so fast.’
The voice was low and even, the tone amused. Elgiva’s gaze, currently level with a broad chest, travelled upwards, took in a powerful jaw and strong sensual mouth, parted now in a smile. She twisted in his hold, but her efforts made no impression except that, if anything, his smile widened.
‘I’ll take the wench, Wulfrum.’ Elgiva’s pursuer halted a few feet away. ‘I’ll teach the Saxon bitch to mend her ways and that right soon.’
He took another step forwards and Elgiva spun round, shrinking back involuntarily against Wulfrum for the expression in the other’s eyes was terrifying.
‘By Odin’s blood, it looked to me as if she was teaching you a thing or two, Sweyn,’ said a warrior, who stepped forwards to stand beside Wulfrum.
Amid the mirth and jests that greeted the remark Elgiva looked round and then froze. The speaker was a fearsome figure, a giant of a man all bedaubed with blood, and a good head taller than any present. Grey mingled with the brown of his hair and beard, and his weathered face was seamed with lines, but his dark eyes were cool and shrewd. In one fist he held a great bloodstained axe.
‘Ironfist is right!’ called another. ‘She’s too hot for you, Sweyn!’
Sweyn glared. ‘We’ll see.’
‘You are careless with your captives,’ said Wulfrum. ‘You let the wench escape. I caught her. She is mine now.’
Elgiva looked up in alarm, but Wulfrum’s gaze was fixed on Sweyn. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the other on her shoulder.
‘True enough,’ said Olaf Ironfist. ‘We all saw it.’
Murmurs of agreement greeted his words.
‘Nay, Wulfrum. I say she is mine.’
‘Not so. You let her get away.’
‘Wulfrum speaks true,’ said another.
A chorus of agreement greeted this. Sweyn darted angry looks to left and right, but could find no support. Elgiva held her breath, praying that he would not prevail, quailing to think of the revenge he would take. It was in her mind to run but, as if he read her thoughts, Wulfrum tightened his hold a fraction.
‘Take the bitch, then,’ replied Sweyn. ‘’Tis but a wench after all.’
‘Aye, and there are plenty more,’ said a voice from the doorway.
All heads turned in the direction of the speaker and the men fell silent, parting to let Lord Halfdan enter. Although only of average height, he was powerfully made and, like Wulfrum, carried with him an aura of authority. When he reached the group around his sword brother, he took in the scene at a glance.
‘There are women and slaves aplenty in England and land enough for all.’ His voice carried without effort across the room. ‘Therefore there is no reason to quarrel.’ He bent his gaze upon Elgiva, scrutinising her. ‘A comely wench, Wulfrum. She will fetch a good price in the slave market, unless of course you plan to keep her.’
‘I do intend to, my lord.’
‘Well then, keep her close.’
‘I shall, my lord.’
‘Put the matter beyond dispute.’ He glanced across the room at Sweyn. ‘It seems to me she would make a fine Viking bride.’
‘Never in a thousand years!’
The words were out before she could stop them and Elgiva felt her throat dry as both men turned their attention towards her. Wulfrum laughed and his arm closed about her, ignoring the resistance it encountered.
‘A spirited piece,’ said Halfdan, ‘and impudent too. She must learn who her master is.’
‘I will never acknowledge any Viking as my master!’
‘Oh, I think you will—eventually.’ He smiled down at her.
Elgiva’s stomach churned.
‘She will learn,’ said Wulfrum.
‘From you?’ Her tone was blatant disdain. ‘I think not.’
‘Aye, from me.’ He took another look at the face turned up to his and all former reservations about marriage evaporated like mist in the sun as he made his decision. ‘For, by all the gods, I will have you to wife.’
‘I will never agree to that.’
‘You have no choice, my beauty. You belong to me now.’
‘No!’
‘Oh, yes. Unless you would prefer to go with Sweyn?’
She swallowed hard, every fibre of her being wanting to spurn him, but when she looked upon the alternative, her heart was filled with loathing and contempt.
‘Well?’
‘I will not go with a coward and a child slayer!’
Wulfrum looked from Elgiva to Sweyn. ‘The girl has chosen.’
‘Then I wish you joy of her,’ replied the other. The cool tone was at variance with the expression in his eyes.
It had no effect on Wulfrum. ‘I shall find joy enough, I have no doubt.’
‘Then it is settled.’ Halfdan turned back to Wulfrum. ‘You have done good service under the black-raven banner. From henceforth this hall and these lands shall be yours. The slaves too, to do with as you will.’
‘You are generous, lord.’
‘Aye, to those who serve me well.’ He glanced at Elgiva. ‘As for the girl, take her—she is a worthy prize.’
‘Indeed she is.’
Elgiva glared at them. The Viking chief threw her a mocking smile.
‘Your fate is clear, wench, and you had best submit.’ He turned to the assembled warriors. ‘Go down to the hall. Summon the others. I would speak to all.’
The men turned and began to troop out of the chamber, one carrying the screaming Hilda under his arm.
‘No!’ Elgiva fought the hold on her. ‘Take your filthy hands off her!’
On the floor Osgifu began to stir. Wanting to go to her, Elgiva strove harder.
‘Come,’ said Wulfrum.
‘I will not. Let go of me, you pirate scum.’
For answer she was thrown over a broad shoulder and, regardless of violent struggle and loud protest, was carried from the room. Only when they reached the hall did he set her down, but a strong arm about her waist prevented any chance of escape. Breathless and furious, Elgiva threw him a venomous glance and wished in vain for a sword to disembowel him with. Undismayed, Wulfrum grinned. Then his gaze moved on from her across
