Passion: His Savage Embrace

by Bobbi Smith

  There was nothing he could do to save himself. Until now, despair had been unknown to him. He had never before been trapped. The feeling of helplessness ate at him. He was sitting there in the predawn darkness, silently raging over his situation, when he noticed a movement on the stairs.

  At first, Brage thought it was one of the servants, but then Dynna passed beneath one of the torches. He recognized her immediately from the sleek beauty of her raven hair, unbound now and tumbling down her back in a cascade of curls.

  He could not imagine what she was doing moving about the tower at this time of night. It puzzled him that she seemed to be looking his way. When he had sent her from him earlier, he had meant it. He did not want or need the help of a Saxon woman. Dynna’s maid had been right to caution her about him. He could be a very dangerous man. His hands were not restrained, and she was a fragile little thing. Her wrists, when he had grabbed them earlier, had felt delicate enough to snap had he applied enough pressure. He watched as she reached the bottom of the stairs and started across the room toward him. Why had she returned?

  It did not surprise Dynna to find the captive awake and watchful as she made her way to him. She imagined that his wounds were too grievous to give him much peace. Knowing this, she grew even more determined to do what she could to ease his pain.

  Brage was concentrating on her approach, watching the graceful way she moved and thinking how lovely she looked. In the unadorned gown she wore, he was able to see just a hint of the sweet, womanly curves of her body. Had his men won the battle that day, and had she still been his captive, he doubted that he would have sold her away at the slave market.

  The next moment, Sir Edmund stepped out of the shadows before her, blocking her way.

  Dynna gasped at the sight of him, her heart in her throat. “Sir Edmund . . .”

  Brage was just as shocked as Dynna by the nobleman’s unexpected appearance. He silently cursed the chains that held him fast as he watched her bravely face the man he had already come to despise.

  “Ah, so I have taken you by surprise, my lady. That is good. Surprises are nice,” Sir Edmund said drunkenly as he leered at her in the half-light. “Dynna, my dear, you look lovely. Did you come down here seeking out my company tonight to join in the celebration of my bravery and daring?”

  “I . . .” she began nervously.

  She did not get to finish her sentence, for at that moment Edmund saw the basket in her hand and realized her plan. Moments before, he had been ready to seduce her with soft words and kisses. Now, he knew she had come down only to help the Viking, and it infuriated him.

  “Dare you help our prisoner after I told you to let him suffer?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Brage and wishing his father had let him kill the man earlier so they could have been done with him. “As my wife, you will learn that when I issue an order, it is to be obeyed.” His voice was full of rage as he grabbed her by the upper arms.

  “I am not your wife yet!” she protested, trying to jerk free of his hold.

  Brage was shocked by the news that she was to marry this cur, and he fumed at Edmund’s brutal treatment of her. None of the men he knew treated their women this way. Wives were to be cherished and adored, not abused and hurt. Even as he tried to convince himself that Lady Dynna was a Saxon woman and meant nothing to him, he realized that he did care what happened to her. The knowledge troubled and confused him.

  Hatred glowed in Brage’s eyes. He wished he were free to go to Dynna’s aid. It enraged him to know there was nothing he could do. His jaw clenched in anger, but he held his silence.

  “It is only a matter of time, my sweet—a few weeks at most. Then you will be my wife, and once you are, you will do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. As my future queen, you must grant my every desire . . . fulfill my every wish . . .”

  He pulled her closer. As she fought him harder, she dropped her basket, spilling her remedies about the dirty floor.

  “Release me! The Vikings you so feared would never have manhandled me so!”

  “But I have the right. You are mine!”

  He laughed again, and then he kissed her, his mouth claiming hers in a possessive exchange that almost gagged her. She turned her head to the side to try to escape him, but he held her still and forced her to accept his kiss.

  Dynna wanted to scream. His touch was vile, and yet try as she might, she could not break free. When at last he released her, she stumbled back away from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “How dare you?” she demanded, trying to maintain a haughty demeanor when she felt like running in terror.

  “I would dare anything with you, Dynna,” Edmund told her, his eyes burning with the fire of his need. The way she avoided him and acted as if she were uninterested in him presented a challenge. But he knew better. It was just a game. In the end, he would win. She would be under his control, and she would submit to his will.

  He had never been denied by a woman before, and while her actions did stir his passion, there was also a limit to what he would take from her. Tonight, with her open defiance of his order, she had pushed him close to that limit.

  “You are despicable! I do not know how Warren could have been such a good kind man, and you could be so . . .”

  The mention of Warren was the final insult, and he closed on her threateningly. “Speak not his name to me again, Dynna.”

  “Warren was my husband. I chose him! I did not choose you!”

  “What would your fine husband think of you if he knew you were sneaking off in the night to whore for the enemy?”

  “Your words are as vile as you yourself, Edmund!”

  “Sneaking about the castle in the middle of the night, using your healing powers as an excuse to come down here . . . What was it you really wanted tonight, Dynna?”

  At his insult, Brage’s anger turned to fury. Had he the strength, he would have ripped his chains from the walls and used them to thrash this hated Saxon.

  Dynna was white-faced as she listened to his words. “It is difficult for me to fathom that you were born to the same parents who bore Warren.”

  At the mention of his brother’s name again, the fire that had shone in Edmund’s eyes turned to ice. His heart hardened, and he raised his hand to strike her.

  “No . . .” she cried.

  “What is this?”

  Sir Thomas appeared out of the gloom of the hall, a worried, questioning look on his rugged face as he glanced from Sir Edmund to Dynna and back. Edmund lowered his hand, frustrated for the moment.

  Sir Thomas’s expression remained serious, his demeanor threatening. He would allow no harm to come to her. He had cared greatly for Sir Warren and had approved his choice of Lady Dynna for a wife. Upon Warren’s death, he had quietly appointed himself to watch over her, and he would not tolerate anyone hurting her. When she had run away earlier, he had almost hoped that she would make it to her family home. He did not believe Sir Edmund would be a good husband to her, and he wanted to see her happy again. She had not laughed since Warren’s death.

  “Lady Dynna? Is something wrong?” he asked.

  “Sir Thomas . . .” Dynna had never been so glad to see him. Somehow, he always seemed to know when she needed him. “No, no, nothing is wrong.”

  “You are sure? You sounded as if you needed help, as if you were troubled . . .” He looked pointedly at her basket, its contents strewn on the floor. “I see you were about another mercy mission.”

  “Yes, but I was just finishing here and was on my way back to my room.”

  “Then, please, allow me to escort you. I would see that no harm befalls you tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sir Edmund?” He awaited some response from him, some explanation for the scene he’d just witnessed.

  Sir Edmund chose to ignore Sir Thomas’s inquiry and spoke directly to his betrothed. “Good night, Dynna. I count the days . . . and nights . . . till you will be mine.”


  Dynna percieved the threat in his words, and she quickly gathered up her things. Not bidding him good night, she turned her back on him and hurried away in the company of her protector.

  Sir Edmund cursed low under his breath as he watched Sir Thomas escort her to the stairs. She had outmaneuvered him again, but the day would come when he would win. She was going to pledge herself to be his wife, and he was going to enjoy the part of the wedding ceremony where she professed to obey. And obey she would—in every way.

  Brage remained silent in his anger as Lady Dynna walked away with Sir Thomas. He was tremendously relieved that the older man had interceded. He did not know what he would have done had Edmund struck her.

  Sir Thomas stood with Dynna at the foot of the stairs. “Are you all right, my lady?”

  “Yes, Sir Thomas. Good night.” She managed a smile for him.

  He watched until she had disappeared safely up the steps, then returned to Sir Edmund.

  Edmund saw him coming and wondered in drunken annoyance what the interfering fool wanted now.

  “Sir Edmund, may I speak my mind with you?”

  “Have you ever not, Sir Thomas?”

  “Have no doubt that Lady Dynna is well honored here in your father’s court. Many would look askance on any harm coming to her or anything being forced upon her against her will.”

  “I had no intention of harming her,” Sir Edmund sneered. He was seething, but said nothing more as he glared at the man who was his father’s favorite son.

  “It did not look that way to me. You are clearly drunk and would be better off abed.”

  Sir Edmund turned a baleful, demeaning glare on him. “I shall tend to my own affairs without any advice from you.”

  “As you wish, but know that I will protect Lady Dynna—even from you,” Sir Thomas replied.

  Then Sir Thomas was gone, and Edmund was furious. He turned to look at the cause of all the trouble . . . the Viking. It outraged him to find that the Norseman had been watching all that had transpired and was now daring to smile at him.

  “Smile while you still can, Viking. I am going to enjoy watching you suffer in the coming weeks.”

  Brage said nothing in response to his taunt. Brage had no respect for Sir Edmund as an enemy or as a man. He did not flinch from him as he drew near.

  “She would have treated your wounds, but it is better that you suffer slowly.”

  “Death does not frighten me,” Brage replied calmly.

  “What does frighten you, Viking?” Edmund closed on him, his expression cunningly savage.

  “Very little, Saxon.”

  Sir Edmund drew his knife and looked from the finely honed blade to the captive and back. “It would be a shame if you tried to escape tonight and were slain in the attempt.”

  “Free me from these chains, and I will escape—using your knife,” he answered.

  Edmund smiled. “Had my father not plans for you, I would do it in an instant, just to have the pleasure of hunting you down. As it is, you must languish where you are. The chains suit you. Animals should be restrained.”

  “I am not the animal here tonight. I do not have to use force on women.”

  Edmund’s jealousy flared hotly, and he quickly held the blade up before Brage’s eyes, then touched it to his cheek. “A slip of the blade here or . . .” He lowered the knife until the point was resting high up on his thigh. “Here . . . would certainly end any attraction the women might feel for you.”

  Edmund grew even more angry when the Viking met his regard coolly, without emotion. As much as he would have liked to torture him to relieve his own frustration, Edmund remembered his father had ordered that this man be kept alive. He slowly withdrew.

  “Beware, Viking. Your days are numbered.”

  With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Brage alone with the sleeping dogs.

  Brage did not allow himself to relax until Edmund had been gone for many minutes. Then, slowly and carefully, he leaned back against the wall again. The wound in his shoulder was hurting worse than before.

  As he sat there, he went over in his mind all he had overheard in the conversation between Sir Edmund and Lady Dynna. Brage now understood more of her situation. She was Edmund’s brother’s widow and not a virginal lady promised in marriage to Sir Edmund. It was obvious that she was being forced to marry Edmund against her will. He was convinced that marriage had something to do with Ulf’s finding her and her maid dressed as commoners, sleeping in the countryside. He did not doubt that she had tried to escape the fate of being Sir Edmund’s bride.

  Brage wondered again why Lady Dynna and her maid had not revealed his true identity to Lord Alfrick. Certainly, if Alfrick had known that the infamous Black Hawk was his captive, he would have designed some fascinating torment for him. As it was, he was merely a Viking, and as such, a prize, but not one as noteworthy as the Black Hawk himself would be. He was greatly puzzled. She had had much to gain and nothing to lose by telling them who he was.

  Exhaustion plagued Brage. He let his eyes drift shut as he sought mindless peace. He tried to let his mind go blank, but a vision of a brave, dark-haired woman played in his thoughts.

  What rest he got in those late hours of the night was uneasy and heated.

  In her room, Dynna lay wide awake. She had double-locked her door against the possibility that Edmund might follow her upstairs in spite of Sir Thomas’s gallant interference. As she lay huddled beneath her blankets, she searched frantically for some way to avoid her upcoming marriage, but no idea came to her. Dawn was brightening the sky before she finally fell into a tormented sleep. When she awoke a few hours later, she felt as if she had not slept at all. She spent the day in her room, so she would not have to see Edmund again, but her thoughts were on the Viking below and how he was faring.

  “Here is your breakfast, Norseman. See if the dogs will share with you!” a servant called to Brage as he tossed a platter of scraps in his general direction the second morning after the battle.

  The dogs were used to this ritual. At the first sight of the servant, they had all jumped up. Now that he had tossed the food their way, they began to fight over it, snarling, snapping and biting each other to get their share.

  The servant gave a shrug of indifference when Brage made no attempt to challenge the hounds for their food. Turning away, the man disappeared toward the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a good-sized bucket of water. He ventured forth, yet stayed far enough back so he would not go too near the murderous invader. When he put the bucket down, Brage lifted his head and pinned the man with a deadly glare. The servant froze and then hurriedly moved away. He did not trust this captive. He believed the Vikings were capable of anything, even when they were locked up in chains.

  Had he the strength, Brage would have smiled over the man’s fear. As it was, he made no move toward him as he watched him go. Brage stared at the spoiled scraps of meat the dogs were still fighting over and felt no hunger. He was, however, desperately in need of water. The bucket was just out of reach, so he attempted to rise. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, growing ever worse by the hour. When he finally got to his feet, he swayed uncertainly until he got his balance.

  It puzzled him that he was having difficulty standing. He staggered as he made his way to the bucket, but he dismissed that as a reaction to being in chains. He reached the bucket and dropped down beside it to drink thirstily. Though the water was cool, it did little to relieve the heat that filled him. He splashed water on his face and neck and finally breathed a little easier. When he moved back to his place against the wall, he dragged the bucket with him. There was no telling when—or even if—they would bring more water and he could see no reason to share with the hounds.

  He felt somewhat refreshed as he settled back in. Once more he let his gaze sweep the hall, trying to devise some plan to flee this place of his imprisonment. He conjured no possible solution, though, and he slumped down in defeat, trying to ignore the agony t
hat sliced through him, both body and soul.

  He realized miserably that his only hope was that his brothers would realize he was alive and mount a counterattack. He worried, remembering the seriousness of their losses, that the attack might not be coming. More than likely they thought him dead upon the field of battle. It would be weeks, maybe even months before they would mount another powerful force and seek revenge against Lord Alfrick.

  Defeat settled over Brage in a crushing weight. Never before had he been at another’s mercy, his freedom lost, his power stripped from him. Surely, Valhalla would be infinitely preferable to living like this. Glorious, honorable death would be better. It had to be. Only Brage’s burning need to find the one who had betrayed him kept him from surrendering to the ever-growing, feverish weakness that threatened him.

  Much later in the afternoon, Sir Roland, one of Lord Alfrick’s men, met up with Hereld, a traveling merchant newly arrived at the tower, and informed him about the battle the day before.

  “We defeated the Black Hawk’s warriors and chased them back into the sea!” he boasted.

  “Do not be too sure of yourselves,” Hereld said, having dealt with the Vikings and knowing how fierce they were. “How can you be sure they will not return?”

  “Their losses were too great. They will not be back any time soon.”

  “But the Black Hawk is not one to give up easily.”

  “The Black Hawk is dead,” Sir Roland told him. “Our land is safe from his raiding forever.”

  “Dead?” Hereld was shocked. He had seen the Black Hawk several times and knew he was a magnificent warrior. He was completely stunned to find that these Englishmen had killed him. “How can that be? How could you have defeated him?”

  “We were warned ahead of time of his raid. No one is sure of the man’s identity, but he came to Lord Alfrick in the middle of the night and told him of the raid. We had time to prepare, so when the Black Hawk attacked, we were ready for him.”