Saved by the Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles
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‘A witness,’ Thrand answered shortly, keeping a firm grip on Cwen’s wrist. Binding a woman was always a last resort. He would use her to bring down Hagal and finally revenge his parents. What happened to her after that was none of his concern.
‘Will you take her to Hagal?’ Knui asked with an intense expression. ‘The slaughter happened on his land. He will want to find the Northumbrians who did this and punish them. A direct assault on his authority can’t be tolerated. Think about how Halfdan will react when he knows. These bastards want to start the war again. Do they never give up?’
‘In my time,’ Thrand answered, giving Knui a hard look. With each word, Knui proclaimed that he was indeed Hagal’s creature. It was only Thrand’s promise to Sven which stayed his hand and prevented him from running the man through. Sven had given his oath his cousin would be loyal with his last breath. ‘I have promises to keep first, as you well know.’
‘But won’t she slow us down?’ Knui continued grumbling, seemingly oblivious to the threat in Thrand’s look. ‘The last thing we need is a woman with us. It is going to be difficult enough to get in and out of Bernicia as is.’
Knui was right in one respect. The last thing he wanted on this journey was a woman, but Hagal, who loved gold more than life itself, wanted her dead. And that was more than enough justification for keeping her with them and alive.
‘Let me worry about that.’
‘We need to be back before the Storting starts,’ Knui persisted. ‘I want a say in Halfdan’s successor, even if you don’t.’
‘You seek to challenge my authority, Knui, son of Gorm, kinsman to Sven Audson?’ Thrand reached for his sword. If Knui wanted a fight, so be it. He had never walked away from a battle. He never would. ‘Do so openly. I’ve no time for games and whispers. Are you prepared to chance your sword arm against mine? Shall we see who the victor will be?’
Knui glanced over his shoulders and saw the other men had moved away from him, leaving him isolated. The colour drained from his face.
Thrand waited impassively.
‘Not I.’ Knui hung his head. ‘I have seen you on the battlefield, Thrand. I know what you can do. I am content for you to lead us.’
‘I accept your judgement.’ Thrand sheathed his sword and the rage subsided. There would be no need to do battle with Knui...today. But he no longer trusted him.
Sweat poured from Knui’s forehead. ‘Thank you.’
‘I lead this felag. The woman comes north with us...unless any cares to fight me.’
‘Do you think we can get a ransom for her?’ Helgi called out.
‘She claims to be the maid. When has anyone ever ransomed a maid?’ Thrand answered, giving Cwen a significant look. Her pale cheeks became stained the colour of her gown and she kept her eyes downcast. ‘What is a serving maid worth beyond her value at the slave market?’
‘Yes, I am the Lady of Lingwold’s maid,’ Cwen called out. ‘How could I be anything else?’
Thrand schooled his features as his men looked to him for confirmation. He inclined his head, not committing himself either way. Her voice was far too fine and her gown, under the coarse woollen cloak, too well made. He’d bet his sword and a good more besides that she was the true Lady of Lingwold.
‘Indeed,’ he murmured, releasing her wrist. She instantly rubbed it. ‘How could you be anyone but the maid?’
‘You are going to bury them here? After you have taken everything of value from them? They served my lady well. She respected them,’ she said, turning away from him and not answering the question. ‘They deserve better than being plucked clean by the crows.’
‘They have no use for their swords where they are.’ Thrand shrugged as his men busied themselves with completing the pit. ‘The crows have enough to eat. No point in leaving them out in the open.’
Her brow wrinkled as she pleated her burgundy skirt between her fingers. ‘I...I suppose not. But there must be a churchyard near here. They should have a Christian burial. Find a priest.’ She gave a tiny sniff. ‘The decent thing to do.’
He bit back the words that he had no decent bones left in his body. All he lived for was war. It had been a part of his existence for so long, he knew no other way of life. All finer feelings had vanished years ago on blood-soaked ground before a burning farmhouse in southern Viken. Burying them was the best way to make Hagal uneasy. ‘This is a conversation you should have with the lord of these lands.’
She paled and took a step backwards. ‘You mean Hagal the Red.’
Thrand watched her from under his brows and wondered if she knew the truth about how her bridegroom had acted in Norway and Northumbria? What had he promised her family to lure her out here so he could fulfil his vow of revenge?
‘The Lady of Lingwold was meant to be his bride. Once he learns of the massacre, he will come here,’ he said, willing her to confide the truth and beg for his assistance. ‘He is a man who likes to see the aftermath of such things with his own eyes. Shall we wait?’
She tucked her chin into her neck. The action highlighted its slender curve and the way her golden hair glinted in the sun. He curled his hands into fists and concentrated.
The consequences of being distracted by beauty were deadly. He had learnt that lesson in Norway. No, the Lady Cwenneth in her way was just as black-hearted as Ingrid had been. And her earlier remarks about the dress being ruined showed how her mind worked—she did not care about people, but things.
‘He wanted everyone dead and I’m alive,’ she said in a low voice. ‘He’ll kill me if he finds me. He’ll come after you as well once he knows.’
‘I want him to wonder who is buried and who did the burying,’ Thrand answered shortly. ‘I want him unsettled. I want him to wonder if you are dead out in those woods or not. I want him to know fear for once.’
‘Do you fear him?’ She shivered and wrapped her arms about her waist, and her shoulders hunched. ‘I do. What sort of man does what he did? Makes such orders?’
‘Not in a fight.’ Thrand’s hand went instinctively to his sword. ‘I have studied how he fights in battle. Utterly predictable. Always goes for the downwards thrust followed by a quick upwards one to finish his opponent off. Never varies. And he hangs to the rear rather than leading from the front.’
Her crystal-blue gaze met his—direct and determined. ‘Hagal doesn’t fight fair. Ever. He looks for the weakest point and goes for it. He did this with...with Lord Edward.’
‘What did he promise Lord Edward to make him cough up his sister?’ he asked silkily. ‘What did the Lord of Lingwold hope to gain?’
‘Peace and your head.’ She lifted her chin, every inch the proud lady. ‘Does it bother you to know you are hated that much?’
Thrand schooled his features. Despite everything he thought he knew about Northumbrian ladies and their empty-headedness, a reluctant admiration filled him. She might be beautiful, but she also had a brain which was full of more than feather beds, ribbons and embroidery.
‘How did murdering you get the Lord of Lingwold my head? Everyone thinks I’m in Jorvik with the king.’ He allowed a smile to play on his lips.
Her brows drew together and finally she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Ask Hagal. He was hardly going to confide his intentions to me. Understandable in the circumstances, but aggravating as I’m sure you will agree.’
She inclined her head. Thrand fought the unexpected urge to laugh. Lady Cwenneth had more than a bit of grit to her. He sobered, but it didn’t mean he should trust her one little bit.
Thrand turned the matter over in his mind. The more he thought about it, the more far-fetched it seemed. Marriages took a long time to