Defiant in the Viking's Bed. Joanna Fulford
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you want with us?’
‘I want nothing, lady, other than to ensure your safety. The rest my lord will explain himself.’
‘And who is your lord?’
‘King Halfdan.’
Both women regarded him in astonishment. Ragnhild’s hand tightened on Astrid’s arm. ‘Halfdan?’
‘Aye, my lady.’
‘Oh, the gods be thanked.’
Astrid too let out the breath she had been holding, hardly able to take in such a swift reversal of their former ill fortune. Turning to Ragnhild, she saw the same expression mirrored in the other woman’s face.
‘The king is here?’ Ragnhild continued.
‘Nothing could have kept him away, my lady. Your safety and well-being are most dear to his heart.’
‘As his are to mine.’ She paused. ‘To whom do I owe thanks for bringing such happy news?’
‘Leif Egilsson, at your service.’
‘I shall remember that name.’
‘My lady does me honour.’
Just then they heard more voices outside, one much louder than the rest, demanding to know Ragnhild’s whereabouts. Moments later the newcomer strode into the tent, a big man, dark of hair and beard, whose face might have been hewn from rock. He paused and as his gaze came to rest on Ragnhild its expression softened. That look was enough. Ragnhild ran to him and was swept into a close embrace.
‘I thought I’d never see you again, my lord.’
‘No man shall ever take you from me.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Did the brute hurt you?’
‘No, I am well.’
‘I thank Odin for it.’
Astrid looked on smiling, her heart full, happy for Ragnhild and for an outcome so different from the one they had earlier expected.
Presently the reunited couple left the tent, no doubt wanting a little space alone for private speech. Halfdan’s men grinned and watched them go; then took themselves off in other directions.
‘A happy turn of events,’ said Astrid. Then she turned to Leif. ‘But for your timely intervention it might not have been. I too am grateful.’
He paused to make use of the door hangings and wipe his sword clean; then sheathed it. ‘No thanks are necessary. It was a matter of unfinished business.’
‘I see.’
‘Now it is done.’
‘Perhaps there will be peace at last.’
He unfastened the chin strap and removed his helmet. ‘Perhaps.’
Astrid caught her breath, wondering for a moment if Baldur the Beautiful had not just assumed human form. A mane of pale gold hair framed a face remarkable for its strong chiselled lines and planes. His eyes were somewhere between blue and grey, like the sea just after a storm, but much harder to read. Realising she was staring, she dragged her mind back to the conversation.
‘If it comes about I shall know whom to thank.’
He smiled faintly. ‘You have the advantage of me, lady.’
‘I am Astrid, companion to Ragnhild.’
The blue-grey gaze surveyed her from head to toe and back again. ‘A pretty name and most aptly bestowed.’
His expression was both hard to interpret and mildly disconcerting. Had he paid her a genuine compliment or had she detected a faintly mocking undertone? Perhaps it was a little of both. Whatever the truth of it she was keenly aware that everyone else had left the tent; that now she had his undivided attention. While male attention was nothing new, it always made her feel uneasy and resurrected unwelcome memories, so she tried to avoid it. This man didn’t make her afraid as Hakke and his mercenaries had done but there was something about him that disturbed her all the same, and on an entirely different and unfamiliar level. She decided to parry.
‘It is I who am fortunate in having so kind a mistress.’
‘Your mistress is about to become a queen or I miss my guess.’
She smiled. ‘I think your guess is accurate, though perhaps not hard to arrive at.’
‘True.’
‘I believe theirs will be a most happy marriage.’
‘That will make them both lucky and exceptional.’
‘Why should it be exceptional?’ she replied. ‘Plenty of marriages are happy.’
‘It may be so but it is entirely outside my experience.’
‘Then how can you judge?’
‘I was referring to the latter part of your statement, not the former.’
‘Oh.’
The conversation lapsed into an awkward silence made more difficult by the weight of that steady blue-grey gaze. A slow flush of warmth crept upwards from her neck and throat. It was time to bring matters to a conclusion.
‘Speaking of my mistress; I should rejoin her.’ She paused. ‘Will you take me to her?’
‘As you wish.’
He drew the hangings aside and stood back to let her pass. She brushed past him and stepped outside. There she checked abruptly, wide-eyed as she took in the number of the slain. The earth was dark with their blood; its thick metallic reek hung on the still air. Mingled with it were other smells, equally rank. She swallowed hard, trying not to breathe too deeply.
‘Battle isn’t pretty, is it?’ he said.
‘Hardly.’
‘And yet you do not scream or swoon.’
‘Is that what you were expecting?’
‘Had you done so, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Now I am.’
She wondered what he would have done if she had swooned. The possibilities were vaguely disconcerting, like his smile now. Quickly she looked away. ‘The reality of battle is worse than I imagined.’
‘One grows used to it.’
‘I think I could never grow used to it.’
‘A woman shouldn’t have to.’
Astrid had no intention of arguing the point. Instead she looked around, seeking Ragnhild, and located her some little way off, in conversation with Halfdan and some of his men.
Her companion followed her gaze. ‘Shall we join them?’
‘Certainly.’
He placed a hand under her elbow to steer her around the worst of the carnage. The touch transferred unsettling warmth through the sleeve of her gown. She glanced up quickly and saw him smile. The previous awkwardness might never have happened. Aware of him to her fingertips, she looked away and tried to fix her attention on where they were going. They joined the others a few moments later.
The king’s expression was sombre. Astrid felt a twinge of apprehension and directed a quizzical look at Ragnhild. Her friend lost no time in explaining.
‘Hakke isn’t here, Astrid.’
‘No, curse him,’ said Halfdan. ‘When he realised he was heavily outnumbered he slipped away in the confusion. We went after him but some of his men had horses waiting nearby; a second string. I should have foreseen that.’
‘Easy to be wise after the event,’ replied Leif.
‘Since we’d left our own mounts back in the wood the fugitives had a head start. The man’s more slippery than a greasy weasel.’
‘But