The Warrior's Viking Bride. Michelle Styles

treated her mother and her, after he chose her stepmother and her swollen belly over them. And despite her stepmother’s prophetic dreams about bearing her father many warriors, the woman had produced only one sickly son.

      Gunnar’s mysterious illness should have warned her that Old Alf had spoken true about Olafr’s attempts to betray her, but she’d ignored his warnings. All she had needed was one good victory to cement her position, gain the land she required—what she had achieved, instead, was a resounding defeat. Everything had slipped through her fingers. Her life had become the dregs of the pond as her stepmother had predicted it would—the only words the witch had ever spoken directly to her. ‘I’ll listen to what you say, Gael, before I decide.’

      ‘Will you behave yourself?’ he asked. ‘Or does my dog have to keep you in check?’

      ‘Do I have any choice?’

      ‘Not really.’ He gave a smile which was like the sun breaking through the mist on an autumn morning. ‘Be content with breathing, Dagmar.’

      ‘I would like to carve Olafr Rolfson’s heart out. I would like to slit his throat and leave him to die slowly and in great pain.’ She shook her head and tried to control her temper. ‘But I have to approach it sensibly. However, I, Dagmar Helgadottar, promise you that one day those men will pay for what they have done. I will honour my fallen friends. They may have seemed like men who failed to you, but they were my friends and comrades. Some of them I had known since I was a little girl. I’ll not forget them. Nor will I let their sacrifice be in vain.’

      ‘A good and worthy sentiment provided you can bend the future to your will.’

      She could hear the scepticism in his voice.

      ‘It will happen.’ She leant forward. ‘Tell me why my father suddenly requires me? Why he sent a Gael to do his dirty work?’

      ‘Maybe he expects you to save him the trouble of killing me.’

      Dagmar screwed up her nose, considering the words. The Gael had a point. Her father was capable of such treachery. ‘I am not inclined to do anything my father wants. I’m pleased I spared your life earlier.’

      ‘That makes two of us.’

      ‘My father hasn’t wanted anything to do with me for over ten years.’ She lifted her chin proudly. ‘He only thinks of his other family, his son that he had with that woman.’

      ‘Nevertheless, he sent me.’ Aedan held out a gold ring with a double-axe motif engraved in it and struggled to keep his temper. The woman should be on her knees in gratitude to him. He had saved her life. She owed him a life debt.

      He knew her type. He had encountered Northern women over the years. Invariably they were proud and stubborn, inclined to argue rather than accepting his word. And this one was the worst—the most stubborn and pig-headed. She rivalled her father in that.

      ‘His token. Kolbeinn said it would be enough. You would understand that I came from him.’

      She looked at it warily as if it was a snake which might bite her. ‘My father sent you. Truly? Not my stepmother?’

      ‘I’ve never encountered your stepmother,’ Aedan said truthfully. There would be time enough to explain about the death of Kolbeinn’s second wife and, more importantly, her son’s. It amazed him that she remained in ignorance of these events, but if she kept slitting messengers’ throats, what could she expect?

      She was silent for a long while. The tattooed whorls on her cheeks trembled. ‘That is my father’s ring. He did indeed send you, but that doesn’t mean I’m going with you like a lamb to the slaughter.’

      Aedan clung on to his temper with the barest of threads. If he could have rid himself of this burden, he would have. ‘What other options do you have?’

      She lifted her chin. ‘Plenty. Give me time and I will detail them to you.’

      Mor stiffened, gave a low growl and began backing into the undergrowth. Every muscle in Aedan’s body stiffened.

      ‘Is there a problem with your dog? I haven’t moved,’ she asked, cocking her head to one side.

      Without giving her a chance to react, Aedan clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her into the undergrowth, next to where his dog crouched. His body hit hers and somewhere in his mind he registered that Dagmar Kolbeinndottar was made up of far more curves than he had originally thought.

      Her furious blue eyes stared back at him. Without the facial decoration, she would be pretty.

      ‘Listen with your ears. Stop struggling,’ he muttered. ‘My dog has heard something. I trust her instincts far more than your prattling.’

      She pressed her mouth shut and lay still, her skin pale against the blue whorls.

      ‘Can’t believe we are searching for the Gael,’ came one voice, far closer than Aedan would have liked.

      ‘Olafr wants to make sure the Shield Maiden is dead. He didn’t find her body,’ another said. ‘Just her armour.’

      ‘I’m sure I heard a woman’s voice coming from around here.’

      ‘You hear women’s voices all the time. Why should this be any different?’

      Five Northmen barged into the clearing. Aedan’s other hand inched towards his sword.

      ‘If she is around, she’ll be dead easy to spot.’ The man gave a guffaw. ‘How many women do you know who sport blue whorls and snakes in their hair? Nah, she’ll be dead.’

      ‘What do you think that was all about anyway?’ asked the voice.

      ‘Her mother had the whorls as well. Maybe she was born with them.’

      ‘Tattoos more like. After her first battle. I was there. I smelt the stench of burning flesh. And they ain’t no snakes, just plaits. By Loki, some people are gullible.’

      ‘All I know is that it is beginning to rain again. They didn’t go this way. Let’s get back to camp. At least we found a horse and if they have gone into the marshes they’re goners. It ain’t no one who can survive that.’

      ‘Wee Davy...’

      ‘Wee Davy has a big mouth for tall tales, but the Gael went north, I know that for a fact.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘He came from the north. There ain’t no way man nor beast can get through what lies due west—those marshes are full of spirits who sup on the souls of the living.’

      ‘Aye. If the Shield Maiden has gone in there, it’ll be the last we see of her. She will have left the horse here as a diversion and taken the road north. It is the only way.’

      ‘We will catch her and claim the reward. She can’t hide those tattoos.’

      Aedan breathed a sigh of relief as the group disappeared back the way they came. He waited, holding his body and hers completely still until the footsteps had faded.

      He slowly took his hand away from Dagmar’s mouth and rolled away. ‘Believe me now?’

      ‘About Olafr’s treachery?’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Can there be any doubt? Your words hold merit, Gael. To stay in the lands Thorsten controls is to court death.’

      Aedan released a breath. One hurdle overcome. Now for the rest. ‘I’ve spent long enough chasing after you. Time slips through my fingers. We go now.’

      ‘How close are we to the battle?’ she asked in a low voice.

      ‘I thought we were far enough away. You were beginning to stir when I stopped. I didn’t know how hard I hit you.’

      ‘And the horse?’

      ‘One I stole. I let it go free. Obviously someone recognised it.’

      She nodded. ‘You did well there, Gael.’