Sold To The Viking Warrior

Liddy started forward, but was hauled back against Sigurd’s hard body.

‘Where do you think you are going?’ His deep voice rumbled in her ear.

She half-twisted. His closeness did strange things to her body. She frowned. Ever since she had watched the two tiny coffins being lowered into the ground, her body had had no feeling. Right now she had no time to go back to that indescribable pain. She swallowed hard and concentrated on the fortress.

‘To wait by the gate. To be first in the queue when they open for the assembly day. There are sure to be dozens of petitioners and I want to make sure mine is heard.’

‘We stay here a while yet.’ He draped his arm across her shoulders, preventing her from moving. Another warm pulse coursed through her. She screwed up her eyes and willed her lungs to fill with air. The trouble was that a small part of her wanted these pulses to continue.

Her gaze followed the line of his other arm. A group of Northmen rode up and demanded entrance. The gate swung open and another smaller group came out.

‘What are they doing?’

‘Searching. We wait until other islanders arrive. Then we will go forth as part of a crowd.’

‘Will they find us here?’ she asked.

Sigurd lifted a brow and exchanged a glance with Hring, who fingered his axe. ‘I’d prefer surprise, but we would be more than a match if they did discover us. A small patrol holds no fears for us.’

Liddy caught her bottom lip, something she always did when she was nervous. ‘Where should I hide?’

Sigurd settled down with his back against a tree. He patted the ground beside him. ‘Keep close and you will come to no harm.’

Liddy sat down with Coll between her and the Northman. The last thing she wanted, if she survived, was rumours that she had taken up with a Northman. She touched her birthmark. Not that any would be interested in her in any case. She had nothing to charm a man.

* * *

Sigurd woke with a numb arm. Some time in the night, her dog had moved to her other side and Lady Eilidith had moved closer. One hand was splayed against his chest. It felt right to hold her in his arms. He tried to remember when he’d last held a woman like this, just to sleep. Possibly Beyla all those years ago when he thought the world a very different place.

In the pale light, he watched her softly parted lips and the curve of her neck for another heartbeat. Something panged deep in his chest. He would do his best to protect her, but Eilidith was the bait. She was going to give him the excuse he needed to finally complete the first part of his vow and avenge his mother. First he did that and then he fulfilled the second part—regaining his father’s lands and becoming a great jaarl, rather than a half-breed good-for-nothing as Thorbin’s mother had proclaimed. If he lost sight of his goal, he lost everything.

He gently eased Eilidith away.

She blinked up at him, momentarily unfocused. Then recognition set in and she pulled away. Her dog gave a soft woof.

‘Time to begin, my lady,’ he said. ‘Are you ready? Shall we teach Thorbin a lesson?’

She nodded. ‘Coll and I are eager to play our parts, but Thorbin may listen to reason.’

He leant forward and adjusted the kerchief so that her flame-coloured hair was completely covered and less of a distraction.

‘You, yes, but your dog will stay with my men.’

She gave a hiccupping laugh. ‘Good luck with that. Coll will find a way to be with me. Your men won’t be able to hold him.’

‘They can and they will.’

A tiny frown appeared between her brows. ‘Why?’

‘Thorbin’s guards won’t let you anywhere near him with that dog. For my plan to succeed you must make your petition. You must be able to show Ketil’s ring to Thorbin yourself.’

The tension flowed from Eilidith’s face. ‘I knew Hring had it wrong. You would not have me play the whore.’

He stared at her astonished. She’d been worried about that? He captured her hand between his. Her fingers were long and narrow. The inside of her wrist was naked and vulnerable. Her eyes met his with a clear gaze. He realised he was staring. He hurriedly dropped her hand.

‘You are not the type,’ he said and knew from the flash of hurt in her eyes, his voice was a tad too harsh and he had put it badly. Her sensibilities shouldn’t bother him, but they did.

‘I never considered a whore for this,’ he said, trying again. ‘Thorbin knows how faithless women can be. You are perfect for what I need.’

Her hand grabbed on to Coll’s fur. Silently he willed her to see the sense. Making her a present to Thorbin would be something Thorbin would expect and would have planned for. His half-brother was thorough in that regard. They needed to be as inconspicuous as possible. Thorbin had to have no inkling until Sigurd sprang the trap.

‘If Coll senses I am in danger, he will find a way to get to me, but he can stay here.’

The air went out of Sigurd’s lungs and his neck eased. Eilidith was truly a gift. There was no pouting or demands that he list her undoubted charms as most of the women he’d dealt with would have done—instead, she turned her mind to the next problem. An attractive woman who was sensible—he couldn’t ask for more.

‘Hring will take care of him for you. I will inform him how to keep Coll under control.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Now we need to move.’

She remained where she was.

‘Do you think we will emerge alive?’

He reached out and cupped her cheek. Her soft skin trembled beneath his fingers. ‘Thorbin failed to kill me once. He won’t succeed this time. Trust me to get this right.’

Her tongue flicked out and moistened her lips. ‘What are we going to do? Tell me now or I will go straight to the gate and proclaim that Ketil’s men are here.’

With great reluctance he let her go. Soon, he promised his body, he would taste her lips, but he needed her courage first.

‘Warriors are allowed to challenge for the leadership,’ he said, forcing his mind to work, ‘if, and only if, they are in the assembly. A decree from King Harald Finehair in order to stop disputes. Thorbin seeks to prevent anyone from Ketil’s felag from reaching the assembly. That is where you come in, you are going to get me into the assembly today.’

Sigurd hunched down and outlined his plan, concentrating on the important aspects of it, rather than thinking about how her lips might taste or how her hair slowly turned a glossy red in the rising sun. Such considerations had no place in the here and now. He had to focus on his task as he had a thousand times before. Focus kept him alive.

Eilidith was useful to him as a reason to challenge something Thorbin could not duck or forestall on—that was all. He knew what was important in his life and where his future lay. It had nothing to do with a flame-haired woman and her overgrown wolfhound.

* * *

The gates finally swung open mid-morning after much grumbling in the growing throng that they normally opened at dawn as they had done on previous days. The crowd began to shuffle with much jostling and shoving to get a good position.

Against her natural instincts, Liddy obeyed Sigurd’s instructions and waited. According to him, they wanted to be in the centre of the stream of people going in. They were less likely to be questioned, more likely to make it to the great hall where Thorbin would hear the petitions. Her stomach had twisted itself into knots. The last thing she wanted was to be questioned about who her companion was. Her ability to lie was laughable.

She put her hand out to pat Coll and encountered empty air. She curled her fingers into her palm and wished Coll was there, but he was back being fed dried meat by Hring and she was here with Sigurd, trusting that her curse would not ruin everything.

The queue moved forward and then stopped abruptly. Sigurd changed his gait as they inched forward. To her sidewise glances, he appeared much more flat footed and slow, rather than possessing the arrogant swagger of a Northman warrior.

A large warrior jostled a fishmonger’s wife and she told him what to do in no uncertain terms in Gaelic. All banter ceased. The man stared at her while other people nudged each other. When she finished her tirade, she said very loudly in Norse that she wanted to go in to sell her fish, the freshest in the land. He nodded and waved her on.

‘Most Northmen don’t know the Gaelic language,’ Liddy whispered. ‘They taunt him. It is what passes for sport in this country these days.’

‘They should be careful. Not everyone from the North is ignorant or tolerant.’ Sigurd watched the warrior who was inspecting the woman’s basket of fresh fish with a dubious expression. ‘Gorm used to be well thought of. Slow to anger, but when he does, watch out. His double-axe skill is legendary.’