“You shall be marked as captive so that all the world will know at a glance what you are.”

He signaled to two of his men, who pinned her arms to her sides. She fought against them, her calm deserting her.

“What do you mean?” Annis’s voice held a note of panic.

Haakon gritted his teeth. Did she think he’d be lenient because they had lain in each other’s arms?

“Cut her hair. Place a collar about her neck. Then put her in the pigsty, where she can contemplate what she has done.” Haakon stared at her, hating her. She had lied to him, whispered soft words and given advice. Asked what the lands to the south were like.

He had liked her, lusted after her body, wanted to spend time with her, and all the while she’d wanted to betray him. He should have remembered the lessons of his youth—women were not to be trusted.

Taken by the Viking

Harlequin®Historical

Author Note

When I was very young, my maternal grandfather gave the grandchildren an illustrated book of Scandinavian fairy tales so that we could learn about our heritage. Some of the tales caused nightmares, but one of my earliest memories includes looking at the wonderfully romantic picture of a dark-haired Viking on a white horse, holding the woman he had just kidnapped, as my mother read the story about how Sweden was founded. I have had a soft spot for Vikings ever since.

Thus, when I met my lovely editors for lunch and they casually suggested the Viking period, I struggled to maintain my poise, be very professional and not punch the air in excitement. On the way home from the lunch, I scribbled basic notes, wrote a premise, then held my breath. Would they see the possibilities? Luckily, they were very enthusiastic about my ideas, and I was given the go-ahead to write this book. Hopefully you will find this time period as exciting as I do and enjoy this tale. I certainly enjoyed writing it.

As ever, I do love reader feedback. You can contact me through my Web site, www.michellestyles.co.uk, my blog, www.michellestyles.blogspot.com or through the Harlequin Books office. If you are interested in my latest news and forthcoming releases, I have a newsletter that readers can subscribe to. You can find details about it on my Web site.

TAKEN BY THE VIKING
MICHELLE STYLES

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Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Chapter One

8 June 793—Lindisfarne, Northumbria

Annis pressed her lips together, trying to keep her head from moving as her maid plaited her hair. What had she really hoped for? That her uncle, the Abbot of St Cuthbert’s Priory, would give her money to fight her stepfather? His only suggested alternative had been the church. She could have a good position as long as she brought her dowry with her.

‘My lady, it will take less time if you bend your head slightly this way.’

Annis regarded the wall of the guesthouse at St Cuthbert’s, with its mural of Mary kneeling at the base of the cross, and concentrated harder.

It had been a mistake to come. Last night’s conversation still rang in her ears. Her uncle refused to listen to her arguments. Why had she ever thought otherwise?

She’d leave the monastery and the island tomorrow at low tide when the causeway was passable, Annis decided. She would have to return home to Birdoswald on the River Irthing in the west of Northumbria. And face the future her way.

‘Is this suitable, my lady?’

Her new maidservant, Mildreth, finished plaiting her hair and handed her a small mirror. Annis took a brief glance at herself. Her wayward tumble of brown curls had been tamed into two neat plaits on either side of her head. Annis considered her hair to be her best feature, perhaps her only noteworthy feature, but something with a will of its own. Mildreth knew what she was doing, she’d allow, but Annis refused to trust her.

Mildreth was her stepfather’s creature. Had to be. Her stepfather had forced all her maids and retainers to be changed after her husband had died and she had returned to the family lands. There had been no excuse for her to stay with Selwyn’s family. She had no child and her sister-in-law had always resented her. So she had returned, hoping for a better reception, and discovered her stepfather firmly in control of the family lands.

‘Soon we will be preparing for your betrothal.’

‘If God wills…’ Annis placed the mirror back on the dressing table and forced her face to remain bland. She had no intention of marrying her stepfather’s son, the odious Eadgar, with his damp hands and even damper manner. Neither did she intend on retiring to a convent as her uncle had suggested. There had to be another way.

‘You will have to marry sometime. Eadgar is a fine—’ Mildreth stopped and her face grew distressed. ‘Mistress, I cannot lie. I have grown fond of you. Eadgar is a terror. All the maidservants fear him if they are caught alone with him. Please say nothing.’

Annis caught Mildreth’s hand. A faint pink tinged the maid’s cheeks, making her almost pretty. Annis felt happier than she had been in weeks. Her journey to Lindisfarne had not been in vain. She had discovered an ally of sorts.

‘We share the same view of Eadgar.’

‘They said you were kind, my lady, and you are.’

‘It is far too soon to speak of remarriage in any case.’ Annis straightened the neck of her gown. ‘My husband is barely cold in his grave. There will be time enough to speak of marriage after I have finished mourning him. I came here seeking my uncle’s advice and, having received it, I will return to my home.’

‘As you say, my lady.’

A sudden fierce tolling of the bells resounded in the room, crowding out all thought or speech. Every fibre of Annis’s being tensed.

‘We are going to be attacked!’ Mildreth wrung her hands. ‘Murdered in our beds!’

Annis forced a breath from her lips. Despite the increasing shrillness of the bells, she had to stay calm. It could be anything. Blind panic would not serve.

‘Attack? Really, Mildreth, you must not let your fears take hold. Who would dare attack this place?’ She forced her voice to sound normal. Annis wasn’t quite sure whom she was trying to convince, her maid or herself. ‘The bells will be ringing for another reason. A pilgrim misjudged the tide and is stuck on the causeway.’

Mildreth gave a tremulous smile and ducked her head as the bells continued to peal. Annis offered up a small prayer that her words were correct. They had to be. Who would risk eternal damnation by attacking one of the most holy and learned sites in Northumbria, if not Europe?

The protection it offered was the reason her family chose to store the bulk of their coin with the monks rather than keeping it in locked chests on their estates. The vast majority of landowners in Northumbria used this simple but effective way of ensuring their coin was truly safe.

Then, as suddenly as the bells started, they stopped. The silence became deafening.

‘It will be nothing.’ Annis’s voice sounded loud, echoing off the wooden walls. ‘A ship might have been stranded and a monk panicked. My uncle says some of the newer monks can be excitable. Whatever it was, it is sure to have been solved.’

‘As you say, my lady.’

Mildreth gave another nod, but her thin face bore a distinctly unhappy look to it. Annis reached out and touched her hand.

‘All will be well, Mildreth. We are in God’s place. He will look after us.’

‘There have been portents,’ Mildreth said and then dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘One of the monks said he saw dragons flying across the moon. And strange fires in the night. Whirlwinds in the skies. Something to punish us for our wicked, sinful ways. They were speaking of it in the Abbot’s scullery only yesterday.’

‘Tales to frighten young maidservants, without a doubt.’ Annis gave an uneasy laugh. ‘By Michaelmas, after the harvest, no one will remember. It is the way of things.’

Annis rose and crossed quickly to the small window that overlooked the sea. Yesterday, she had admired the view of clear yellow sand and bright sparkling water, empty save for a few fishing boats. Today, an entirely different sight lay before her.

‘I may have been wrong, Mildreth. The monastery has company.’ Annis fought to keep the sound of rising panic out of her voice. She must not jump to conclusions. She was too impatient, her imagination too active, or so her uncle had told her several times this visit.

The early morning sunshine threw sparkles on the water but the sea was no longer empty. Three boats with serpents on their prows, round shields on their sides and red-and-white striped sails were in the shallow bay. One had drawn up on shore while the others followed closely behind.

As Annis watched, warriors disembarked from the first serpent ship, wading through the surf. They were dressed in trousers and chain mail, carrying their helmets and round shields. An air of wildness hung about them. No two were dressed alike. Heathens. Pagans. Raiders.

Annis leant out the window to get a better look. The leader had dark hair that touched his shoulders and several days’ growth on his beard. An intricate design of a serpent and beast fighting covered his shield. The warriors behind him ranged from a wild man with flowing hair and beard to a slim, blonder version of the leader. The leader glanced up towards the window. His startling blue gaze held hers for a heartbeat. A brief smile touched his lips as he turned to greet the group hurrying from the monastery. Annis put her hand to her throat.

Had he seen her?

Her uncle stood at the front of the group in his white habit, taller than the rest, but not as tall as the barbarian leader, with an air of confidence and command. Annis gave a half-smile. She had been wrong to worry. Her uncle’s skill as a politician was renowned throughout Northumbria and Mercia. She was certain he would have the measure of these heathen warriors in no time.

Her uncle held out his hand to be kissed in the traditional manner. The pagan warlord ignored it, and inclined his head before he handed her uncle a tablet.

The colour drained from her uncle’s face and his hand shook.

What did these barbarians want?

Haakon Haroldson stared in disbelief at the fine-featured Abbot. He had shown the elderly man the tablet and the tablet was quite specific. He had made certain of that, taking the trouble to read it after Oeric the Scot’s scribe had written the demand out. And he personally placed Oeric’s seal on it.

The felag had come for gold coin lawfully owed them. If they could trade or provide some measure of protection while they were here, so much the better. But no one cheated them.

This summer’s sea voyage was proving reasonably profitable. The new design for the boats had worked, skimming the ocean’s surface, increasing their speed. The Scots desired the Vikens’ thick fur pelts and amber beads.

There was simply this business to conclude. Then they sailed back home with honour.

‘We have come here for the money Oeric the Scot owes us.’

The Abbot raised a brow. ‘I am surprised at a Norseman speaking Latin.’

‘We are traders. We learn the languages as they are needed.’ Haakon kept his eyes fixed somewhere over the Abbot’s shoulder. There was no need to give his life’s history, not yet. Later, perhaps when their business dealings were complete and they were enjoying a cup of mead together. He held out his hands, palms upwards. ‘We come in peace. We only want what is promised us.’

‘How can I tell this tablet is genuine?’

‘We would have hardly come here if it wasn’t.’

‘I have heard of raids by your sort against defenceless farms.’

‘Other traders. Not us. We come to do business, not to make war.’ Haakon permitted a smile to cross his features. ‘Although we have been known to provide protection, should it be required.’

‘This is God’s chosen place. We have no need of protection here.’

Haakon was pleased neither his half-brother, Thrand, or, more importantly, his leading oarsman, Bjorn, understood Latin. It had been hard enough arguing with Bjorn that they should try for peaceful negotiations. There was much potential for good trading with Northumbria, but equally there were dangers. The Northumbrians were known to be skilful fighters. Haakon glanced at the large berserker standing next to him. There were many who might say that Bjorn’s place was back on the boat, but he wanted him here, in case of trouble.

Beside him Bjorn stiffened and his nostrils flared. What did his old friend sense? Were there Valkyries in the light breeze? Haakon dismissed the thought as fanciful.

‘We have come in peace,’ Haakon said again, keeping his voice steady.

The monks might look feeble, but he felt certain the monastery would be well guarded. How could it be otherwise? He had heard tales of its fabulous wealth and learning. Surely he and his men were not the first to have been tempted, but the Viken did not have enough men for a sustained assault. They had lost several to storms and sickness earlier in the summer. They would need each one to get the boats safely back home. It would be too risky a venture. They would settle this dispute diplomatically.

‘If you have come in peace, then perhaps we should discuss this.’ The Abbot bowed his silver head. ‘No doubt once I have weighed the merits of the case, I can make a better assessment. May I?’

‘There are few merits to weigh.’

‘But I fear you have been sent here on a fool’s errand. I do not know offhand if we store any money for Oeric the Scot.’

‘That is not my problem. The Scot showed me the tablet in your hand, with your seal, saying you did.’

A monk with a pockmarked face, standing at the Abbot’s side, tugged on his robe and then whispered in his ear. Haakon watched a frown appear on the Abbot’s face.

‘And you have this tablet?’ The Abbot held out his hand, and then let it drop to his side. ‘I thought not. Still, I will investigate it. It will take some time. You and your men are welcome to take on water and supplies.’

‘I do have his mark.’ Haakon gritted his teeth and crossed his arms. ‘Oeric assured me that would be sufficient. We do not intend to be cheated out of our rightful gold.’

‘You scum, you raiding scum. My uncle Oeric never cheated anyone!’ the pockmarked monk shouted out. ‘You cannot foul this holy place with your poisonous heathen lies.’

‘You are right, cousin!’ another shouted. ‘These are the raiders who destroyed my father’s farm last year.’

‘We never—’ Haakon began.

Before he could finish the sentence, the second monk rushed forward with an outstretched dagger, reaching Erik and stabbing him in the stomach before he could react. A red stain spread out over his leather jerkin.

‘To me! To me!’ Haakon shouted. ‘We have been attacked!’

Annis leant out as far as she dared and tried to hear the exchange of words between her uncle and the handsome barbarian.

Her uncle, head held high, turned his back and began to walk away. Someone called out sharply in a foreign tongue. Her uncle stopped. A monk rushed forward, punched one of the barbarians in the stomach. How would her uncle punish the insubordination? Her uncle’s guards rushed forward to protect the monk as the raiders drew their swords.

Annis felt as if she was watching underwater. Time slowed and each movement seemed to take an age. The guards charged, but were engaged immediately.

The wild man lifted his axe aloft, shouting in a barbaric tongue. The dark-haired man put out his hand to check him, but the man shrugged him off as he advanced towards her uncle, axe gleaming in the morning sun.

Her uncle did not move. There was a questioning look on his face. He held up his hands—in blessing or as a plea.

The barbarian paid no attention. He brought his axe down with a single savage blow.

Annis stifled a cry and turned her face from the horror, but the image of the axe falling, and blood spurting, staining the golden sand with its deep red as her uncle’s head rolled, was imprinted on her brain. She did not dare look back as the noise from the beach swelled around her, screams and pleas for mercy combined with furious barbaric chanting.

The bells began pealing furiously again.

Her body became numb. Her hand covered her mouth and her insides churned. Her brain kept protesting that this could not be real. It had to be a nightmare. Such things did not happen here.

Annis wanted to sink to her knees and cry, but above all she wanted to wake up. She bit her lip, tasted blood and then she knew everything was real, horribly, terribly real. But her feet remained frozen. Annis knew if she glanced back, the golden sands would be stained red with blood.

‘What is it, my lady? What has happened? Your face has gone pale. Tell me—what did you see?’ Mildreth’s voice cut through her paralysis.

‘We need to hide. Quickly.’ Annis clasped her hands together. ‘Something terrible has happened on the beach. We are not safe. No one is safe.’

Annis swept the contents of her dressing table into a satchel as she tried to think clearly. There had been rumours of such creatures for several years, attacking farms and demanding tribute from towns near the coast, but she had never imagined any barbarian would attack here. The stories her uncle told were about robbery, rape and worse. He had considered them exaggerated, but she now knew they were too mild. This heathen horde was capable of anything. They had to leave. Now, before they were discovered.

‘Hide?’ Mildreth squeaked, her eyes growing round in her thin face. ‘Hide where? Shall we go to the church? St Cuthbert in his tomb will protect us.’

‘No.’ The image of the axe falling on her uncle’s head flashed before Annis. ‘They did not respect God’s representative. Why should they respect his holy place?’

Mildreth crossed herself and fell to her knees. ‘Then we are doomed.’

‘Never say that.’ Annis grabbed Mildreth’s arm and tried to right her, but the maid was having none of it. She kept to the ground and started to mutter her rosary. Annis passed a hand over her eyes. She had no desire to curl up into a ball. She wanted to live. There had to be a way to escape. ‘We need to make it to the mainland. Raise the alarm.’

Mildreth’s muttering increased in speed.

Annis risked another glance at the window. The beach now teemed with warriors, swords and axes drawn, advancing forwards. A loud thumping noise filled the room as the monsters began to beat their weapons against their shields.

There was a great crash as the gate to the courtyard fell open. It was only a matter of time.

Annis pressed her hands to her temples. She could not leave Mildreth. They had to move, to get out of here. She did not dare wait for any of her retainers. Either they had run off or were too busy fighting the barbarians to consider her.

They could not stay here in the guest house. The barbarians would be swarming all over it, searching for gold and silver. They would not hesitate to take captives. Annis’s stomach churned as she remembered the stories from her uncle’s dinner table two nights ago. She had thought then they were tales to frighten young children. Now she realised that they had not even begun to describe the terror.

Mildreth finished her rosary and stared straight ahead, white-faced with unfocused eyes. Annis knelt down and gathered Mildreth’s ice-cold hands in hers.

‘We will make our way to the pigsty. There will be nothing for the barbarians there. No one will look in. They will want treasure. Once they have gone, we will emerge safe and sound. Unharmed. Do you understand me?’

The maid gave a barely perceptible nod. Annis scooped the remaining items into a cloth. The mirror had belonged to her grandmother and the brooch to her aunt. Her own silver cross. The work of an instant. She struggled to stay calm and think of each step clearly. They would go down the stairs, and out the back door, along to the kitchens and then to the pigsty. There was a good view of the causeway; when the tide was right, they’d walk across. ‘We go. Now.’

Mildreth stood, took a trembling step and then collapsed in a heap. Annis clenched her hands in frustration.

‘Leave me, mistress.’ Tears streamed down Mildreth’s face.

‘Never. We will get through this, you and I.’

‘May God, Mother Mary and all the saints bless you.’ Mildreth’s hand clenched Annis’s.

A crash reverberated throughout the upstairs room. An axe hitting the door. Then the sound of shouting and running of feet as someone sought to prevent entry. Mildreth let out a loud whimper. Annis instinctively felt for her eating dagger on her belt. Small protection in the face of swords, but it was all she had to defend herself.

Silently Annis whispered a prayer to God.

Beads of sweat began to trickle down her face and neck.

‘Block the door!’ Annis tugged at the bed as Mildreth crouched unmoving. ‘Help me now, Mildreth, if you value your life.’

Somewhere in the bowels of the building, a stair creaked.

He had planned today differently. They had come in peace, seeking trade, not war.

Haakon surveyed the battle or, rather, rout that was raging around him. Already flames licked many of the buildings. He knew Lindisfarne’s reputation as a centre for learning, but it could not be helped. The Abbot should have had more control over his monks. He had lost a good warrior and a good friend for no reason when the crazed monk had attacked. Had the Abbot expected him not to react in the face of such unprovoked aggression?

‘Bjorn was correct, Haakon,’ Thrand called from a doorway. He appeared disheveled, but unhurt, and dragged a chest spilling over with gold chalices and bejewelled crucifixes. ‘The church groans under the weight of gold and jewels. You have never seen the like. You were wise to say that we should come here to get the coin that the Scotsman owed us.’

‘Burn the buildings. This is like any other raid, Thrand,’ Haakon replied. ‘Gather what you can. We shall feast well once we return to our lands.’

He refused to feel anything for these men. There would be no place in Valhalla for them or wherever their God sent warriors. These were no warriors. Children knew how to handle swords better. This priory was undefended.

‘Watch your back!’

Several burly Priory guards advanced towards him, but Thrand reached them first, and they clashed swords. These knew what they were on about, Haakon thought as the swords clashed and clashed again. He sent one spinning to the ground and Thrand dispatched the rest.

‘You could almost make a berserker in ferocity, Thrand.’

The younger man lifted his sword. ‘Killing brings me no pleasure, Haakon. You know that. I differ from Bjorn in that respect.’

‘Have you seen Bjorn?’

‘Not since the fighting began. How stupid of those men to attack us with a puny dagger and not expect us to defend our honour.’

‘I would have preferred that Bjorn waited for my orders.’

‘You were the one who had him stand next to you.’ Thrand gave a shrug. ‘Bjorn is a dangerous man—to friend and foe alike when the blood madness hits.’

‘He would never attack one of the felag. He has given his blood-oath.’

‘So you say. There were rumours two summers ago about Bjorn breaking an oath, but I never believed them.’ Thrand gave the chest another shove. ‘You are in charge of this expedition and I have no wish to challenge for the leadership. Bjorn is your responsibility.’

Haakon rubbed the back of his neck, silently acknowledging the truth of Thrand’s words. Bjorn was a danger to everyone, and to himself. Now, all he had to do was to find Bjorn and bring him back from the madness that had engulfed him. They had sworn loyalty to each other, but he knew what Bjorn could do when he was engulfed in his blood-lust.

‘Bjorn,’ he called. ‘Bjorn, the day is ours. It is time to divide the spoils.’

Annis crouched behind the makeshift pile of a bed, mattress, chests and the table. Her plaits had come loose as she frantically worked, and her hair now tumbled freely down her back.

Waiting, hoping. She scarcely dared breathed.

Thus far, there had been no other sound but the one creak of the stair. A false alarm or something more sinister?

Had the attacker left the building?

Wisps of smoke swirled in the air, making it difficult to breathe properly and stinging Annis’s eyes. Her muscles complained from moving the furniture in front of the door. Mildreth had not helped with the building of the heap, but sat stony faced, rocking back and forth as she guarded Annis’s meagre store of possessions.

Annis offered another prayer up to God, but she feared He was not listening. God had turned His face from them and left them to their fate as warning to the others. That is what her uncle would say if he had lived.

How could the death of her uncle and the other brothers please God? Her uncle had been revered by all. His piety was well known, and his wisdom respected. Now he was dead and his blood spilt on the golden sand.

She stared at the knife in her hands.

‘I will protect you,’ she whispered to Mildreth, who gave no sign of having heard her. ‘I promise.’

The door to room jangled, rocked.

She froze. Her breath stuck in her throat. Would the attacker go away, seeking easier prey?

Then it crashed open with a sickening thump as if the bed and other things were but dry sticks.

A great beast of a man strode in. His axe dripped blood. His skins were splattered with many dark stains. Annis’s blood turned cold. This was her uncle’s killer.

Behind his helmet, his eyes glinted yellow. His teeth were drawn back in a snarl.

Help me! Annis sank farther back into the shadows.

The beast-man regarded the room, searching. The shutter flapped open and closed. His eyes narrowed, his attention caught.

Please let him think we escaped.

The beast-man gave a grunt and turned to go. Annis’s heart leapt. Against all reason, they would be saved.

Go. Leave. Depart, she willed.

A whimper escaped Mildreth’s lips. The beast started. Breathing heavily, he turned. This time he did not miss where Mildreth crouched.

An evil smile crossed his features and he lovingly stroked his axe.

‘Bjorn, here I find you.’ Haakon advanced into the narrow upstairs room. There had been quite a fight as the furniture lay scattered. ‘There is nothing here. Whoever was here has departed—long ago.’

He froze. The berserker started to slowly advance towards a cowering woman. In the other corner, another woman with luminous eyes crouched amongst the shadows. She put her fingers to her lips as her eyes pleaded with him. Haakon’s jaw tightened. There was no honour in killing defenceless women.

‘We have everything we came for and more. Time to depart, Bjorn. Before the tide changes.’ Haakon kept his voice steady. He had to bring Bjorn back from this madness.

No reaction from Bjorn. Just the slow, steady advance. Haakon willed the woman to move and save herself while he held Bjorn’s attention. But she cowered on the ground like a scared rabbit.

‘The gold has been secured, Bjorn Bjornson. Time to go.’

Bjorn swung his large head around and regarded Haakon as if he had never seen him before. His gaze appeared to become fastened on Haakon’s sword. An unearthly light appeared in Bjorn’s eyes.

Blood and spittle surrounded Bjorn’s mouth as he advanced towards Haakon, swinging his axe.

Haakon stood still. Bjorn had to realise who he was. They had shared many adventures together. Bjorn had never before been this far gone in the madness of the berserker.

‘Bjorn, it is I, Haakon, your Jaarl. Stay true to your oath. Come back to me.’

Something appeared in Bjorn’s eyes. He checked the movement of his axe. Haakon gave an encouraging nod, beckoning him forward. He had done it.

Bjorn’s eyes became fixated on Haakon’s sword, blazing with an unholy light. Madness descended again as he licked his lips.

Bjorn lifted his axe. Haakon dodged to the right, raising his shield to meet the axe. He felt the reverberation go up his arm. Bjorn drew back and tried again.

‘I am your shipmate, Bjorn.’ Haakon held out his hands and kept his voice soft, like a woman crooning to her baby. ‘We swore an oath on Thor and Odin. Our blood mingled. You are a member of the felag.’

But the berserker gave no sign. The scent of blood had driven him into a red fury. And the only thing he understood was killing. A great roar emerged from the depths of his being.

Haakon raised his shield again and heard it crack as Bjorn hit it with his axe.

Annis watched the barbarian warrior fight the other. His sword clashed with the axe several times. It made no sense that they should fight, but it was distracting the beast-man.

‘Run, Mildreth, run now. The pigsty! I will meet you there!’

The maid needed no second urging. She darted behind the warrior. Mildreth’s feet clipped his and he stumbled slightly. His shield crashed to the floor and his sword slipped from his grasp. He lay there, defenceless.

Annis knew she, too, should run, but her legs refused to move. She had to go. This was her best chance to escape. She should go now, but still the barbarian warrior lay there.

This warrior had saved Mildreth’s life and probably hers. Now he was in mortal danger. And once he was dead, the beast-man would come after her.

The beast-man advanced towards where the warrior lay on the ground, breathing heavily. He stopped and gazed at the man. A slow smile spread over his face as his tongue licked his lips.

Annis forgot to breathe.

The beast-man’s skins gaped open at the base of his throat as he lifted his axe for the final blow.

Chapter Two

Annis hurtled herself forward from her hiding place, her dagger curving upwards. She had this one chance, this one opening.

She had to do it.

The beast-man turned slightly at her approach. The knife slid easily into his throat. Blood spurted from his mouth as a look of surprise engulfed him. Her hand jolted from the impact and she felt her fingers slip from the knife.

Annis landed on the hard body of the fallen warrior. Instantly, she felt his arms go around and pull her body under his in one swift motion. Protecting her. A muttered curse was whispered in her ear as she struggled to breathe.

A great crash resounded in her ears as the beast-man toppled to the floor, narrowly missing them both.

As Annis lay there underneath the warrior, she noticed the tiny stone against her back and the long, hard length of him, their breath intermingling. She could see the dark stubble on his chin and the brilliance of his blue eyes. Everything in a heartbeat. Then the rush of air as he stood up.

A warm hand engulfed hers, pulling her to her feet. His blue eyes held a look of concern. Annis stood there, hanging on to the hand as she gazed at the fallen figure with blood silently pooling beneath him.

Her aim had been true!

She turned her head into the warrior’s chain-mailed chest and rested it there, drawing strength from him. His strong arm encircled her. Distantly she could hear the roar of battle and crackle of fire, but closer she heard the thump of his heart. Gradually what she had done sank in.

She had killed. The beast-man was dead, dead by her hand!

Annis pushed against the warrior’s chest and immediately his hands loosened. She staggered a few steps and sank down on an upturned bucket, trying to regain control of her body as shudders went through her.

The smoke-filled air stung her eyes and throat. She should go now, flee and try to get across the causeway, but when she stood, her legs refused to move. If she took another step, she’d sink to her knees.

‘I was sick after my first time.’ A low rumble of a voice filled the room. It was a comforting sort of noise, and flowed over her like fine linen.

Annis glanced over her shoulder at the warrior. Had he spoken? Surely she was hearing things. Such a man would not speak Latin. Heathen raiders such as he did not speak the language of the church. She had to be hearing things. Was that what killing people did? Made you hear voices in your mind? She put her hands to her ears and shook her head to clear it.

The warrior took off his helmet and his dark hair was plastered to his forehead. He was tall, powerfully built with broad shoulders. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his face.

Annis started. The man she’d saved was the pagan warlord she had seen earlier, the one who had quarrelled with her uncle, the one who was responsible for the attack. She wanted to put her face in her hands and weep. She had saved her uncle’s destroyer. If she had realised, she would have fled as Mildreth had done. She regarded her hands, wondering what he would do now, what he was capable of.

‘You saved my life,’ he said in Latin with only the faintest trace of an accent—not unpleasant, just different. ‘I, Haakon Haroldson, Jaarl of Viken, am in your debt.’

Annis blinked. She had not heard wrong. This raider spoke Latin as well as, if not better than, a Northumbrian noble.

‘Is he dead?’ she asked in Latin. Annis stared at the prone figure.

‘I fear so.’ Something like sorrow crossed his face. He bent down and turned the beast-man face up, muttered something and then closed the beast-man’s unseeing eyes. ‘Bjorn was a fierce fighter. We shall miss him. Great will be the celebrations in Valhalla tonight.’

‘He tried to kill you. And you regret his death.’ Annis stared incredulously at the warrior. ‘How can that be?’

Haakon regarded the woman in front of him. Her dark hair flowed down her back. She was dressed in a simple dark green gown without ornaments, none of the jewellery so beloved of his stepmother or Queen Asa and the ladies of the Viken court. Her sea-green eyes were wide and he could see the trembling starting to set in. This woman had never killed before.

Was she real or one of the Valkyries—the warrior women who scavenged the battlefield for fighters worthy of Valhalla?

‘He was a great warrior, a berserker.’ Haakon looked at Bjorn’s trusty axe.

How many times had he killed? How many men’s lives had he saved with the unhesitating strokes of his axe?

It was unthinkable Bjorn should behave like this, to end his life by breaking his oath and deliberately attacking a member of the felag, his sworn leader. Haakon shook his head. No, Bjorn had to have been too far gone in his blood-lust. He had no idea of what he had attempted to do.

‘A berserker?’

‘He lived for fighting.’ Haakon attempted to think of the Latin words to describe Bjorn, but decided there were none. ‘He was a great warrior.’

She nodded, but her expression remained unconvinced.

Haakon regarded the fallen man. There were many among the fellowship who would seek to kill her for what she had done, demand her blood in retribution for killing a warrior such as Bjorn. He followed the warriors’ code but her actions had saved his life. This was by far the bigger debt.

‘You are under my protection, Valkyrie.’ Haakon rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Tell me what happened here. What did you do to provoke Bjorn?’

She shook her head, and started to back away. Her bottom touched the window ledge and she stopped. She held out her hands and her eyes grew big. ‘I saved your life.’

Something inside Haakon twisted. She expected death. He was not so far gone that he would kill a woman in cold blood.

‘That is why you are under my protection. No harm will come to you.’ Haakon inclined his head. ‘Bjorn was valuable to my people. You must understand this. No one thought he could be killed, least of all by a woman.’

‘He was going to kill you, this…this berserker of yours, after my maid caused you to trip and fall. I did what I would have done for anyone.’ Her voice rose slightly. She scrambled to bring together a few jewels and held them out. ‘Let me go. Leave me here. Take these and go.’

Haakon stared at the slender woman in disbelief. He pushed the jewels away.

Did she realise the penalties? Did she not understand what was happening out there?

When he and his men had finished, no building would remain standing. They had not come seeking this fight, but they refused to turn away from a challenge. The next time, the people of this island might not be so eager to resist the legitimate demands of the Viken. No more would they tolerate those who lied, cheated and attempted to abuse their goodwill. The felag had come to trade, but had found a war.

Her body shook and the area around her mouth was pale. She reminded him of a highly strung horse. He wanted to tame her, to make her understand, so she would be able to live.

‘Where are your warriors?’

‘My warriors?’

‘Yes, the men who would look after you. Such a prize as yourself would not be left unguarded.’

‘All the men here are engaged in fighting you and your kind.’

He gestured towards the small window. ‘Out there, it is a scene from the end of the world. You do not wish to be there.’

‘You are not giving me the option?’ Her green eyes blazed defiantly. ‘It was not me or my people who started this fight. I will go now.’

She started to move past him, but Haakon reached out his hand and held her firmly, preventing her from moving. He could see her heart beating at the base of her throat.

‘If I let you go, you will lose your life. There are others like my friend out there…on both sides.’

Annis angrily tore her arm away. ‘I shall take my chances.’

‘Trust me.’

‘The Abbot was cut down, destroyed with one blow of this man’s axe, and you stood by.’ She choked back the words ‘my uncle’. It would not do for him to discover who she was. ‘I saw you. You were in charge of your warriors. He bid you welcome. You and you alone have brought death and destruction here.’

‘Where were you?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘I failed to notice any woman in the welcoming party. Perhaps your Latin is not as good as you would like to believe. We came in peace and were attacked. As I told the Abbot, we only wanted the gold due to us, the gold promised. It was a monk who attacked first.’

‘I watched from the window. The Abbot was…was a good man.’

‘His death was regrettable. As you have killed the man who struck him, perhaps you will consider it avenged.’ Haakon ran his hand through his hair, making it stand up on end. ‘We came wanting the coin owed for our fur and amber, and offering our services for protection. Good men fell today for no reason.’

‘Yes, they did.’ Annis’s throat closed. She refused to cry in front of Haakon, this barbarian who had saved her. Later she’d mourn her uncle and the rest of those who had fallen. Now she had to plan a way of escaping him and alerting the lords of the nearby estates to the danger of these raiders.

The smell of smoke increased and the floorboards became warm underneath her feet. She heard the slight crackle of fire.

‘We must move and get away from this place. My men have orders to set fire to all the buildings.’

‘I would rather die than move.’ Annis placed her hands on her knees and wondered how she could walk a few steps.

‘You will die, if you do not do as you are told.’ A faint, sardonic smile crossed his lips. ‘And you lie.’

‘How so?’ She tilted her head. How dare this barbarian Jaarl provoke her with his insolent speech!

‘You have already shown you have a great desire to live. You will come with me and I will get you to a place of safety.’

Annis swallowed hard. She had made one gigantic mistake today. She should have left Haakon to face his own man. But he was correct. She had to go. Her only hope was that she could somehow escape when they were outside. She would have to watch for her chance and be prepared to run and hide. She swallowed hard, hating him. ‘I will do as you say…for now.’

‘You will do as I say if you want to live to an old age.’ His voice hardened. ‘We go.’

Annis started to gather up her belongings. Her hand hovered over her mirror, now scratched.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Getting my things.’

‘You will not need them.’ Haakon bent and retrieved her dagger and cleaned it before he held out it to her. ‘But you will need this.’

She regarded it with suspicion. Exactly what was he intending? He knew she had killed with it before. She could use it to escape. Before he could change his mind, she grasped the dagger and tucked it into her belt.

His hand closed around her wrist. ‘Do I carry you or do you walk?’

‘I walk.’

He went first down the stairs, his sword in front of them, stopping to check at corners. When they emerged, the sky was black, the air oozed smoke. The scene in front of them was what hell must look like. Annis regarded the piles of looted bounty that stood at various points with revulsion. Tapestries from her uncle’s solarium, broken jewel-encrusted crosses and chests of gold. A pile of vellum and codex books burnt in the centre courtyard. A lump of tears formed in her throat and she used the back of her hand to wipe across her eyes. All that learning and knowledge gone. She wanted to rush in and pull the burning bibles from the fire, but Haakon’s hand held her wrist firmly. There was no escape.

More than anything, the scene brought her predicament home to her. This was not some night fancy from which she’d awake to see the smiling face of her nurse. Everything on Lindisfarne had been wilfully and wantonly destroyed. The world had changed. Irrevocably.

Annis started when Haakon did not lead her towards the boats or the others. Instead, he headed towards a small knoll a little way away from the scenes of the destruction.

Here the air was clearer, although the sun shone red through the haze of smoke. A few rocks provided a bit of rough shelter and the cries and crashing were a distant blur of noise. Overhead a seagull circled, oblivious to chaos and confusion below.

Haakon’s fingers loosened on Annis’s wrist, freeing her. She stood rubbing her wrist, not quite understanding why he had brought her here. He walked around the rocks in silence, then made a satisfied noise in the back of his throat.

‘You will be safe here. Wait until my men and I have left and then go across the causeway. Quickly. Never look back. Return to your home.’

‘Why are you doing this?’

‘A life for a life.’ He put his hand under her chin. ‘Here we say goodbye, Valkyrie.’

Annis blinked back the sudden hot tears. He was freeing her. She had thought she was a captive and he had set her free. She knew she should move away from him. His fingers were no more than the gentlest of touches on her chin.

‘Goodbye, Haakon Haroldson, Jaarl of Viken,’ she whispered with her lips a mere breath away from his.

‘You can do better than that.’

Without warning, he lowered his mouth to hers, covered it. One brief meeting of lips, firm but gentle. Her body swayed towards his, and his arms came around her, drawing her into the hard, muscular planes of his body. The nature of the kiss grew, intensified, becoming hot and searing like the flames that engulfed Lindisfarne.

Her knees weakened and she held him tightly, her hands clinging to his leather armour, savouring the feel of his mouth roaming over hers. Then it was over, and he had put her away. She stared at him, dazed as she watched his wide chest heave as if he had run a race. She knew her breathing must match his. All this from one kiss. She struggled to take a normal breath, to stop her blood from feeling as if it were on fire.

‘If all the Valkyries were like you, I would welcome Valhalla.’ Haakon nodded and turned his back, without waiting for her reply. He wanted no hesitation. What he was doing was the right thing.

Haakon forced himself to march away from the woman.

It was the simplest way. She would be safe as long as she stayed there.

He and his men would be gone in a few hours’ time. She could then live her life and he his. He had repaid his life-debt to her. They were even.

Annis’s fingers explored her well-kissed mouth as she watched his tall, broad-shouldered figure disappear into the swirling darkness. Bent, no doubt, on some other mission of destruction.

Did he have to be so handsome? His kiss had been far more pleasant than Selwyn’s kisses ever had been. Selwyn had always tried to dominate her, but Haakon’s kiss had been gently persuasive. And her body responded.

But he was her enemy. And he had set her free, possibly saving her life. She was sorry that they had to meet like this.

Would it have better to remain in ignorance that such a man existed?

She sank down on the spiky sea-grass and drew her knees up to her chest. She was safe and free. Free to go back home and pick up the pieces of her life. After today, she longed for the safety and solid reassurance of Birdoswald’s stone walls.

The waves hit the red-and-white sailed ships, signalling a change in the tide. The men looked tiny as they moved, carrying chests and crates to the boats. She caught the echoes of their laughter on the wind. How long would it be until they had departed and she could get across the causeway?

A scream rent the air.

The hair on the back of Annis’s neck stood on end. She rushed to the edges of the rocks and looked out, with her dagger in her hand.

No one. A tern circled overhead, opened its beak and screeched again.

She sank down amongst the rocks again, holding her dagger out in front of her, listening. But there was nothing. There had to be nothing. All the while her mind kept returning the promise she had made to Mildreth. She had to hope Mildreth was safe in the pigsty and would wait for her.

She had promised to meet her there. She had to be there.

Annis knew she should wait until the Vikens departed, but the promise preyed on her. If she went to the back of the pigsty, no one would see her. She could rescue Mildreth and none would be the wiser.

She shielded her eyes and peered down at the boats again. The departure preparations continued a pace. Most of the Viken warriors would be there, not in the town, and the pigsty was situated by the kitchens. There was nothing for them there. No gold. No jewels. No books to burn, just the midden heap.

Her stomach clenched. She had to go. She had a duty to Mildreth.

Haakon’s word rang loudly in her ears. She was safe here. She would come to no harm if she stayed still.

But what if he changed his mind? What if he returned for her? Could she really trust such a man? A heathen warlord?

She was not safe as long he knew where to find her. She had to leave.

First, she’d find her maid and fulfil her promise. She had never knowingly broken a promise to her maidservants in her life and she did not intend to begin now.

She would go as far as the pigsty and no farther. Mildreth had to be there. These Norsemen would be much more interested in plundering the treasury of one of the wealthiest monasteries in the Christendom than capturing reluctant pigs. They would be safe and could wait without fear of discovery.

Annis shuddered to think how many Northumbrian and Mercian families faced ruin because of today’s work. How many had thought their treasure would be safe in the hands of the monks, as who would risk eternal damnation?

The sky was thick black with smoke and it appeared closer to midnight than midday. Annis picked her way down the hill, back into the carnage. St Cuthbert’s church glowed orange. As she watched, a huge timber crashed on the centre aisle, sending a shower of sparks into the sky.

She stumbled and fell, knees first, into a puddle. Her hand closed around a small silver cross that lay in the shallow pool of mud. She tucked it into her belt next to her dagger. It had been a gift to her from her mother. Mildreth must have taken it with her when she ran and then dropped it in her confusion. It had to be a portent that she would find the maid safe and well. When she returned to Birdoswald, she would tell her mother the story. And they’d laugh together, agreeing it was indeed Providence that allowed her to find it.

Annis pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the sting of smoke. She blinked back the tears. There was little point in thinking about what would happen when she got back to the mainland. She had to survive first.

She took three more breaths, waiting, but the Norseman had disappeared and no one appeared to be paying her any attention. In fact, no one was around her at all.

Annis straightened her gown. She gave a half-smile at the gesture. The dark green wool already bore too many stains and was ruined beyond repair. It was incredible that she should even think about her clothes. Even now, her nurse’s many admonitions about how she had to behave—the proper Northumbrian lady, rather than a serf’s daughter—guided her.

It was time. She had to move or for ever be a captive.

She slunk back into the shadows and started to edge her way along the side of a stone building. The smoke was thicker and even the stones radiated heat.

Miraculously no one challenged her and she soon made her way to the outbuildings. The fence was broken and the pigs had vanished, leaving trampled earth as a sign of their escape.

‘Mildreth?’ she called softly. ‘It is Annis, your mistress. I am here. I have kept my promise.’

No answer. It was quiet, an all-enveloping quietness. So very different from the noise and confusion of the courtyard.

Annis concentrated her whole being, straining to hear the slightest noise. Mildreth had to be here. She had to have escaped. Surely God meant for them to escape. He had delivered them from the beast.

Then she saw the problem—the roof of the sty smouldered. Mildreth, if she made it this far, must have found a new place of refuge. But where? There had to be somewhere close. But could she afford to search for her? Annis, hating herself, decided no. She had to trust Mildreth would make it through and they would be reunited on the mainland.

She started to turn, but her eye was caught by a piece of light russet material in the corner of the sty. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle a scream and struggled to keep her balance.

Mildreth, Mildreth’s body, trapped under a timber.

Annis hurried over. Her hand touched Mildreth’s neck, but already the flesh cooled and her eyes stared up unseeing. All the air vanished from Annis’s lungs. She crossed her hands about her chest and rocked back and forth, struggling as her mind recoiled from the sight in front of her.

‘No!’ was torn from the depths of her soul as she tried to focus, tried to think. How long she stood there she didn’t know, but gradually she realised she had to go. The fire had taken hold, jumping and crackling all around her. But it was impossible to leave Mildreth like this, face, unseeing, turned to the sky.

Annis closed Mildreth’s eyes and whispered the last rites. There would be no way of knowing if Mildreth understood, but Annis fancied the body looked more peaceful. Then she placed a kiss on Mildreth’s brow and stood up, wiping her hands against her gown.

Later, when she had time, she’d come back and make sure she was properly buried. She would also seek out Mildreth’s relations and let them know what happened.

Annis’s mouth twisted. So many wrongs to right. She had to get across the causeway, in safety. She would return to her former look-out, see if the ships had departed.

She covered her mouth and nose with the sleeve of her gown as the smoke began billowing again and the heat of the fire beat against her face.

In the semi-darkness, she stumbled, trying to keep to the shadows. She went first one way, realised she was lost, started heading the other as the stinging smoke blinded her.

She ran into what seemed like a wall, bounced off and started to run. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm.

He said something in their barbaric tongue.

‘You had what you came for. There is nothing for you here,’ Annis said, forcing her voice to remain firm. ‘Leave this place immediately.’

The man paused and his grip eased. Annis risked a glimpse upwards. He appeared younger than Haakon, but had a look of him. He was regarding her with a quizzical expression.

She pulled her arm away and drew herself to her full height.

‘Go. Now.’ She pointed vaguely in the direction she had come from and hoped.

He started to go, a puzzled expression on his face.

Annis released a breath and willed him to step away farther. But he turned and placed a pinching grip on her shoulder. His face broke into a wide smile as he drew her closer.

Chapter Three

‘Haakon Haroldson!’ The scream welled up from within Annis as she fought against the hands. Haakon had warned her such things might happen, but she had chosen to ignore it. She should have listened. She was furious with her attacker and more furious with herself. She had thought she was doing the right thing, but she had blundered. It was too late for regrets.

The warrior grabbed her hair and twisted it around his hand, hurting her, imprisoning her. A sword gleamed in his other hand. Her heart stopped. Her limbs froze.

A nightmare. Worse than a nightmare as she was awake. She had had a chance to escape and had thrown it away on nothing. The thought tasted bitter.

Annis felt her body begin to sag. She forced it straight. She hadn’t survived all that had gone before simply to die at this man’s hands.

She kicked out with her boot and landed a blow on his shin, heard a muttered curse and his grasp on her hair loosened. With her hand she yanked the few remaining strands free. The warrior raised his hand. Annis ducked, whispered a prayer and prepared to flee.

Suddenly the young warrior was hurled backwards, and Haakon appeared, his face black like a thundercloud.

‘Has he harmed you?’ he demanded as he placed a gentle hand under her arm.

‘No, no. I am unhurt.’ She shook her head as her limbs began to tremble, to shake uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms about her waist but still the shivers kept on coming.

Haakon’s eyes were like daggers, and he once again wore his helmet. Gone was the man who released her and in his place was the warlord she had first glimpsed.

Annis swallowed, forced her limbs to stay still as a wave of exhaustion hit. She wanted to sink to the ground and never get up. This nightmare had to end. She had to wake. Her life wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had had it orderly, planned, and now there was nothing left. Nothing.

Another wave of aching tiredness washed through her body, leaving behind it a numbing cold. Later she’d think about the horror that happened here, but now all she wanted it to do was end. Her eyelids became heavier than lead and started to close. She sank down in the dirt, resting her chin against her knees, her back against his legs. She no longer cared. This man had kept her safe before.

Haakon resisted the urge to shake the woman and force her to stand.

He had shown her to a safe place, left her there. All she had to do was to wait until the Viken had gone and she could have returned to her people with nothing worse than a bad fright. But she had ignored him and had returned to the monastery. It was only Odin’s luck that he had chanced upon Thrand and her before anything had happened to her.

Surely the woman had realised the danger she was in. His men had little regard for the women. Some of the men would make good captives, but the women they just used and discarded.

‘The woman is under my protection, Thrand,’ Haakon said as he shifted so that she was firmly against his legs. ‘And I have no wish to send you to Valhalla before your time.’

‘Your protection?’ His brother gave a shrug and fingered his jaw. ‘I found her wandering on her own. You should look after your women better.’

‘Ivar said you were in trouble.’ Haakon put his hands on his hips, allowed the remark to pass and feigned ignorance at the jibe his half-brother was trying to make. ‘He feared you would need a steadying hand.’

‘Nothing I could not handle. A Northumbrian monk objected to being taken prisoner.’ Thrand bent down and picked up his sword. ‘Next time, keep a better eye on your captives. There are many about with the blood-lust running high.’

‘How many have we lost? I know about the beach, but here in the monastery?’ Haakon ran a hand through his hair. In a battle such as this one, he would expect to see many men go to Valhalla. Without a doubt, the hardest thing he would have to do would be to inform their wives, sweethearts and families when they returned to Viken, so a rune stone could be raised to them.

‘A few cuts and bruises. Perhaps six seriously injured.’ Thrand stopped, brows coming together in concentration. ‘Bjorn is missing, but you know how he behaves when the blood madness is on him. You are the only who he respects. He will appear before the gold is fully loaded, no doubt laden with treasure and his axe dripping with blood. By all the gods, this raid has been a success.’

‘Bjorn is dead.’ Haakon dropped his arms and dared Thrand to question him.

‘Dead? How? These are no warriors! A boy with a wooden sword shows more fight.’ Thrand’s eyes widened. ‘Bjorn was a match for any man. And have you forgotten what the soothsayer said—no man can kill him?’

‘I had forgotten the prophecy when he attacked me. The blood-lust was such that he did not recognise me. We encountered each other in the guest house, and I declined to visit Valhalla, even for him.’

Thrand let out a low whistle. ‘And to think you were the one who argued that he must join this voyage. He belongs to a powerful clan.’

Haakon glanced down at the woman. She had her head tilted to one side and her brow was wrinkled as if she was trying to follow the exchange. Her dark hair curled about her temples and her dress bore the stains of the fight. But he refused to tell Thrand the truth. He had given his oath. There were many who would demand the woman’s life as penalty for killing a berserker. But Haakon owed her his life. And he would keep her safe—whether she wanted to be or not.

‘Then let them challenge me. I have my sword.’ Haakon put his hand on his sword belt.

Thrand held his hands up. ‘Your prowess as a swordsman is well known and there are legends about your sword, Leg-biter.’

‘Leg-biter has served me well.’

‘You do realise that the tales will only intensify now that you have slain Bjorn although the wergild will be great.’

Haakon allowed his brother’s words to wash over him as he studied the woman before him.

What would Thrand say if he knew the truth? Would he offer up the woman to appease Bjorn’s powerful relations?

‘I was too busy defending my own skin to think on the amount I will owe Bjorn’s family. Or what his friends might do to me afterwards. I do not believe he gave much thought to the amount he’d owe you or our mother.’

‘I would ask much for you, my brother. You have done much for the family.’ Thrand gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. ‘I for one am pleased you killed Bjorn. If the family dislikes what you offer, they can always appeal to Thorkell. He should do something for his kingship besides receive a portion of our goods.’

The words were lightly said, but an uneasy feeling passed over Haakon. An unease that he instantly dismissed as tiredness. He trusted his half-brother with his life.

‘No doubt you are correct, Thrand.’ Haakon leant forward. ‘I never forget my obligations.’

Thrand flushed. ‘And the woman. What will you do with her? You never answered. There will be some who wish to dispute your claim, particularly if she is discovered on her own again. You are lucky it was me and not another member of the felag.’

Haakon frowned as he regarded where the woman crouched at his feet. She had not moved since he had hit Thrand.

He had thought to leave her, safe and unharmed, by the rocks, her presence undetected by the rest of the Vikens. But Thrand had seen her, heard her speak in Latin. Thrand was not stupid. He would reach the same conclusion that Haakon had—this woman was high born and potentially worth a great deal of money. In this state, she would be prey for all the men.

It was a total victory for the men of Viken. His mouth twisted. A lone woman would be subjected to untold dangers. He would not do that even to his worst enemy. And this woman he had sworn to protect. No, she would have to come under his direct guard, and when they returned to Viken, he’d use his contacts with the court of Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire to send a ransom message to her family.

‘It is for me to decide. She belongs to me now.’

‘I apologise again, Haakon.’ Thrand made a bow. ‘I had no idea whom she belonged to.’

‘You know now. And by the blood that we share, I challenge you to remember it. Do not covet those things that are mine.’

‘I never have. Do not burden me with my mother’s ambition.’

Thrand stiffened and stalked off towards the boats.

Haakon allowed him to walk away before he turned his attention to the woman, who had not moved from the spot on the ground. He reached forward and twitched the dagger from her belt. ‘Mine, I believe.’

She struggled to an upright position and her eyes blazed. Her hand made an ineffectual grab at the blade, but Haakon calmly tucked it into his belt.

‘What right have you? Give it back!’

‘I told you that you would be safe if you stayed by the rocks. You chose to disobey me.’

‘I had to find my maidservant….’ She pushed her wild brown hair out of her eyes and held out her hands, beseeching him. ‘You remember the woman who tripped you.’

‘And did you find her?’ Haakon allowed no softness to enter his voice. ‘Where is she? Or has she been carried off by another?’

‘She’s dead.’ A look of immense pain and sorrow crossed her face. ‘The pigsty’s roof collapsed on her.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘I told her to hide there. That she would be safe. And she wasn’t…It was a mistake to come here, but I had to do my duty.’ She put her hands on her face. ‘Do you understand that? Will you let me go—as you did before?’

Haakon resisted the urge to sweep her into his arms.

‘You are my captive now. Lindisfarne is not safe for you. It is not safe for anyone.’

She made no move, but simply stood looking at him. Her eyes wore a haunted expression. Despite the warm air, she shivered slightly, her body convulsing. Her lips held a bluish tinge, but she kept her body erect and did not collapse into a ball again.

Haakon undid his cloak and put it around her shoulders, fastening the trefoil brooch under her chin.

The heavy weight of the cloak pinned Annis down. She wanted to fling it off and run, but her encounter with the other warrior had made her wary. The cloak retained the warmth from his body. The heat rose, enveloping her, reminding her of the kiss they had shared earlier. His not-unpleasant scent filled her nostrils, surrounding her. Somehow, it felt intimate in a way she had not felt before. Her late husband would never have offered her his cloak.

Her hands fumbled with the catch. She had to give it back. She had no right to wear it. The brooch pricked her finger and she brought it to her mouth with a sudden exclamation of pain.

‘Leave it on.’ Haakon’s voice allowed for no refusal.

What was she exactly? Captives were not given cloaks. She had glimpsed the groups of dispirited monks tied together. Her hands were free. There had been no humiliation…yet. She allowed her hands to fall to her sides.

‘You wear a determined look on your face, Valkyrie.’

‘Everything is going up in flames. I am a prisoner,’ she said as a group of Norse warriors sauntered passed, carrying chalices, the remains of crosses and several bottles of mead. ‘My life. My world. Nothing will ever be the same again.’

‘The world constantly changes.’ Haakon placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘But you live. You will see the sun rise and set again.’

Annis knew she should pull away, but her body refused to move. In this unrecognisable world, Haakon represented something safe and solid. The warmth from his hands flooded through her body. His face was so close, if she lifted her lips but a fraction, she knew they would brush his. She closed her eyes, savouring the sensation. She longed to lay her head against his chest. Did it make her wicked? Her head pained her.

Then she forced her eyes open and stepped backwards. Her fingers worked the catch and the cloak fell away from her shoulders.

‘I will be warm enough.’ Annis kept her head proud and erect, met Haakon’s eye. ‘You will need it.’

‘The cloak stays about your shoulder. It shows others in the felag whom you belong to. You will be unmolested both here and on the boat. I have no wish to rescue you another time.’

A shiver went through Annis. Belong to? Her mind had tried to avoid the word, but he had uttered it. She was his captive, his slave. Why had she saved his life? Surely it would have been better if she had escaped while he fought the beast. A little voice nagged at the back her mind—but look what happened to Mildreth. Do you wish to share her fate? And she knew that she wanted to live.

‘I don’t understand these words you use,’ she said to distract her thoughts away from her captivity. If she could keep him talking, then maybe she could figure out a way to escape. ‘Felag—it means nothing to me.’

‘Many of your words were foreign when I first began trading.’ A slight smile came on his lips. ‘You have yet to give me a name. Or shall I choose one for you? I knew you were high born from the instant you spoke in the upstairs room. What serf’s daughter has Latin falling so readily off her tongue?’

Annis glanced down at the dirt. Her throat closed. She had no wish to lose her name. ‘Annis,’ she whispered. ‘Annis of Birdoswald, near the River Irthing. My father was the Eorl of Birdoswald.’

‘When it is safe, I will inform your people where you are, Annis of Birdoswald.’

Annis clenched her fists so tight they hurt. She knew what letting her people know meant. Haakon would ask for a ransom.

‘When will you let them know?’ There was nothing she could do about the demand. It happened in war. Selwyn had been ransomed twice—from a Scot’s cave and later from Mercia. It was expected. But much of her family’s wealth was in the chests that the Norsemen now piled up.

Would they ransom her or would her family simply see it as a judgement from God? Her stepfather might use her capture as the final excuse he needed to secure Birdoswald for himself. But there again, he might retain a vestige of honour and duty.

‘In good time, and from a position of strength.’ His face was hard, and his eyes fierce.

Annis nodded. The raiders would not stay here. There were too few of them to hold this island in the face of attack from the Northumbrians. And it would not just be the Northumbrians, but the whole of Britain when the news got out. No, they not would stay. They would return to their northern lands and she would go with them, to await a ransom that would probably never come.

‘What is a felag?’ she asked to distract her mind from the gloomy path it was following.

‘A felag is a fellowship of traders. We swore a binding blood-oath to each other before we embarked on this journey. All goods gained will be shared out according to the contribution each man made at the beginning of the journey.’

Each man would receive a veritable treasure from the sacking of Lindisfarne. Annis pressed her lips together and held back the angry words.

‘Once we return to our homelands all accounts will be settled and your people will be notified.’ He placed a hand on her shoulder.

‘Accounts?’

‘We came to trade—amber, fur and soapstone. Our season had been good until we encountered the Scotsman.’ He gave a sudden smile. ‘Now it is excellent. All of Northumbria will know what happened here and they will not be as quick to cheat us. We have earned their respect.’

‘You will not find the rest of my country so easy. You attacked monks, men of God. Lindisfarne was a centre of learning. Northumbrians have long memories.’

A flash of unease passed through his blue eyes, but that was all. ‘Your religion is not our religion. We worship the Aesir with Odin and Thor.’

‘All Europe will recoil in horror. They will refuse to trade with you.’

‘They will trade, Annis.’ He wore a superior smile on his lips. ‘They will trade because they want our goods—our furs and amber. And the next time they will be more honest in their dealings with the Norse. It is the way of things.’

Annis wrapped her arms about her waist as she silently watched the last few remaining sparks from the church fly into the air. She refused to cry. She hated these pagan warriors. If only Haakon had not taken her knife from her, she would stick it in him. Happily. She turned her face and examined the stains on her gown. That thought was a lie. She did not want to see this Viken warrior dead, despite what he had done here. He had saved her life—twice.

Dimly she realised Haakon was speaking again.

‘You will keep on the cloak, and follow me if you value your life.’

‘Where are you taking me?’ Annis hated the way her voice quivered.

‘You will be with the other prisoners, since you are so determined to join them.’

‘Who else have you taken?’ Annis thought of the gentle brothers and their community here. Most of their time had been devoted to illuminating the gospels. How long would they last in the hands of a pagan?

‘Strong men, and the leaders of the community, if they are still alive. There were not many left. I will ask your pope in Rome for ransom.’

‘I pray to God he pays it.’

‘The wind begins to shift. We have what we came for. I must see to the ships.’ He started off, then turned back. His eyebrow arched. ‘If you value your life, keep the cloak on and do not try my patience. There are some who will see you as taking up space that could be better occupied by a chest of gold. You should be grateful, Annis of Birdoswald. You belong to me now. There are worse fates.’

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Thrand tells me you have found a woman.’ Haakon’s fellow Jaarl and old friend’s voice broke into Haakon’s concentration.

‘And…’ Haakon turned from where he was contemplating the chests of silver and gold coins. The main problem was how to transport so much back to Viken on the Golden Serpent. Never in his wildest dreams had he thought a raid would be that successful. And it was not even meant to have been a raid. The weight would have to be carefully distributed.

‘We had an agreement—no women on this voyage. They do not fetch enough money. Yours will have to share the same fate as the others.’

Haakon gritted his teeth and drew himself up to his full height. He did not have to explain his actions to anyone. ‘Circumstances have changed.’

‘Thrand says that she is a kitchen wench. He discovered her by the kitchen spoils.’

‘My half-brother says many things and some of them are true. But not this one.’

Why had Thrand not kept his mouth shut? He had no cause to go complaining to another Jaarl. The success of this voyage, even before today’s raid, meant that Thrand would have enough money to buy an estate. Haakon’s stepmother could finally depart. For far too long she had presided over the farm Haakon had inherited from his father, determined that she should be given prestige and favours, making little secret of her annoyance that he, and not her son, was the eldest.

‘The woman Thrand is speaking of is the daughter of a Northumbrian lord. Think of her value.’

‘Then you don’t intend to bed her?’

‘I had not given the matter much thought,’ Haakon lied. He glanced back to where Annis stood, proud and defiant. A slight breeze whipped a strand of hair into her mouth. With impatient fingers she pushed it away. His blood stirred with the memory of the way her body had moved against his, softly arching. He would have her, but when he did she would participate fully. Not here amongst the rubble, but somewhere quiet where he could take his time and enjoy the delights of her body.

‘Will the family pay the ransom?’

‘I believe so. Trust me on this, old friend. The woman sails to Viken.’

Vikar stood stony faced with crossed arms, but Haakon held his gaze until Vikar’s face relaxed and he broke into a wide smile. He leant forward and thumped Haakon on his back.

‘Trust you? I would sail into the Midgard Serpent’s lair with you and expect to return with my ship full of gold.’

Haakon experienced a sense of relief. With Vikar on his side, there would be few who would openly question his decision to hold Annis captive, rather than simply taking her and abandoning her. He would not welcome an open break with his fellow Jaarls, but he also knew where his duty lay. Annis deserved his protection.

Haakon started to reposition the chest of gold coins more centrally in the ship. Gradually he became aware Vikar was still standing there, regarding him with a quizzical expression. For what other reason had his fellow Jaarl sought him out?

‘Tell me, though, Haakon, is there any truth to the other tale your half-brother spreads? Did you best Bjorn in a fair fight?’

‘Bjorn is dead and I was the only warrior there when he died. I will pay the appropriate price to his family. But hear this and understand, Vikar—he raised his sword first. I am no oath-breaker.’

Vikar nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘Thorkell would expect no less.’

‘I always fulfil my obligations, Vikar.’

Annis rested her head against the bulwark of the long ship. She and a dozen monks were all that she had seen—all that had survived? She did not want to think about the bustling place Lindisfarne had been. How many men. How many women. Her mind shied away from all that.

She should stand up and take a last view of Lindisfarne, but her legs refused to move. Maybe it was better this way. She had seen the smouldering remains of the buildings as she and the other prisoners had been marched down to the beach. One monk had tried to escape and had been dealt with summarily. After that, no one moved.

A welling up of noise filled the boat.

‘Viken! Viken! Viken!’

‘What are they shouting?’ a monk asked in a hoarse whisper.

‘Viken—it is where they are from,’ Annis answered. Anything to keep her from thinking about the terrible events.

‘Vikings? They come from no place. All they are, are heathen pirates. They despoiled God’s holy place. Their souls will suffer eternal damnation,’ another monk who had a pockmarked face proclaimed. Annis vaguely recognised him from her uncle’s retinue—Aelfric. How had he survived when all the others perished? He raised a fist to the blackened sky, raining curses down on the raiders.

‘It is in God’s hands,’ a third said and gave a gasp of pain.

Annis moved, knelt by his side and tried to raise the young man up. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

His hand gripped hers. ‘Forgive them, they know not what they do. Always remember Northumbria.’

He closed his eyes and a peaceful expression crossed his face.

Annis hunched farther down as the Viken began to clamber on board, laughing and joking. They appeared to be elated with today’s work and she could think only of the countless lives that had been destroyed.

She recognised the backs of Haakon and his brother as they took up an oar very near her. The serpent ship began slide over the water, taking her away from Northumbria, from everything she had ever known.

A single tear trickled down her cheek. She allowed it to linger.

‘Some day I will regain my freedom,’ she vowed, clenching her fists. ‘I shall not remain this Viken’s slave for ever.’

Chapter Four

‘Home at last!’ Thrand said, as the Golden Serpent slid on to the sandy shore. ‘I can’t believe how much I missed it.’

‘I cherish every day I spend here.’ Haakon breathed deeply, savouring his first steps back on his land. All his muscles sighed as he was able to stretch for the first time since they had left Lindisfarne.

‘No, you were the lucky one, the one who goes out adventuring, seeing new lands, meeting new people, gaining treasure.’

‘But I never forget this fjord and the estate on the headland. It is what gives me a reason for living.’ There was something special about his lands and the scent of pine trees that greeted him. This was home and he knew every inch of the ground. Through out the long years at Charlemagne’s court, he had visited it often in his mind, reminding himself why he was a Norseman and not a subject of Charlemagne. ‘If I could, I would remain here farming, but the harvests are too uncertain. My people come first. And so I have to leave to trade.’

‘Adventure is a better description.’

‘Now that you have experienced one voyage, Thrand, you can see that adventure is not always safe or pleasant.’

‘But we have amassed a huge horde of gold and treasure, and the voyage back was swift.’ Thrand raised his hands above his head and gave a smile. ‘Njordr the sea god was in a good mood.’

‘The waves were swift and the winds favourable. We have made excellent time.’

Thrand’s face sobered. ‘But now we will have to endure my mother.’

‘She expected me to perish.’ Haakon stared at the wooden hall and its outbuildings. ‘I am not sorry to disappoint her.’

‘She cursed your name, and I hate to think what she said about me once she discovered that, despite everything, you had allowed me to go.’ Thrand prodded a chest with the toe of his boot. ‘I believe I will see to the unloading. You do the ceremony of welcome on your own. You are the Jaarl of this estate, after all.’

‘If you wish. Your mother will have to be faced, Thrand, sooner or later.’

‘As I said, I’d prefer later.’ Thrand smiled and put his hands behind the back of his head. ‘After she knows that I made a success of it, and returned back with gold. You know what she is like.’

‘I do indeed.’ Haakon nodded towards the great hall with its gabled roof. ‘And if you wish to avoid Guthrun, I would begin unloading those chests—here comes the welcoming party.’

‘Better you than me.’ Thrand clapped him on the back and disappeared back down into the hold.

Haakon’s mouth turned upwards in a bitter smile as his stepmother processed outwards from the hall, carrying the ritual horn of mead. Not a greying blond hair was out of place and she wore her best apron-dress over a linen shift. The large gold oval brooches his father had given her shone. Her eyes widened slightly and her hand trembled, spilling a bit of the mead, as she realised who was standing before her.

She had not expected to set eyes on him again, Haakon thought with sudden insight. She had seen only the red-and-white sail, and had no idea who was on the ship.

‘Guthrun, we have returned,’ he said, accepting the horn and drinking deep from it as his dogs ran up, barking, to greet him. With his plumed tail wagging and his white eye-patch looking more roguish than ever, Floki was in the lead, determined to be the first dog to welcome his master. Haakon bent down to pat his favourite elkhound, who responded by turning over and baring his stomach.

‘I expected you would—one way or another. The gods favour you, Haakon Haroldson.’ Guthrun gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘You are back earlier than expected. Did it go badly for you? Have your masts broken? I told you the voyage was ill starred.’

Haakon retained a grip on his temper. He had no wish for disharmony in front of his men. ‘I am pleased to return to the northern lands and my home with my honour intact and the hold of my ship groaning with gold.’

‘Have you brought your half-brother back alive?’ she asked in a deceptively quiet voice, with her eyes hooded.

‘Thrand survived and prospered as I predicted.’ Haakon handed the drinking horn back to her. He wiped the back of his hand against his mouth, remembering how she had screamed and torn her hair when she was informed that Thrand was going. ‘He served me well, and the skalds will some day sing of his fighting prowess.’

Guthrun nodded, seeming to accept the statement. ‘And the other members of the felag? Have they returned as well?’

‘We lost Bjorn.’ Haakon kept his voice quiet and even. There was no need to recount the story in any great detail. She would learn soon enough.

‘His family will be upset.’ Her pale eyes flickered with something. Regret? Fear? But it was so brief Haakon wondered if he had imagined it. ‘He was renowned as a fighter. How did he die?’

‘He was in the blood-lust, and failed to recognise me. We fought.’ Haakon stared toward where Annis and the rest of the Northumbrians were disembarking. ‘There can be no question of oath-breaking when a man is in the grip of berserker madness. He lost his senses.’

‘It is a shame that he reached such a sorry end.’ Guthrun bowed her head, the perfect embodiment of a Viken lady, but Haakon knew she hid her knives well. She had not forgiven his father for having a child before her son. He would have thrown her out two years ago when his father died, but she had inherited part of the estate and until now, he lacked the gold to purchase it. ‘You will have to pay compensation. I hope you can afford it. The harvest has been less than last year.’

‘This voyage will provide the gold and silver required.’

With a struggle Guthrun controlled her face but Haakon was not fooled. He knew what drove his stepmother—luxury, money and her son. She rubbed forefinger and thumb together. ‘How much is my son’s share? He is your brother, Haakon Haroldson, and entitled to more than an ordinary member of the felag.’

‘We have succeeded beyond our wildest expectations. Thrand will be able to afford his own estate and retainers.’

‘You see I was correct to urge you to take Thrand on this expedition.’ Guthrun’s smile increased as she waggled her fingers at her son where he was busy supervising the unloading. ‘He undoubtedly played a big part in its success.’

‘Odin and Thor were with us on this voyage, providing gold, silver and captives.’ Haakon gestured towards where the group of dispirited monks and Annis stood. The once-pristine white robes of the monks were now stained and mud-splattered. Alone among the group, Annis stood with her head held proud, no longer bowed but challenging with furious eyes. Through out the journey, she had never complained, but had regarded all around her in stony silence. ‘It will take several days to unload and divide the spoils. Then we make our sacrifices to the Aesir and feast.’

‘That woman is wearing your cloak,’ Guthrun observed.

‘Yes, she is under my protection,’ Haakon replied in a mild tone. ‘She is the daughter of a Northumbrian nobleman.’

Guthrun made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. ‘I expect her to work. This farm has no place for idlers and slackers, even if they are concubines.’

‘She is not my concubine.’

A thin smile appeared on Guthrun’s lips. ‘Thank you. Until you marry, I will continue to look after the house as I have always done.’

‘Until the ransom arrives for all the captives, they will work for their shelter and food.’ Haakon kept his voice smooth.

‘And you have no fear of their god?’ Guthrun turned her head to the side. ‘He is said to possess a powerful magic.’

‘If their god had not intended them to be here, he would have protected them.’ Haakon turned towards the group and began to address them in Latin. ‘Your God has seen fit to deliver you to the Norse. Worship whom you please. It is of little interest to me. I shall ask your pope in Rome for ransom. Obey my stepmother, Guthrun, and stewards as you would me.’

The monks were led away, leaving Annis standing alone. The sea breeze whipped her hair back from her face and moulded her gown to her form. Her steady gaze challenged Haakon.

‘It is intriguing that a mere woman acts in this way,’ Guthrun said. ‘Maybe she is, in truth, your concubine. No captive will dictate how my house is run, however high born she is. She has a fierce air about her. I have no wish for her to intimidate my maids. How do I know what these people are like?’

Haakon frowned. Was this a ploy by Guthrun or was she truly afraid? He knew what Annis was capable of. He remembered his first sighting of her with her hair flowing down her back and the intent expression on her face as she had come to his aid without fear for her own life.

‘She will not harm you, Stepmother. I give you my word on it.’ He turned towards Annis. ‘My stepmother seeks reassurance that you will not harm her.’

‘Harm her?’ Annis held out her hands and her eyes widened. ‘Why should I do that? Where would I go? My home is on the other side of the water. I have no weapons.’

‘You agree to conduct yourself. Or will you speak sweet promises that mean nothing again?’

He stared at her until she dropped her eyes, looking away, admitting defeat.

‘While I am here, I will abide by your rules.’ Her voice choked and she paused, closed her eyes tightly before continuing. ‘What choice do I have? You are the master here. I will give no trouble on my honour as a Northumbrian.’

‘You are right—you have no choice.’ He turned to Guthrun, whose smile had become increasingly fixed through out the exchange. ‘You will have no problems. She has given her word as a woman of noble birth.’

‘Thank you, Haakon.’ Guthrun inclined her head. ‘I will see my son now. He needs his mother and her counsel.’

‘He unloads the cargo. When he has finished his task, he will find you. Settle Annis in with the women. She can do some light work while she is here, waiting for the ransom.’

‘When the woman is housed, I expect to see my son.’

Annis’s brows had drawn together and Haakon wondered how much Norse she understood. Her bottom lip stuck out, looking like the colour of ripe strawberries, and he wondered what it would taste like. Would it hold a faintly salty tang from the sea water or would it be as sweet as the last time they kissed? Heat coursed through him.

Annoyed, he damped down the thoughts. Now was not the time. He had no intention of bedding her. It would complicate matters. He had a rule of not bringing his mistresses into the house. Instead, he played at Thorkell’s court or when he was away in another country. A night or two of passion, then the thrill of the chase wore away.

And what would it be like with Annis? He refused to bend his rule to find out.

‘Guthrun will give you orders.’ The words came out harshly. ‘Obey her or you will have to deal with me.’

‘In everything?’ She tilted her head to one side as if puzzled.

‘Until I decide otherwise.’

Annis ground her teeth as she followed Haakon’s stepmother into the long, low wooden building. It would have been easier if she had been put in a dungeon, treated as if she were a captive rather than a slave. There she could have devised ways to escape. Here, she was surrounded by everyday objects, reminded that the chances her stepfather would send the ransom were slim.

The primitiveness of the house and hall shocked her. In Birdoswald, they lived in stone buildings, so old that it was said that the Roman Legion built them. There, the hearth was at one of end of the room, rather than in the middle as it was here. And they had separate living quarters, not simply raised areas on the edge of the hall.

‘Too fine.’ Guthrun leant forward and rubbed the wool of Annis’s dress. ‘You work here.’

To Annis’s surprise, she found Guthrun’s words relatively easy to understand. It was a bit like hearing Northumbrian spoken with a very bad accent.

‘Work holds no fear. Nothing could hold fear after what I have endured.’

Guthrun raised her eyebrows. She clapped her hands and gave orders to a plump, well-endowed blonde with tiny, piglike eyes who wore an ingratiating smile. ‘Tove, see to her. My son awaits.’

She said some rapid words to Tove, who gave a smirking smile and an exaggerated curtsy. Guthrun then departed, leaving Annis alone with the maidservant. Instantly the woman’s countenance changed, becoming craftier, and a good deal less fawning.

Tove went to a chest, unlocked it and pulled a plain linen tunic and apron-dress out. She shoved them into Annis’s hands. ‘Change.’

A lump formed in Annis’s throat. She had always had help dressing and undressing. No longer. She looked about for a screen to change behind, but there was nothing. Her fingers fumbled with the catch on Haakon’s brooch, and Tove made a clicking noise in the back of her throat. She came over, undid the brooch with impatient fingers and nearly snatched the cloak off Annis’s shoulders.

Tove clicked her fingers. ‘The rest. And no head covering. You are a captive.’

The silver cross tumbled to the floor, and Tove bent to retrieve it.

‘Not yours any more,’ she said and put it on top of the cloak.

Annis’s hand reached out for the cross, quick words sprung to her lips, but then she saw the carved wooden animals on the chest. This was not home. She cursed her bad luck, and forced her hand back down by her side.

Tove slammed the lid down, locked it with a click and pocketed the key. The cross had gone. Annis stared at the carved chest. She no longer had anything to remind herself of home, except for her memories.

Annis shivered slightly. But she rapidly changed the rest of her clothes. The linen scratched against her skin.

Tove led the way to the small kitchen area where a fire burnt in the middle of the room. A kettle filled with soup bubbled on the fire, and several maids were engaged in kneading bread. Two of the largest cats she had ever seen lounged in front of the fire, looking far more like dogs or half-tamed mountain cats. Rather than being chased away as they would be back home, the serving girls seemed to welcome the cats, pausing to give them strokes as they went about their business. Three other women were busy with spinning and weaving. Tove called out and several of the women snickered.

Tove gave Annis’s shoulder a shove and pointed to a sack of barley and then to the large quern and mimicked grinding barley. Annis’s heart sank. She had never had to do such a thing before—such things were done by the meanest servants. Annis clenched her teeth. She took a handful from the sack and placed it on the grinding stone.

After several passes with the stone, Annis saw the grain turn into a coarse flour. This wasn’t as hard as she first feared. She gave a triumphant smile and placed the stone down.

Tove said something else. The entire room burst out laughing. Tove pointed to the sack. Annis’s mouth dropped open. She was expected to grind the entire sack.

She put in some more barley and started to grind, faster this time. Her shoulders protested at the unaccustomed exercise. She would do this! She would grind the sack of barley.

She ground faster and faster, forcing the pace, and then suddenly the quern tipped over, spilling the flour everywhere, much to the intense amusement of Tove and her friends. Annis wanted to sink down on her knees and cry, but instead she forced herself to try to pick the flour up with her hands. It flowed everywhere. A cat jumped into the middle of the dust and began washing its whiskers as the roars grew louder.

A young woman with long teeth said something in rapid Norse, waving her hands and shaking her head.

‘I can do it myself. I made the mess,’ Annis said in Latin and then in Northumbrian.

‘Let me help.’

The woman removed the cat, took a brush and rapidly swept the flour into a pile. She scooped it up into another dish. Annis bit her lip and nodded her thanks.

‘Empty the quern often or else…’ The woman gestured with her hands, mimicking what could happen. ‘This has happened to me before—several times.’

Annis felt a lump grow in her throat. She touched the woman’s hand. ‘Thank you.’

‘Ingrid.’ The woman held up a finger and then said something in very rapid Norse.

Annis put her hand to her chest and took time with her words. ‘Annis. I am called Annis. If you speak slowly, I can understand.’

‘I am Ingrid,’ the woman said, a smile breaking over her face and making it pretty and less like a startled hare. ‘Tove makes mischief. She seeks to share a Jaarl’s bed and perhaps have his child as that would make her future.’

‘What does that have to do with me?’

‘They are wondering if you share Lord Haakon’s bed where you come from, and is this why he brought you here? The Jaarl has never brought a woman here before.’

Annis felt her face flame. ‘No. I am a captive, not a concubine.’

‘They wondered. Many would like to share his bed. He is reputed to be a kind and considerate lover.’

Annis felt her cheeks burn even more as she remembered the kiss they had shared. She should have known that he was an expert in these matters. Perhaps he was like Selwyn with many mistresses, changing them as often as he changed his cloaks. ‘He is more interested in the ransom that he expects to get.’

‘If that is true, then Tove will be very happy.’ Ingrid leant closer. ‘But you will admit—he does have strong arms, and a pleasing face.’

‘Yes, I will give him that.’

The entire room burst out laughing.

Ingrid came over to Annis and took the grinding stone from her again. She poured some barley into the bottom bowl and showed Annis how to do the grinding properly. ‘Like so, yes? Tove always makes the new serving girls grind the barley. Never teaches, but I help.’

A wave of relief washed over as tears pricked Annis’s eyes. She had not expected kindness. Somehow it made her feel less alone. She had made a friend. It had been before Selwyn died that she had had a friend.

‘Can you tell me why cats are allowed in the hall?’

‘Do you not have cats in the kitchen back where you come from?’

Annis shook her head.

Ingrid reached down and picked the black-and-white one up, cradling it in her arms. ‘This is Kisa, and the grey is Fress. They are beloved of the goddess Freya, and help to keep the mice down.’

Annis tried the unfamiliar names out and tentatively reached out a finger. Kisa responded immediately by purring and lifting her head backwards. ‘They are the largest cats I have ever seen.’

‘Kisa likes you. She is very picky about the people she lets stroke her. Cats can tell about people, you know.’ Ingrid gave a decisive nod. ‘I will like you as well, I think.’

Annis started to grind the barley again this time, following Ingrid’s instructions as Kisa settled at her feet.

Annis wiped the sweat from her brow. The sack, which had been full, sagged with only a few handfuls of grain left at the bottom. Two days of grinding barley had been hard work, but she was nearing the end. The only compensation was that she was exhausted at the end of the day and fell asleep next to Ingrid as soon as her eyes closed. No dreams of burning buildings or strong warriors, only blessed oblivion.

She lifted the grinding stone and started to work again.

‘Ow.’ The blister on her right hand tore open and every movement was like fire. Annis resisted the temptation to cry. Of everything that had happened to her, it was this blister that truly hurt. Such a stupid thing to cry over. The monks were undoubtedly suffering far worse, yet this morning she could hear the sound of their chanting as they went about the work of the farm. She used the corner of her apron-dress to wipe away a tear.

‘What is wrong?’ Ingrid asked, hurrying over from where she was making bread.

‘I held the stone wrong.’

‘Let me see your hands,’ Ingrid said, coming over.

Reluctantly Annis held out her hands. The red blister shone against her skin. ‘It is nothing as I said.’

Ingrid touched the blister. ‘Your hands are soft. You did not do this sort of work before.’

‘They will soon harden.’

‘Haakon waits for a large ransom, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Annis forced the word from her lips.

‘Does he know that you are being forced to do this work?’

‘I presume so.’ Annis felt pain at the back of her head echoing down to the base of her spine. She had no doubt that Haakon knew what she was doing and had ordered it, taking some sort of delight in humiliating her. ‘If I had some of my special ointment, I could soothe my hands.’

‘Where do you find this ointment?’ Ingrid stumbled over the last word.

‘I make it from herbs and tallow. A simple recipe to make, if you have the correct ingredients.’

‘That is a good thing.’ Ingrid smiled. ‘Do you know much about herbs and medicines?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘You are wasted here in the kitchen.’

Annis started to reply, but Ingrid had gone. Annis shrugged. She put her hand on the grinding stone and winced. Then she gritted her teeth. She would do this. She would not think about what her sister-in-law or her mother might be doing; instead she would recite the various medicines and herbs she knew. Anything to keep her mind occupied and away from the pounding pain.

She gave the quern another twist as hard as she could, ignoring the ache that shot up her arm. The grinding stone started to tip. Her hand went out the catch the heavy stone, but other, stronger hands were there, lifting it back up on to the table.

The air crackled with something that had not been there before. Slowly she turned.

Haakon stood next her with a large dog sitting at his side, wagging its plumed tail. How and when he had arrived she did not know—she had been concentrating that hard on the grinding. But he was here, looking most unlike the warrior she remembered from Lindisfarne.

He had bathed and his dark hair still bore shimmering droplets of water. Rather than his chain mail, he wore a soft blue fine-wool shirt over a pair of tightly fitting trousers. His feet were covered in butter-yellow leather boots. He exuded a vitality that filled the entire room.

‘Is there something you require, my lord?’ Annis asked.

She kept her voice cold and formal. She had no doubt who was responsible for her present difficulty. He would see that such chores would not break her spirit.

‘Ingrid came to find me. She said you complained.’

‘I am doing the job I was given—grinding barley.’ Annis concentrated on the grinding stone. ‘I may be slow, but the barley is being ground.’

‘You are a woman of many talents.’ His low voice contained a hint of laughter, irritating Annis. She certainly took no pleasure in being a captive. ‘What do you think, Floki?’

The dog tilted his head and barked.

‘There, you see, Floki agrees with me.’ Haakon reached down and gave the dog a titbit from one of the dishes.

‘I would have hardly been able to run my husband’s estate if I did not know how to grind wheat or barley.’ Annis gritted her teeth and hid her hands under her apron-dress. She kept her head held high, meeting his eyes, daring him to say differently.

He appeared to accept the statement. ‘And you find my language easy to understand. Ingrid said that you and she speak.’

‘I am a quick learner.’ Annis lifted a shoulder.

She reached for the hated stone. If she went back to work, maybe he would go away and she could concentrate on her task rather than how broad his shoulders were or how well his trousers moulded to his legs.

‘That makes life easier.’ Haakon’s hand caught hers and stilled her movement. The grip was firm, unhesitating. ‘I wish to speak to you away from the kitchen. My business with you is not for the large-eared gossips who inhabit this place.’

Annis stepped away from the table and tried to ignore the smirking faces of the other maidservants.

But what good would it do?

Haakon led the way to a small, private alcove, outside the main hall. A bench stood at one side, but Haakon stood regarding her, his face unyielding and stern.

‘Why did the monks allow you to speak on their behalf?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘They all have tongues.’

‘Nobody asked me to say anything. I decided to speak.’ The anger grew within Annis. ‘Someone had to.’

‘And they let you. Not one murmured a protest. Why?’

‘My uncle was the Abbot.’ Annis felt a light breeze push a strand of hair into her mouth. Instead of sea salt, it tasted faintly of wood smoke. She stared out at the bay where the serpent boats were pulled high on to the shore, the waves slightly lapping against the hulls. ‘The rule of the monastery is strong. They were fearful.’

‘And you are not.’

‘When the occasion demands…’ Annis ignored how tight her stomach felt. She knew whatever punishment he decided, she would speak again. Somebody had to give voice to the monks’ situation.

‘That explains much.’ Haakon’s face was inscrutable. ‘My stepmother was not best pleased.’

‘Have you sent the ransom demands?’

‘They will be sent on the next ship that leaves for the Holy Roman Empire. I have contacts in Charlemagne’s court.’

Annis gave a nod. No doubt Haakon would use this as an excuse to increase her ransom. She wanted to tell him that her stepfather would never pay to save her. He would deem it justification for taking control of all the lands around Birdoswald.

But the words refused to come. If she said them, then her tiniest spark of hope, the thing that kept her going at night, would be gone. Her home would be lost to her for ever.

‘I look forward to the answer.’ She pressed her palms into the folds of her gown to hide their sudden trembling.

‘You seem very sure.’

‘I am.’

It was a white lie. He would discover his mistake soon enough. In the meantime, she might be able to help the monks. The Church, she was positive, would provide the money. She had heard of cases before. The Church disliked Christians being slaves to pagans, but she felt that it only extended to its sworn people.

Maybe she should have made her vows as her uncle wanted her to. But she would have been paying lip-service to them. She had no real vocation. She desired a home, children and a husband who wanted her for herself and not for the property she’d bring. It would have been a lie to take those vows.

Haakon said nothing in reply as his fingers traced the outlines of the carved wooden pillar. It was as if they were caught in a contest, a battle of wills. Each was waiting for the other to speak. To lose. She was more aware than ever of his form, his strength.

‘Annis! Annis, where have you got to? The barley has to be finished! Annis!’ Tove’s shrill voice sounded, breaking the spell. ‘Annis! You will be punished.’

‘I need to get back to my work. Tove calls.’ Annis lifted her chin and stared directly into his eyes. ‘Something I will try to do much more cheerfully from now on.’

‘Does Guthrun know that you are grinding, doing menial tasks?’ His eyes burned into her soul.

‘Tove rules the kitchen.’ Annis gave a careful shrug. She had to be fair. She had not seen the woman since she started working in the kitchen. She had no idea if Guthrun knew what Tove was doing or not. But she was not one to bear tales. ‘I do what is asked of me.’

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over. ‘You are unaccustomed to such work. Your palm is heavily blistered.’

Annis snatched her hand away. His touch sent strange tingles up her arm. ‘I am not used to being a captive either. The monks suffer far worse.’

Haakon’s eyes hardened to blazing blue points, but he made no attempt to recapture her hands.

‘The monks understand hard labour. Not one of them was born into the nobility. You are a lady. It is different.’ He rubbed his thumb across his lips. ‘Ingrid tells me that you can make ointment to soften hands, to heal blisters.’

‘I know of one,’ Annis replied carefully. Exactly what had Ingrid told him?

‘Then make it.’

‘I do not have the necessary herbs.’

‘Are they exotic? Or don’t you know what is required?’ His voice held no warmth.

Annis paused. She had to be careful. She had no wish to sound overly proud, and what if the ointment did not work? But to be given the chance! Anything was better than grinding barley. Quickly Annis listed the herbs she required, counting each one off on her fingertips and ending with lavender.

He nodded and his eyes took on a speculative but impressed expression. Annis struggled to contain her growing hope. Would he give her permission to try?

‘Intriguing.’ He wiped his hands against his trousers. ‘Return to your work.’

‘But…but…you will speak to Guthrun. About the ointment. It would take but a little time.’

‘Back to work, Annis. Do your appointed tasks.’

‘Is that an order?’ Annis asked, dismayed. She had been so certain.

His face became stern. ‘Do not try my patience any further.’

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