Summer Of The Viking. Michelle Styles

to save him and not just because she’d promised Merri. She could spend days staring into those eyes. She shook her head to clear it. It made little sense. This man was a complete stranger.

      ‘I want to help,’ she said softly. ‘I want to get you somewhere where you’ll be safe. If you stay here, you will die and I think you want to live.’

       Chapter Two

      Alwynn sat back on her heels. A light breeze blew across her face and the clouds skittered across the blue sky. The warrior was alive and in need of urgent help, but not here. Not on this beach, not ever.

      She and Merri were alone on the stretch of sand, but other beachcombers would arrive soon. And they would follow Edwin’s orders, rather than help her save the life of an unknown warrior. She knew that instinctively.

      A cold shiver went down Alwynn’s spine. They would be here at any moment. And once he was discovered, someone would act...unless she acted first.

      ‘Merri, I need your help. You must be very brave, sweetling, and obey me without question.’

      Merri reached her side in a heartbeat. ‘He is alive? Is he a prince?’

      ‘Barely.’ Alwynn automatically straightened Merri’s couvre-chef. ‘And I think he is a warrior of some sort, probably foreign. But well-to-do. The sword is silver encrusted and he wears arm rings.’

      Merri’s eyes grew wide. ‘A Northman? You aren’t going to tell me to leave so you can run him through with his sword, are you? You promised to save his life. You can’t be like all the other adults.’

      Alwynn slowly shook her head. Perhaps she should be, but something deep within her revolted at the thought of killing an innocent man. ‘There isn’t any sign of a boat. Or other people. Northmen travel in packs. We learnt that from Lindisfarne and the raid last year.’

      ‘Or any other corpses!’ There was no mistaking the ghoulish delight in Merri’s voice. ‘If it was a boat, there would be more bodies on the beach. They said dozens were washed up last year and those who had not drowned had their heads cut off.’

      ‘Merri! Who have you been talking to? Neither of us were on the beach then! I sent the steward!’

      ‘Oswald, Oswy the Gristmiller’s son. He knows these things.’ Merri tapped a finger against her lips. ‘Why did this warrior fall off his ship?’

      Alwynn swallowed hard and tried to control the knot in her stomach. Her parents would have told her to tell the authorities. Lord Edwin was the new authority in this part of Northumbria and she knew what his answer would be. But when had following the rules ever brought her any happiness? The last thing she wanted was this man’s death on her conscience.

      ‘Since when do Northmen travel alone? Or fall from ships?’ Alwynn dusted her hands on her apron. She knew all about Northmen and their ways. One of her cousins had survived the Lindisfarne raid. She had heard all about how the Northmen attacked without warning or provocation. And the butchery. How they had no pity for anyone else, let alone God’s servants. If this man was a Northman, innocent or not, she’d have no hesitation, but...

      ‘No, he’ll be from somewhere else. Until we know for certain, we give him the benefit of the doubt.’

      Merri nodded, accepting her word. ‘I’m not frightened of him. He has a kind chin.’

      ‘Kindness comes from deeds not looks.’ The instant the words left her throat, Alwynn heard her mother’s voice. She’d always vowed she’d be different and here she was spouting meaningless phrases. Her mother had been a master of that—say something witty and seemingly profound while expecting everyone else to do the hard work.

      Merri’s face adopted her stubborn look. ‘I still think he is one of the most beautiful warriors I have ever seen.’

      Alwynn gave Merri a no-nonsense look. ‘Right now, we save his life. And we keep quiet about it. We take him to Gode’s cottage. With any luck, he’ll be gone before she returns.’

      ‘Who do you think he is? Could he be a prince?’

      ‘I’ve no idea, but he is a person of consequence. A simple seafarer would not be wearing gold rings.’

      ‘If you save his life, he’ll reward you and then we won’t have to worry any more about the debts my father built up. He’ll fall instantly in love with you, too.’

      ‘I’ve little time for your stories today, Merri.’ Alwynn glanced over her shoulder. The sun had risen higher in the sky, warming her back and neck. Soon the beach would be flooded with treasure seekers and other scavengers. ‘The sooner we’re off this beach, the better.’

      ‘What about our basket of sea coal? We can’t carry both.’

      ‘People are more important than things. Always.’

      Alwynn put one arm about the warrior’s shoulders and pulled him to standing. His body buckled and a deal of seawater spewed out.

      ‘Better out than in,’ she muttered as her knees threatened to give way from the sheer weight of him. ‘Get on the other side. Help me to balance. Dropping him would not do either of us any good.’

      Merri ran quickly to the other side and wrapped an arm about his waist. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

      Giving a nod, Alwynn started forward. The man’s feet dragged a bit, but the movement seemed to rouse him. His deep brown gaze held her again.

      ‘Walk,’ she commanded. ‘Walk or die.’

      * * *

      Valdar jolted from the comfort of swirling blackness into piercing light. The sunlight on the yellow sand hurt his eyes, nearly blinding him.

      The woman’s insistent tone had called him from the cocoon of darkness which had held him in its embrace since he had heaved his body on to the sand.

      He knew a few things.

      First, he was alive and intended to stay that way. The lad’s mother had been right about the Norns deciding when men died.

      Second, his lungs were on fire and his belly was heaving from the amount of salt water he’d drunk in that desperate swim. As it was, a few more feet of water and he’d never have made it out of the surf alive. But he knew the perils of half-drowning. His elder brother had died of it. Dragged from the harbour after his boat overturned, seemingly fine, only to collapse a few hours later. He needed fresh water to replace the seawater which he’d inhaled.

      Third, and potentially most troubling, he knew that he was in Northumbria. The accent was incredibly distinctive. He’d heard it several times in various markets over the years. And Northumbria was the last place he wanted to be. The Northumbrian king had declared that all Northmen were to be killed. No Northumbrian was supposed to trade with a Northman.

      The Lindisfarne raid might have garnered gold for the detested Viken, but it had made trading more difficult for everyone else.

      In fact, it had been partly responsible for the mutiny. Frozen out of their usual markets, Girmir had demanded they raid Northumbria and get gold like the Viken. Horik had objected as he had no quarrel with the Northumbrians and he’d heard of what had happened to another Viken raiding party last year—butchered.

      Horik had wanted to find new markets to the south, something Valdar agreed with, but Girmir feared travelling off the end of the earth.

      He needed to be north of here. His friend and fellow countryman Ash Hringson had planned to attend the market in Orkney this autumn with his young son. He would be able to get passage home from there. Then he could expose Girmir as an oath-breaker.

      But before that, he had to recover and recuperate away from danger. The Picts, or possibly the Gaels, might be more amenable than the Northumbrians...if he could make it there.

      He