blood to her cheeks, but she could detect nothing in his manner that suggested over-familiarity. On the contrary, it had sounded natural on his lips.

‘I … nothing.’

‘Something, I think.’ The tone was quiet, inviting confidence. Her confusion mounted.

‘I hardly know myself. Perhaps it is because I have never been so close to a warship before.’