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‘I’ll take the wench, Wulfrum.’ Elgiva’s pursuer halted a few feet away. ‘I’ll teach the Saxon bitch to mend her ways and that right soon.’
He took another step forwards and Elgiva spun round, shrinking back involuntarily against Wulfrum for the expression in the other’s eyes was terrifying.
‘By Odin’s blood, it looked to me as if she was teaching you a thing or two, Sweyn,’ said a warrior, who stepped forwards to stand beside Wulfrum.
Amid the mirth and jests that greeted the remark Elgiva looked round and then froze. The speaker was a fearsome figure, a giant of a man all bedaubed with blood, and a good head taller than any present. Grey mingled with the brown of his hair and beard, and his weathered face was seamed with lines, but his dark eyes were cool and shrewd. In one fist he held a great bloodstained axe.
‘Ironfist is right!’ called another. ‘She’s too hot for you, Sweyn!’
Sweyn glared. ‘We’ll see.’
‘You are careless with your captives,’ said Wulfrum. ‘You let the wench escape. I caught her. She is mine now.’
Elgiva looked up in alarm, but Wulfrum’s gaze was fixed on Sweyn. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the other on her shoulder.
‘True enough,’ said Olaf Ironfist. ‘We all saw it.’
Murmurs of agreement greeted his words.
‘Nay, Wulfrum. I say she is mine.’
‘Not so. You let her get away.’
‘Wulfrum speaks true,’ said another.
A chorus of agreement greeted this. Sweyn darted angry looks to left and right, but could find no support. Elgiva held her breath, praying that he would not prevail, quailing to think of the revenge he would take. It was in her mind to run but, as if he read her thoughts, Wulfrum tightened his hold a fraction.
‘Take the bitch, then,’ replied Sweyn. ‘’Tis but a wench after all.’
‘Aye, and there are plenty more,’ said a voice from the doorway.
All heads turned in the direction of the speaker and the men fell silent, parting to let Lord Halfdan enter. Although only of average height, he was powerfully made and, like Wulfrum, carried with him an aura of authority. When he reached the group around his sword brother, he took in the scene at a glance.
‘There are women and slaves aplenty in England and land enough for all.’ His voice carried without effort across the room. ‘Therefore there is no reason to quarrel.’ He bent his gaze upon Elgiva, scrutinising her. ‘A comely wench, Wulfrum. She will fetch a good price in the slave market, unless of course you plan to keep her.’
‘I do intend to, my lord.’
‘Well then, keep her close.’
‘I shall, my lord.’
‘Put the matter beyond dispute.’ He glanced across the room at Sweyn. ‘It seems to me she would make a fine Viking bride.’
‘Never in a thousand years!’
The words were out before she could stop them and Elgiva felt her throat dry as both men turned their attention towards her. Wulfrum laughed and his arm closed about her, ignoring the resistance it encountered.
‘A spirited piece,’ said Halfdan, ‘and impudent too. She must learn who her master is.’
‘I will never acknowledge any Viking as my master!’
‘Oh, I think you will—eventually.’ He smiled down at her.
Elgiva’s stomach churned.
‘She will learn,’ said Wulfrum.
‘From you?’ Her tone was blatant disdain. ‘I think not.’
‘Aye, from me.’ He took another look at the face turned up to his and all former reservations about marriage evaporated like mist in the sun as he made his decision. ‘For, by all the gods, I will have you to wife.’
‘I will never agree to that.’
‘You have no choice, my beauty. You belong to me now.’
‘No!’
‘Oh, yes. Unless you would prefer to go with Sweyn?’
She swallowed hard, every fibre of her being wanting to spurn him, but when she looked upon the alternative, her heart was filled with loathing and contempt.
‘Well?’
‘I will not go with a coward and a child slayer!’
Wulfrum looked from Elgiva to Sweyn. ‘The girl has chosen.’
‘Then I wish you joy of her,’ replied the other. The cool tone was at variance with the expression in his eyes.
It had no effect on Wulfrum. ‘I shall find joy enough, I have no doubt.’
‘Then it is settled.’ Halfdan turned back to Wulfrum. ‘You have done good service under the black-raven banner. From henceforth this hall and these lands shall be yours. The slaves too, to do with as you will.’
‘You are generous, lord.’
‘Aye, to those who serve me well.’ He glanced at Elgiva. ‘As for the girl, take her—she is a worthy prize.’
‘Indeed she is.’
Elgiva glared at them. The Viking chief threw her a mocking smile.
‘Your fate is clear, wench, and you had best submit.’ He turned to the assembled warriors. ‘Go down to the hall. Summon the others. I would speak to all.’
The men turned and began to troop out of the chamber, one carrying the screaming Hilda under his arm.
‘No!’ Elgiva fought the hold on her. ‘Take your filthy hands off her!’
On the floor Osgifu began to stir. Wanting to go to her, Elgiva strove harder.
‘Come,’ said Wulfrum.
‘I will not. Let go of me, you pirate scum.’
For answer she was thrown over a broad shoulder and, regardless of violent struggle and loud protest, was carried from the room. Only when they reached the hall did he set her down, but a strong arm about her waist prevented any chance of escape. Breathless and furious, Elgiva threw him a venomous glance and wished in vain for a sword to disembowel him with. Undismayed, Wulfrum grinned. Then his gaze moved on from her across the hall and she became aware that Halfdan was speaking.
‘Tonight we shall feast in celebration of our victory. We shall rest here long enough to bury the dead and tend our wounded. Then we push on until all Northumbria is ours.’
A rousing cheer tore from the throats of the assembled men. He held up his fist for silence.
‘Before we leave we shall witness the joining of Earl Wulfrum and this fair Saxon maid in marriage. She will bear him fine sons who shall inherit this land after him. Let it be known that the Norsemen are here to stay.’
Another cheer shook the rafters. Elgiva closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, determined to stifle the wail of terror rising in her throat. When she opened them again, it was to see Wulfrum watching her. Under that cool gaze her resolve stiffened.
‘If I am to take a wife, I would have a name to lay to her,’ he said.
For a moment she was tempted to refuse, but then common sense came to the fore. If she did not tell him, he might well beat it out of her.
‘I am Elgiva, daughter of Egbert, and sister to Osric, late the thane of this manor.’
‘Elgiva. The name is pleasing—as pleasing as the outward form.’
She felt herself grow warm beneath that keen scrutiny. Wulfrum smiled and removed his helmet. The face beneath might have been chiselled from rock, so strong were the planes of cheek and brow and jaw, the latter accentuated by a beard close trimmed and dark as the hair that fell over his shoulders. The eyes regarding her now were the startling blue of a summer sky. She saw their expression change and he reached out a hand, lightly touching the cut on her neck.
‘You are hurt?’
‘No. ’Tis merely a legacy of your brave friend, Sweyn.’
He ignored the gibe. ‘How is it that you speak our tongue so well, Elgiva?’
‘I was tutored in it by my nurse. Her mother was a Dane.’
‘It is an advantage I had not thought to find.’
‘An advantage indeed, for now I can call you the loathsome reptile you are and have you understand.’
Wulfrum was not so easily goaded. If anything, his enjoyment grew.
‘You could say it in your own language if you wished.’
Hearing him speak the words in fluent Saxon, she was temporarily at a loss.
‘I have learned much in my travels,’ he explained.
Letting his hand drop a little, he brushed the top of her gown. Elgiva instinctively took a step back. The smile widened.
‘Soon you will beg me to touch you, lady.’
‘That I never will.’
‘You say so now—you have yet to share my bed. May I say I look forward to it?’
Hot colour flooded her face and neck, but before she could reply Ironfist appeared beside them. He glanced down at her for a moment and then took her chin in one huge hand, turning her face to his.
‘By all the gods, not bad.’ He let his hand slide to her arm, encircling it easily. Then he looked at Wulfrum and grinned. ‘She’s a little slender for my taste, but to each his own.’
Elgiva glowered. Did these Viking clods think her a prize horse to be mauled thus?
‘I’m glad you approve,’ replied Wulfrum.
‘Thor’s beard, ’tis high time you took a wife. A man must breed sons.’
‘I intend to.’
‘I’ll cut out your liver first!’
Both men looked down at her in silence for perhaps the length of two heartbeats. Then they laughed out loud.
‘I do believe she’d try,’ said Ironfist. ‘You’ll have trouble with this one, believe me. Are you equal to the challenge?’
‘Trust me,’ replied Wulfrum. He turned her to face him. ‘Come, Elgiva. Let us seal our betrothal.’
Before she could anticipate him she found herself being forcibly kissed, drawn hard against him, held in strong arms and kept there at his pleasure in an embrace that left her breathless. No man had ever kissed her like that, a kiss that was both knowing and disturbingly assured. When he released her, the warmth of his mouth lingered on her lips. Her eyes blazed as she hit him, the crack ringing loud. There was a sharp intake of breath from others nearby and heads turned to watch the developments with keen interest. Not a man there but expected to see the mutinous wench laid at Wulfrum’s feet with one blow of his fist. To their surprise he merely grinned.
‘I suppose I deserved that.’
‘You said it,’ replied Ironfist.
Elgiva launched a second blow, but Wulfrum caught her wrist and held it. ‘Now that’s no way to behave towards your future husband.’
‘I will never take you as my husband.’
‘You will, Elgiva, believe me, and that soon enough.’
Before she could reply Lord Halfdan drew near.
‘Come, that’s enough romantic dalliance, Wulfrum. You can deal with the wench later. There is work to be done.’
‘As you say, my lord.’
‘Take her back to the upper chamber and put a guard on the door. Then join me outside.’
Wulfrum nodded and turned to Elgiva, ignoring her attempts to pull free.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
He raised an eyebrow and threw Olaf a speaking look. The hand round her wrist tightened and he strode to the stairs, drawing her after. Resistance was futile for his grip was like a vice. When they reached the upper chamber, he pushed her inside.
‘Until later, Elgiva.’
