The Viking's Touch. Joanna Fulford

      ‘But you remain a desirable marital prize.’

      ‘Maybe so, but the very thought of another marriage is repugnant to me.’

      ‘I did not mean a husband like Earl Torstein,’ Jodis replied, ‘but a good man, a kind man even.’

      ‘A man who is both good and kind? Now there’s a thought.’

      Before either of them could say more, the child’s voice broke in. ‘Mother, can we have a canter now?’ He and his mentor had halted their mounts, waiting for her to draw level. The child’s green eyes were eager, pleading. ‘Ina says I can if you give your permission.’

      Anwyn looked over his head at his companion. For all his fifty years the old warrior was still an upright figure whose sturdy frame spoke of compact strength. Grizzled locks and beard belied a shrewd mind and his dark eyes missed very little. He had besides an air of quiet authority. In the days after Torstein’s death he had been an invaluable ally, one she had learned to trust.

      ‘Very well, then, just as far as the dunes.’ She paused. ‘And be sure to take it steady.’

      Needing no further encouragement, Eyvind turned the pony’s head and clapped his heels to its sides. The sturdy little creature broke into a canter. Beside him, Ina reined back, checking his mount’s longer stride to keep pace. Anwyn grinned and looked at Jodis.

      ‘How about it?’

      Moments later their horses were cantering after the others. It was perhaps four hundred yards to the dunes, but the swifter pace was exhilarating and Anwyn fought the temptation to let the horse out to a gallop. It felt so good to ride out again without constraint, to feel the wind in her face, to feel almost free.

      When at length they pulled up she found herself laughing, her spirit lighter than it had been earlier. She leaned forwards and patted the horse’s neck. Eyvind eyed her hopefully.

      ‘Can we ride along the shore, Mother?’

      She knew he was thinking of another canter along the strand, but she had not the heart to refuse. Besides, she had no mind to return just yet either. ‘Why not?’

      They rode single file through the dunes, letting the horses pick their way, and came at last to the bay beyond. Ina and Eyvind stopped abruptly.

      ‘Mother, look!’

      Anwyn followed the line of his pointing finger and stared in her turn, her startled gaze taking in the ship drawn up on the beach and before it the massed host of the crew. There had to be seventy of them at least.

      ‘A warship,’ said Ina.

      Uneasiness replaced her earlier mood. ‘But why would it put in here?’

      ‘At a guess it’s been damaged. See the sail spread out there?’

      She nodded. ‘That would certainly explain their presence.’

      Looking more closely, she surveyed the crew. Though they were apparently giving their whole attention to the sail and yard that lay on the sand, she noted that all of them were armed with sword or axe and that shields and spears were within easy reach. She wasn’t the only one to mark it.

      ‘Professionals definitely,’ said Ina.

      ‘But apparently not aggressors,’ she replied.

      ‘No. They’re coming now.’ He nodded towards the force that had just appeared on the far side of the bay.

      Anwyn frowned. ‘Who on earth …?’

      ‘Ingvar’s war band, my lady.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Quite sure. That’s Grymar out in front.’

      ‘But they have no business here. This bay adjoins my lands.’

      ‘Which they must have crossed to reach it,’ he replied.

      ‘How dare he?’

      ‘Even Grymar would not have presumed so far unless the action had been sanctioned by someone more powerful.’

      ‘He takes his orders directly from Ingvar.’

      ‘Just so, my lady.’

      The implication was disturbing. Under Ina’s stewardship her late husband’s men patrolled and guarded Drakensburgh, and they had no need of help from Ingvar. The fact that he had taken it upon himself to send an armed force onto her land had ramifications she did not care for. It was as though he were already adopting the mantle of lord protector, a role she had no intention of granting him.

      ‘This bodes ill,’ she said.

      Ina nodded. ‘Where Grymar’s concerned it never bodes anything else. That one would slit his grandmother’s throat for the fun of it.’

      ‘This must be a show of strength. He cannot seriously intend to fight.’ She hesitated. ‘Can he?’

      ‘I have a gut feeling that’s exactly what he does intend, my lady.’

      Wulfgar watched the war band approaching, mentally estimating their number. His jaw tightened. There must be fifty of them. His own force was larger and he had every faith in their prowess, but any confrontation was likely to be bloody and expensive. However, since the ship was effectively crippled there was no real choice. He glanced at Hermund.

      ‘Have the men fall in.’

      ‘Aye, my lord.’

      They formed up alongside him, waiting.

      ‘Let them start it if they must,’ said Wulfgar, ‘but after they have make them regret it.’

      The words were greeted with grim smiles as each man there eyed the advancing foe with shrewd, appraising eyes. Fists tightened on shield straps and sword hilts.

      Anwyn felt a knot of apprehension form in her stomach. Even from a distance now there was no mistaking what was about to happen. She looked across at Ina.

      ‘I will not have a blood bath on my land though a dozen Ingvars wished it.’

      ‘What are you going to do?’

      ‘Stop it, of course.’

      ‘A laudable aim, my lady, but you will have noticed that together they number well over a hundred while we …’

      ‘Yes, I know. However, this bay abuts onto my land, not theirs.’

      ‘True, but I don’t quite see …’

      ‘We have right on our side, Ina.’

      ‘Oh, well, naturally that makes all the difference.’

      ‘Exactly.’ Anwyn turned in the saddle. ‘Jodis, stay here and look after Eyvind. Ina, come with me.’

      With that she nudged her mount forward and cantered away across the sand. Ina stared after her in disbelief. Then, setting his jaw, he rode off in her wake.

      Watching the oncoming force, Hermund frowned. ‘Have we fetched up at a local rallying point by any chance?’

      ‘Could be.’ Wulfgar followed the line of his gaze. ‘We do seem to have kicked a hornets’ nest, don’t we?’

      ‘How in the name of the Nidhoggr could Big Mouth have this many friends?’ muttered Thrand.

      Beorn shook his head. ‘Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?’

      Wulfgar made no reply, mentally estimating the distance between themselves and the advancing warriors. Seventy yards … fifty yards … forty. He watched as the line of their spears shifted from the vertical to the fore.

      ‘Here we go,’ muttered Hermund.

      Beside him, Wulfgar drew his sword. ‘All right, lads—’

      He broke off, seeing a blur of movement from the