Page 70 of Summer of the Viking

Valdar knew if he could keep up the defence, he would find an opening and would be able to defeat him. It was how his father had taught him to fight—with caution and patience, weighing up his opportunities and waiting until the perfect opening came along.

Valdar risked a glance at Alwynn. She hadn’t moved. If Girmir had harmed one hair on her head... And then he saw it—the bruise to her right cheek.

Tossing aside years of caution, he drove forward, meeting each of the blows that Girmir thought to rain on him with a cut or thrust of his own. Girmir’s eyes widened as he was forced on the back foot, forced to defend rather than to attack. It was obvious what he’d expected—the old cautious Valdar, the warrior who always defended.

Valdar gave an inward smile. That Valdar had drowned in the storm.

He brought his shield down on Girmir’s axe hand and the weapon fell to the ground. Valdar kicked it away.

Round and round they went. He felt the searing heat of a knife hit his forearm and knew his luck was running out. The power in his arm was going and it was only a matter of time before Girmir landed another lucky blow.

Giving in to instinct, Valdar stabbed forward and down, and connected with Girmir’s side.

‘Where is the boy, Girmir? Where is your navigator?’

‘The lad’s disappeared. He was bad luck. Probably got by a boar or a wolf afore I found him. We was searching for him when we came across this here farm. The farmer should have let us take what we wanted. Wouldn’t have been no trouble that way.’

Valdar clenched his jaw. There would be time to grieve for Eirik later. All the boy had wanted was to take part in a trading voyage. He had honestly thought the boy’s skill at navigation would have protected him. One day when he could, he’d sing a lament for the lad.

‘You deserve to rot in the ice of hell, Girmir.’

‘No, you do, Valdar.’ Girmir brought his blade down, missing Valdar’s shoulder by a hair’s breadth. ‘You are too slow, Valdar Nerison. You are cautious. You are a practical man who never sticks his neck out. It is why men like me will always win in the end. Fortune favours the brave.’

Valdar felt the familiar doubts assail him.

A tiny sound from Alwynn shocked him back to reality. He redoubled his efforts and ignored the pain in his arm. He had this one chance. He had to do it for Alwynn and for her people.

‘Fortune favours me today!’ He lunged forward with all his might and felt the sword sink deep. Girmir gave an odd gurgle and fell backwards. ‘Your rule of this felag has ended. For ever!’

Alwynn watched the fight with horrified eyes. Valdar, the man she’d given her body to, was one of them, one of the despised Northmen. He was speaking their language and the men seemed to know him. They called to him by name.

But deep down in her heart she’d always known it. Ever since that first night when they’d spoken in the darkness, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it.

She’d made excuses and fabricated another life for him. Another land far away, across a different sea. She’d ruthlessly silenced all her doubts. So much for saying goodbye to the naive woman who blithely trusted her husband. Only she was worse than ever. She hated herself for not facing the truth earlier. She’d lied to everyone, but most of all she’d lied to herself because she lusted after Valdar and she’d known what he was.

The only things the Northmen brought were death and destruction. Looking around the burning farm strewn with slaughtered animals and dead bodies, clearly Valdar was no exception. Death and destruction indeed. He had lied about everything. He was a brutal raider, a murderer. He was not the principled man he’d claimed to be. He’d lied to her and she’d believed him because she had wanted to. He’d utterly betrayed her. She cursed that, even now, a part of her hoped that there had been some ghastly mistake, that he’d been their prisoner or slave, that somehow he wasn’t a Northman.

She’d watched the battle from behind her hands and been glad that he’d killed the foul-breathed Northman who had held her captive. That one would have raped her in the blink of an eye. She had seen what he’d done at the farm. Urien barely alive and Cleofirth cut down.

She had rejoiced when she saw the sword sink deep into the brute’s stomach. What did that make her? She retched slightly, despising herself. Inadvertently she had become the lowest of the low—a Northman’s lover. Had Valdar known they were here all this time? Every inch of her skin crawled with shame.

‘It’s over,’ Valdar gasped out, clutching his arm. ‘You’re safe, Alwynn.’

She took a step backwards, avoiding his hand. Valdar was one of them. All her dreams about a life together, a life with a kind and gentle man who loved her and would die for her, was an insubstantial fairy tale. The reality was the slaughter in the farmhouse. Valdar had... ‘No! I can never be safe when you are here.’

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