‘He has another one in his service,’ yelled the Armenian, still gamely trying to make himself heard. ‘Well, he’s locked up for now. In fact, he’s a tricky son of a bitch. Needs to learn his place. By the saints, the man can fight, though.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Something foreign,’ gnarred the Armenian. ‘He’s dark as the night.’

One of the onlookers – a nasty little stoat with a pinched face – could resist temptation no longer. He thrust his hand between the redhead’s thighs.

‘And he walks with a limp—’

These were his last intelligible words before the tavern erupted into chaos. In the same instant, the redhead produced a knife from gods only knew where and skewered the stoat’s hand to the table. Blood spurted everywhere. Orlana was thrown on her arse and bounced off the table as the man’s screams filled the little room. The redhead was on her feet, yelling foul-mouthed curses as she kicked at the men crowded round her. One man fell back, knocked another and in two blinks of an eye the whole pack of them were at each other’s throats.

The Armenian stood, roared, smashed his cup on the floor and ploughed in, fists whaling. A sailor reeled out of the fray and butted into Einar, knocking the wind out of him. He shoved back, sending the sailor into another, and before Einar knew what was happening a fist crunched into his jaw.

It didn’t happen often, but Einar lost his temper then. It felt good, he had to admit, being in the midst of an old-fashioned fist fight. He put down three men at least before something knocked into his shins and damn near tripped him up. He looked down and there were those beautiful flashing eyes again, filled with terror. He stooped down and hoisted her to her feet, warding off blows around him.

‘Come on, lassie,’ he growled in Norse, shoving another man out of the way. The door was close but he still had to land several more punches to clear a path to it. The two of them had barely stumbled out into the street when a patrol of nightwatchmen arrived on the scene and waded into the fight.

‘Are you all right?’ Einar gasped, clutching his temple which hurt like a mule-kick. The woman was looking up at him, breathing hard. She pulled her robe around herself but didn’t answer. ‘Are you hurt?’

She gave a shake of her head. Suddenly her eyes lit up with a dazzling smile, she touched his face and then ran off down the street.

Einar stood panting, watching her shadow meld into the darkness. ‘This bloody city,’ he muttered. But then he smiled.

Because Erlan was here.

CHAPTER NINETEEN