Taken by the Viking. Michelle Styles
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ran into what seemed like a wall, bounced off and started to run. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm.
He said something in their barbaric tongue.
‘You had what you came for. There is nothing for you here,’ Annis said, forcing her voice to remain firm. ‘Leave this place immediately.’
The man paused and his grip eased. Annis risked a glimpse upwards. He appeared younger than Haakon, but had a look of him. He was regarding her with a quizzical expression.
She pulled her arm away and drew herself to her full height.
‘Go. Now.’ She pointed vaguely in the direction she had come from and hoped.
He started to go, a puzzled expression on his face.
Annis released a breath and willed him to step away farther. But he turned and placed a pinching grip on her shoulder. His face broke into a wide smile as he drew her closer.
Chapter Three
‘Haakon Haroldson!’ The scream welled up from within Annis as she fought against the hands. Haakon had warned her such things might happen, but she had chosen to ignore it. She should have listened. She was furious with her attacker and more furious with herself. She had thought she was doing the right thing, but she had blundered. It was too late for regrets.
The warrior grabbed her hair and twisted it around his hand, hurting her, imprisoning her. A sword gleamed in his other hand. Her heart stopped. Her limbs froze.
A nightmare. Worse than a nightmare as she was awake. She had had a chance to escape and had thrown it away on nothing. The thought tasted bitter.
Annis felt her body begin to sag. She forced it straight. She hadn’t survived all that had gone before simply to die at this man’s hands.
She kicked out with her boot and landed a blow on his shin, heard a muttered curse and his grasp on her hair loosened. With her hand she yanked the few remaining strands free. The warrior raised his hand. Annis ducked, whispered a prayer and prepared to flee.
Suddenly the young warrior was hurled backwards, and Haakon appeared, his face black like a thundercloud.
‘Has he harmed you?’ he demanded as he placed a gentle hand under her arm.
‘No, no. I am unhurt.’ She shook her head as her limbs began to tremble, to shake uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms about her waist but still the shivers kept on coming.
Haakon’s eyes were like daggers, and he once again wore his helmet. Gone was the man who released her and in his place was the warlord she had first glimpsed.
Annis swallowed, forced her limbs to stay still as a wave of exhaustion hit. She wanted to sink to the ground and never get up. This nightmare had to end. She had to wake. Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had had it orderly, planned, and now there was nothing left. Nothing.
Another wave of aching tiredness washed through her body, leaving behind it a numbing cold. Later she’d think about the horror that happened here, but now all she wanted it to do was end. Her eyelids became heavier than lead and started to close. She sank down in the dirt, resting her chin against her knees, her back against his legs. She no longer cared. This man had kept her safe before.
Haakon resisted the urge to shake the woman and force her to stand.
He had shown her to a safe place, left her there. All she had to do was to wait until the Viken had gone and she could have returned to her people with nothing worse than a bad fright. But she had ignored him and had returned to the monastery. It was only Odin’s luck that he had chanced upon Thrand and her before anything had happened to her.
Surely the woman had realised the danger she was in. His men had little regard for the women. Some of the men would make good captives, but the women they just used and discarded.
‘The woman is under my protection, Thrand,’ Haakon said as he shifted so that she was firmly against his legs. ‘And I have no wish to send you to Valhalla before your time.’
‘Your protection?’ His brother gave a shrug and fingered his jaw. ‘I found her wandering on her own. You should look after your women better.’
‘Ivar said you were in trouble.’ Haakon put his hands on his hips, allowed the remark to pass and feigned ignorance at the jibe his half-brother was trying to make. ‘He feared you would need a steadying hand.’
‘Nothing I could not handle. A Northumbrian monk objected to being taken prisoner.’ Thrand bent down and picked up his sword. ‘Next time, keep a better eye on your captives. There are many about with the blood-lust running high.’
‘How many have we lost? I know about the beach, but here in the monastery?’ Haakon ran a hand through his hair. In a battle such as this one, he would expect to see many men go to Valhalla. Without a doubt, the hardest thing he would have to do would be to inform their wives, sweethearts and families when they returned to Viken, so a rune stone could be raised to them.
‘A few cuts and bruises. Perhaps six seriously injured.’ Thrand stopped, brows coming together in concentration. ‘Bjorn is missing, but you know how he behaves when the blood madness is on him. You are the only who he respects. He will appear before the gold is fully loaded, no doubt laden with treasure and his axe dripping with blood. By all the gods, this raid has been a success.’
‘Bjorn is dead.’ Haakon dropped his arms and dared Thrand to question him.
‘Dead? How? These are no warriors! A boy with a wooden sword shows more fight.’ Thrand’s eyes widened. ‘Bjorn was a match for any man. And have you forgotten what the soothsayer said—no man can kill him?’
‘I had forgotten the prophecy when he attacked me. The blood-lust was such that he did not recognise me. We encountered each other in the guest house, and I declined to visit Valhalla, even for him.’
Thrand let out a low whistle. ‘And to think you were the one who argued that he must join this voyage. He belongs to a powerful clan.’
Haakon glanced down at the woman. She had her head tilted to one side and her brow was wrinkled as if she was trying to follow the exchange. Her dark hair curled about her temples and her dress bore the stains of the fight. But he refused to tell Thrand the truth. He had given his oath. There were many who would demand the woman’s life as penalty for killing a berserker. But Haakon owed her his life. And he would keep her safe—whether she wanted to be or not.
‘Then let them challenge me. I have my sword.’ Haakon put his hand on his sword belt.
Thrand held his hands up. ‘Your prowess as a swordsman is well known and there are legends about your sword, Leg-biter.’
‘Leg-biter has served me well.’
‘You do realise that the tales will only intensify now that you have slain Bjorn although the wergild will be great.’
Haakon allowed his brother’s words to wash over him as he studied the woman before him.
What would Thrand say if he knew the truth? Would he offer up the woman to appease Bjorn’s powerful relations?
‘I was too busy defending my own skin to think on the amount I will owe Bjorn’s family. Or what his friends might do to me afterwards. I do not believe he gave much thought to the amount he’d owe you or our mother.’
‘I would ask much for you, my brother. You have done much for the family.’ Thrand gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘I for one am pleased you killed Bjorn. If the family dislikes what you offer, they can always appeal to Thorkell. He should do something for his kingship besides receive a portion of our goods.’
The words were lightly said, but an uneasy feeling passed over Haakon. An unease that he instantly dismissed as tiredness. He trusted his half-brother with his life.
‘No doubt you are correct, Thrand.’ Haakon leant forward. ‘I never forget my obligations.’