Summer Of The Viking. Michelle Styles

      ‘You are not breaking any law if you don’t actually know,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Is it better not to know?’

      ‘Sometimes.’

      She caught a faint twinkle in his eye. His eyes were not just brown, but full of many colours. And they had come alive after his drink. She heaved a sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to die after all. ‘Is your country Raumerike at war with mine?’

      ‘I have never made war on your country.’ He pressed his hand to his chest. ‘I, Valdar, son of Neri, swear this. My solemn oath I give you.’

      ‘That isn’t what I asked...Valdar.’ The name sounded strange to her ears, but not unpleasant.

      He pursed his lips. ‘My country has no quarrel with yours. Why would it? We have a sea separating us.’

      The back of her neck prickled. He had come across the sea like the raiders, but he had come in peace. ‘And the attack on Lindisfarne by the heathen Northmen?’

      His face instantly sobered. ‘I have heard of it. The whole world has heard about it. They took the gold and gave nothing but destruction in return. I have always believed it is wrong to make war on people who are not your enemies and have not harmed you. A simple creed, but I believe the right one.’

      Something eased in her heart. She was doing the right thing—keeping his existence hidden and giving him a chance to heal.

      He might be a foreigner, but he hadn’t come to make war against her people or to raid. Merri was right—he wasn’t a Northman. He was something else entirely. She released a breath. She wasn’t going to save him just to have Lord Edwin kill him. He was innocent and therefore he deserved a chance to return to his country.

      ‘Thank you for that creed.’

      ‘I need the beer-sodden shirt and the salt off me. It itches like you wouldn’t believe.’

      ‘Are you capable of doing it?’

      ‘I want to do it. I will find the strength to do it.’

      She retreated two steps. ‘Surely it can wait. You were near death. You haven’t recovered enough.’

      His face took on a look of grim determination. ‘I remain alive.’

      Moving very slowly as if every muscle screamed in pain, he took the tunic off and discarded it along with his sword and belt. Alwynn discovered her feet were rooted to the spot. The sunlight hit his golden chest. It was muscular but not overly so. There were several scars criss-crossing his torso, but it was a warrior’s body and used to hard work, not soft and pudgy as her husband’s had become.

      A dimple flashed in his cheek when he saw she remained there. ‘I will keep my trousers on, I think.’

      She feigned an air of indifference. ‘You must do as you like. It makes no difference to me.’

      He picked up the bucket and poured the remaining water over him. The droplets trickled down over his long hair, making him gleam. ‘You see, the salt goes when washed away.’

      Her cheeks burnt, but she forced her chin high. ‘You took a battering in the sea. I wanted to see if I need to get you a poultice for the bruising.’

      All colour fled from his face. ‘Are you a healer?’

      ‘I can do a bit, not as much as Gode or the monks, but I’m learning. I’ve an interest in herbs.’ She stared at the rough plaster wall of the cottage. Her troubles were none of his business, but she had found solace in gardening. Of all the things, the garden at Theodbald’s hall had been the hardest to leave. Her new garden was smaller, but she had brought a number of plants with her. When she was out there, amongst the perfumed flowers and gentle humming of the bees, all her cares slipped away. ‘I love my garden. I like to put it to good use and I like coming to Gode’s as well.’

      He nodded, but pain flashed through his eyes. ‘I once knew a woman who healed.’

      ‘What happened to her, the healer?’

      ‘She married someone else and grows big with his child.’

      ‘And where does she live, this healer of yours?’

      ‘In the estate next to mine.’ His brown gaze held hers.

      He reached down and withdrew his sword from the scabbard. It gleamed dangerously in the sunlight, reminding her that, injured or not, he was still a warrior.

      ‘Here, take it,’ he said with his strange accent which caused his voice to sound more like a purr than a command. ‘Keep it safe while you get whatever herbs you need. When I go from here, I will take it with me. Until then...a gesture of my peaceful intent.’

      She gingerly took the sword. It was Frankish made with gold-and-silver inlay. She could imagine how her husband would have drooled over such a sword. Surely a Northman would not have such an expensive weapon?

      ‘How did you get this sword?’

      ‘I bought it in a market.’ A dimple showed at the corner of his mouth. ‘How else would I have acquired it?’

      ‘Off the battlefield? Taken from an opponent?’

      The colours in his eyes shifted as she amused him. ‘I had it made for me. I wanted the right balance for my arm. Not exciting at all. Are all Northumbrians as bloodthirsty as you?’

      Alwynn breathed a little easier. The barbarians who attacked the holy island of Lindisfarne surely could not have dealings with the Franks. The Franks were part of the Holy Roman Empire and forbidden from dealing with pagans. She could remember Theodbald explaining this fact with great disdain after the raid happened. One more reason why this stranger deserved to stay alive.

      ‘What do you expect me to do with it?’

      ‘Keep it safe until I leave. A token of my goodwill while I heal. You will be well rewarded.’

      ‘You wish me to keep silent about you being here.’

      ‘The authorities in any country ask too many questions.’ He put a hand to his head. ‘Right now, I need no questions and much sleep. You understand?’

      Alwynn hesitated. ‘Do you pledge to protect this household while you shelter within its walls?’

      He placed his hand to his chest, displaying his arm rings. ‘I swear.’

      She stood with the sword in her hands. Her mother would have said that she should go straight away and report this man. Her mother would never have even saved him. Alwynn straightened her back. She wasn’t her mother and she made her own way in the world now.

      ‘I will put it beyond use until then. And I accept your pledge, Valdar.’ She inclined her head. ‘Not that it will be needed. Nothing ever happens here.’

      ‘Then it is lucky you found me.’ A smile transformed his face from handsome to stunning. ‘A good omen in a sea of bad luck. Perhaps my life changes now. Perhaps I am reborn.’

      A good omen for him. Alwynn took a deep breath. She wished she knew whether it would be the same for her—the woman who had obeyed all the rules had lost everything. Maybe it was time she started breaking a few. Maybe it was time for her to be reborn.

      * * *

      Valdar circled his shoulders, trying to focus on working the aches and pains out of his body, rather than think about the way the sunlight had shone on Alwynn’s hair or the shadows in her eyes when she evaded his questions about why she’d saved him.

      But he knew what he faced here if his true origins were discovered. To the Northumbrians, one Northman would be very like another. It made no difference that he was from Raumerike and the raiders were Viken. Or the fact that he had always considered the raid to be a grave error. Something which had far more consequences than simply taking gold and a few slaves captive.

      He hated the slight