Sold To The Viking Warrior. Michelle Styles

even if one has the blood of a whore.’

      Sigurd glared at him. Trust Thorbin to bring up their heritage. Thorbin had been the legitimate son, the one with all the advantages. Thorbin’s mother had made sure of that. ‘Under the terms our mutual overlord has set, it is not permissible for either of us to have a deputy.’

      ‘King Harald...’

      ‘Ketil Flatnose has decreed no deputies in fights of this nature.’ He dug into the pouch and withdrew a rune stick. ‘We thought you might attempt this.’

      Thorbin took the stick and read it with a curled lip. He tossed it away.

      ‘I had no wish to kill my brother, but you will keep returning.’

      ‘Don’t worry,’ Sigurd retorted. ‘I have not considered you my brother for years.’

      ‘I have no idea why the fates spared you, Sigurd,’ Thorbin sneered. ‘But it will be my pleasure to cut your life thread and then take the woman you desire. Like old times, Sigurd the Tender Hearted.’

      Sigurd damped down the rage. He had used Liddy to get in here and owed her something for that. That was all. So why did it bother him that Thorbin could get under his skin in this way? He barely knew the woman. Women were not part of his existence. He used them when necessary, but mainly he focused on his vow and regaining his honour. His belief in love had died the day of his mother’s death. And yet, his lips still tasted of Liddy’s sweetness.

      ‘Your pathetic attempt to unsettle me does you no credit, Thorbin. I only met the woman yesterday. A means to an end.’

      ‘Then you know nothing of her past or her family. Why do you seek to protect her?’

      ‘I have my reasons.’

      ‘We could end this now. There are opportunities for men like you if you pledge your loyalty to me.’

      Sigurd struggled to contain his temper. He would barely last a day before he encountered a knife in his back. ‘I will pass. Shall we begin?’

      ‘Your funeral.’

      ‘Your meeting with destiny.’

      Sigurd lifted his sword and drove forward. As he expected, Thorbin easily blocked it with his shield and tried to rain a blow of his own. Sigurd lifted his shield with plenty of time to spare.

      ‘Getting old?’ he asked, mocking his half-brother.

      Thorbin shook his head and made a furious stab forward. This time the sword was harder to block.

      Sigurd concentrated and began to fight in earnest, matching blow for blow and drawing on all the skills he’d learnt during his time as a sell-sword.

      * * *

      The crowd roared with encouragement every time Thorbin landed a blow and catcalled Sigurd. Liddy’s stomach twisted. Even if Sigurd won, would he really be able to command these men?

      However, very quickly the crowd became silent as it was obvious Sigurd was the better fighter and Thorbin was quickly tiring. Thorbin made one last attempt and forced Sigurd to his knees.

      A scream echoed round and round the crowd. Liddy realised with a start that it was her voice.

      She hid her eyes, unable to watch. Coll nudged her with his cold nose and she peeked through her fingers.

      Somehow Sigurd had managed to twist and Thorbin’s thrust forward missed. Sigurd half-pivoted and crashed his shield down on Thorbin’s outstretched arm.

      The sword dropped to the dirt as Sigurd brought his sword down onto Thorbin’s neck. Liddy risked a breath. Sigurd was going to win. He was going to live. She quickly amended it to her father and brother were going to be freed. Whether a Northman lived or died meant nothing to her.

      She fingered her lips. She could almost feel the imprint of his mouth. He’d kissed her voluntarily. It was almost enough to make her believe Brandon’s mistress had lied when she said that no man would voluntarily touch her.

      She pushed the thought away. Passionate encounters belonged to women who were made differently than she was. After today, she would never encounter him again. All she wanted was for him to keep his promise and free her family. Then maybe people would say her birthmark brought luck rather than shame.

      * * *

      Sigurd became aware of distant noises as the fog of battle cleared. He had done it. Thorbin was at his mercy. But he also knew that it had been Liddy’s cry that had given him the extra surge of strength he needed.

      He had fought better because Liddy believed in him. And that scared him more. Since his mother’s death, he’d been alone, caring for no one but himself and the men he fought with. Finer feelings and tenderness had no place in his life. He barely knew her and already she was under his skin. She’d be returning back to her lands with her father. Liddy was not going to be part of his life. And the fact made him annoyed.

      ‘You cut my ankle,’ Thorbin whined, bringing him back to the reality. ‘Unsporting.’

      ‘Do you surrender?’

      Thorbin made a noise.

      Sigurd kept the point of his sword touching his half-brother’s neck. For many years he had anticipated the pleasure he’d have when he killed this man, but now that it came to it, he found the desire vanished. Something deep within him revolted at the thought of killing his brother, even though he knew Thorbin would not have had the slightest hesitation.

      ‘Louder, so all can hear. I am wise to your tricks.’

      ‘I surrender.’ His face showed real fear. ‘I can’t rise, Brother.’

      ‘Louder!’

      ‘You have won, Sigurd!’ Thorbin screamed. ‘You have defeated me!’

      The silence was deafening. Sigurd knew the majority of the crowd expected him to drive the sword home. He was well within his rights.

      ‘Let Ketil decide what to do with you!’ He tossed the sword aside as he motioned to Hring who stood next to Liddy. The warrior had obeyed him in his fashion.

      The colour had rapidly returned to her face. He hated that something twisted in his gut, a reminder to keep people at a distance. Allowing them to become too close risked losing everything that he’d worked for. He’d seen it before.

      After he dealt with Thorbin, they would say their goodbyes. It was how it had to be. He kept no one close. Beyla had taught him that lesson. Women were self-interested and their protestations of love meant nothing in the clear light of day.

      The big man came forward, withdrawing the chains from the pouch he carried. Sigurd clamped the irons on to Thorbin’s wrists and then shackled his ankles.