His Captive Bride

by Shelly Thacker

  “The day is still young.”

  She took another bite of her apple. “And I believe I will continue to surprise you.”

  He sighed. “You usually do.”

  From the way he said it, she was not sure if that was a complaint or a compliment.

  He tossed the core of his apple toward Ildfast, who nickered in pleasure and nibbled it up. “Riding, sailing, hunting. Have you never learned any proper female pursuits, woman?” He cast a dour look over her masculine garb. “Sewing? Gardening?”

  “Nay.”

  It seemed strange, to be having an ordinary conversation with him in the midst of this awful, desperate day. She realized he was being thoughtful again, trying to distract her from her worry about Josette.

  Which only made her uneasy for an entirely different reason.

  “Not even weaving on a loom,” he continued, “playing music on the harp or—”

  “A sick cat produces more melodious music than I,” she said honestly.

  “Dancing?”

  “A sick cat is also a better dancer than I.” Unable to eat more than a few bites, she tossed her apple to Ildfast as he had done. The easy closeness growing between her and Hauk made her nervous. She knew she should not allow it to continue.

  Did not want him to suspect how much her feelings for him had changed.

  She moved away along the crest of the hill. “I have always found such pursuits deadly dull. And since I have no skill at them, I prefer to spend my time elsewhere, at some genuinely useful task.” She turned to face him, crossing her arms. “So now you know the terrible truth about me, Hauk Valbrand. You chose poorly in Antwerp. I cannot sew, I am better at making messes than tidying up—and I am the most hopeless cook you would ever care to meet.”

  “Ah, well.” He shrugged, a slow smile flashing in the late morning sun. “I suppose it is unreasonable for a man to expect his wife to be well skilled in all of her wifely duties.”

  That wicked smile made her heart miss a beat. “For the last time,” she said unsteadily. “I am not your—”

  “Must we still argue that, after this morn?”

  She turned her back. “What we shared this morn does not make me your wife.”

  “Nay, the althing ceremony made you my wife.” He moved closer. “What we shared in my bed made you my lover.”

  She spun to face him. “I do not love you! I do not—”

  He reached out to caress her cheek. “Do you hate me, then, Avril? Is that what made you cry out so sweetly when you found release in my arms?”

  The huskiness of his words and the heat in his blue eyes sent sparks glittering through her.

  She forced herself to rebuff him, pushed his hand away. “I will never share your bed again.”

  “Do not make threats you do not mean to keep, milady,” he said in that deep, confident voice. “Do you not see—”

  An animal screech made them both whirl toward the stream.

  It was Ildfast—rearing and whinnying in terror as a dark shape appeared from out of nowhere, slinking through the clearing. Wolf! Avril was so startled, it took her a moment to remember the crossbow still slung across her back by its strap.

  The horse danced sideways, ears flattened, eyes white—then turned blindly and ran.

  Straight toward them.

  Hauk pushed her out of the charging destrier’s path, shouting at the animal in Norse. He grabbed for the reins as the panicked stallion raced past. Caught them and yanked hard—only to be pulled off his feet when Ildfast plunged onward.

  Straight over the edge of the steep hillside.

  Avril screamed as Hauk lost his footing and went down. Not sure which way to turn, she somehow found the crossbow in her hands and spun to fend off the wolf—but it had turned tail and run. She could see it loping away into the trees.

  The weapon still clutched in her hands, she ran to the edge of the hill. “Hauk!”

  He lay at the bottom of the valley, cursing viciously. Ildfast, still moving at lightning speed, loose reins flying behind, galloped up the opposite slope and vanished into the trees.

  With a frightened oath, Avril scrambled down the hill, slipping on layers of fallen leaves, grabbing saplings to slow her headlong progress. “Hauk, are you all right?”

  “Nay, I am not all right!” He pushed himself up to a seated position, jaw clenched. “We have just lost our horse.”

  “But are you hurt?” she cried as she slid to a halt next to him.

  “I am fine. We have to catch him.” He started to get to his feet.

  Then hissed an oath and remained on the ground.

  “What is it?” She bent to help him.

  “I do not need help,” he insisted. He stood, carefully, favoring his left leg.

  “What is wrong? It is not... Saints’ breath, your leg is not—”

  “Not broken, nay,” he said through gritted teeth, taking one cautious step. “I twisted my ankle when I landed.” He took another step. Cursed again. “Mayhap you had better help me,” he grumbled.

  With a cautious look at the top of the hill, she slung the crossbow over her back, then slipped an arm around him, supporting his weight as he leaned on her, one arm across her shoulders.

  But they managed to take only a few hobbling steps before he had to sit down again.

  She dropped to her knees beside him. “Hauk, we will not get very far at this pace.”

  “I know that,” he bit out in a frustrated voice.

  She looked at the broken branches and churned leaves Ildfast had left in his terrified wake. “He will come back, will he not?”

  “Mayhap. Eventually. If he can find his way back. If he does not find something interesting to eat. Or break a leg on a hill. Or forget us entirely.” Hauk looked up at her, his expression pained. “I value Ildfast for his speed, Avril, not for his intelligence.”

  She swallowed hard. “But we have to get to the ship. Will your ankle not heal by itself?” she asked hopefully.

  “Aye. In a few hours.”

  Her heart thudded. “But we do not have that much—”

  A howl rose through the trees, closer than the ones they had heard earlier.

  It skipped up her spine like an icy finger, lifting the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

  And Avril suddenly realized they had a more pressing worry than reaching the ship. “Mercy of God, the wolves...”

  She looked down at Hauk. Their gazes met and held for a long moment.

  “Avril, you will have to go on without me.”

  “What?”

  “Do not argue with me—”

  “Nay, I cannot leave you here.” She could not leave him to die.

  A movement at the top of the hill made her glance up. It was the wolf they had seen before—a huge, black, shaggy animal. She slid the crossbow from her shoulder, slowly, never taking her eyes from the predator. It might merely be curious.

  With a teeth-baring snarl, it sprang down the hill, so fast it was only a black blur.

  She heard Hauk shout at her to run. But she was already on one knee, bringing up the crossbow in a smooth arc. She fired.

  The steel-tipped bolt struck the wolf in the chest. It yelped in pain, tripped and tumbled, howling, sliding through the leaves.

  And fell dead at her feet.

  She was shaking, staring down at it, barely even aware of what had happened.

  “Avril!” Hauk said sharply, bringing her attention around to him. “I want you to get out of here. Now,” he ordered. “They travel in packs. He will have companions.”

  “I will not leave you.”

  He muttered what sounded like a string of curses in Norse. “All this time you have wanted naught but to escape me, and now that I want you to leave, you will not go. Contrary, stubborn—”

  “I believe we have already established that.” Still shaking, she snapped another bolt into place on her crossbow, lifting her eyes to his. “Now what do you suggest we do?”

  Chapter 16
/>   “Of all the trees in the forest, you had to choose a pine,” Hauk grumbled, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his ankle, wincing at dozens of tiny stings as he plucked evergreen needles from his bare chest and arms.

  “This was your idea.”

  “You could have taken the time to select a more comfortable refuge,” he called down to her.

  “Aye, and left you alone at the bottom of the hill even longer.”

  The branches swayed as Avril pulled herself up the last few inches, breathing hard. She claimed a perch on a thick tree limb just above and to the right of the one he occupied.

  Brushing needles from her tunic, she looked at him with an annoyed expression. “This was the tallest tree I could find that had branches low enough to climb and strong enough to hold us. And at the time, I was concerned with avoiding fangs—not with providing us luxurious accommodations.” Grabbing a bough to steady herself, she glanced at the ground more than twenty feet below them. “If you are unhappy here, mayhap you would prefer to go and play with our new friends down there.”

  Hauk subdued any further complaint, wiping sweat from his brow, the tree bark rubbing his back raw. It was almost impossible to find a comfortable position on the branch, though it was as wide as the span of two hands. He settled for straddling it as if he were on horseback, resting one foot on another nearby bough.

  They were likely to be here awhile, he thought with a grimace, following Avril’s gaze to the dark shapes milling around the trunk. He counted nine, their shaggy coats dappled by the sunlight.

  Drawn by the dying howls of the first wolf, the rest of the pack had quickly found its way to the clearing—and followed his and Avril’s scent straight to their chosen place of refuge: at the top of the next hill in one of the rugged, ancient black pines common on Asgard.

  They would be safe here, if not comfortable. The trunk had to be at least four feet wide, the limbs more than sturdy enough to support them. All they had to do was avoid the annoying clusters of sharp-pointed needles.

  “Go away,” Avril called down to the wolves. “Begone. We are not good to eat.”

  “I do not think reasoning with them is going to help,” Hauk said dryly.

  One of the wolves leaped up the trunk, claws scrabbling at the bark, jaws closing on air with a powerful snap.

  Avril flinched and had to grab her bough with both hands to keep from tumbling. “They... they do not look very pleased with us.”

  “You,” he corrected lightly. “They do not look very pleased with you. I did not kill the wolf.”

  “Pardon me for saving your life.” She frowned at him. “And by the way, you are welcome.”

  Hauk could not hide the grin that played around his lips. Not only was he enjoying Avril’s company, he was actually teasing her.

  He, Hauk Valbrand, the vokter, renowned for his reserved and solitary ways, was teasing his wife.

  While she worriedly observed the predators below, he studied her in the glimmering sunlight that managed to pierce the evergreen. She had indeed saved his life, placed herself between him and that onrushing wolf, and left him stunned.

  She had been pale with terror—still looked pale with terror—but instead of running as most women would have done, as he had told her to do, she had stood her ground. Kept her wits about her. And brought down a charging, snarling wolf with one well-aimed shot.

  And instead of feeling angry with her for disobeying him, he found himself fighting the strange, unbidden grin that curled one corner of his mouth. Avril was like no other woman he had known: fiercely independent, as bold as any warrior, indifferent to what anyone else wanted her to do or be. And while those qualities exasperated him, they also fascinated him in some inexplicable way.

  He had to disagree with what she said earlier: Though it had happened entirely by accident, or by some mischievous trick of the gods, he had chosen well in Antwerp.

  “Mayhap if you shot two or three more, little Valkyrie, our new friends would leave us in peace.”

  Avril glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “Little what?”

  “Valkyrie. The fierce warrior-women of our religion, who swoop down from the sky to rescue fallen warriors and escort them to Valhalla—what you would call heaven.”

  “I suppose that is better than ‘wife.’” Her expression tense, she slid the crossbow from her shoulder and counted the small, steel-tipped arrows lashed to its stock. “But I do not have many bolts left, and I am not sure it is wise to waste what I have.” She whispered an oath.

  Hauk sighed in frustration, as anxious as she was to reach the cove and help Josette and Keldan. “Then we shall have to wait until the wolves give up and leave. My ankle will heal in a few hours, and we can walk the rest of the way.” He let himself rest back against the tree trunk. Turning his head, he looked west, toward the sea. “Mayhap we will even find Ildfast somewhere along the—” He sat up straighter. “Avril, I can see it from here.”

  “Your witless horse?”

  “Nay—”

  “The cove?”

  “The ship. My ship. We are so high in this tree, I can see the top of the mast.”

  “Thanks be to God,” Avril exclaimed, her voice full of relief and hope. “If it is still there, that means—sweet Mary, mayhap Josette is already safe. Mayhap Keldan and the others captured Thorolf and prevented him from reaching it.”

  “Aye.” Hauk tried to sound confident.

  For a moment, they both fell silent, the yapping and growling of the wolves filling the warm air, the wind making the upper branches sway and clatter.

  “Or,” Avril said more quietly, “Thorolf simply has not reached it yet. Or he has taken Josette elsewhere, they are not even in these woods, and we have been going in the wrong direction all day.”

  Hauk settled back against the tree trunk, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “There is no way to know. But even if he has taken her elsewhere, he will be found, Avril. Everyone on Asgard is searching, and they will not rest until Josette is safe.”

  She shut her eyes as if in pain, her hands clenching around the crossbow. “But what if he... if he has already...”

  “Thorolf knows we will be hunting him,” Hauk said gently. “And I do not believe he would harm her, not until he was safely beyond the reach of Asgard.”

  He still wondered what Thorolf could possibly be planning. Leaving the island even for a short time meant risking the ire of the elders, and he doubted Thorolf would do that on a whim or a quest for trade goods.

  Avril blinked hard, then met his gaze, looking grateful for his reassurance. “I hope you are right—”

  A bird flew out of the branches behind her, startling her. She whirled, lost her hold on the crossbow, and instinctively lunged for the weapon as it fell.

  The sudden movement sent her tumbling from her perch.

  For one horrified second, Hauk saw her falling, heard her scream, heard the wolves snarling below. Her hands grasped wildly, her fingers closing on empty air.

  He lunged down and grabbed her, caught her forearm, fastened his hand around it. The crossbow clattered through the branches and hit the ground, the pack yelping and snarling as they attacked it.

  A panicked cry escaped her. She clung to him with both hands, dangling, kicking with her feet.

  “Avril!” Holding onto the branch with one hand, Hauk started to haul her up—but felt her slipping from his grasp, the sleeve of her linen tunic so smooth it slid through his fingers. Clenching his jaw, he locked his hand around her wrist.

  The wolves became frenzied, howling and leaping up the trunk.

  “Mercy of God!” she cried, eyes white with fear. “God, nay, please.”

  Her panic tore at his heart. With brute strength and sheer will, Hauk pulled her up, one agonizing inch at a time, until she could reach for the branch, for him. He caught her close and she fell forward into his embrace, clinging to him, trembling.

  His back flattened against the rough bark, he locked both arms around her,
shaking almost as hard as she was. “You are all right,” he choked out between rapid, unsteady breaths. “I have you.”

  The wolves continued growling and jumping at the tree, as if frustrated that he had snatched their prize from their jaws.

  He shut his eyes and held on to her, his heart beating hard and fast. He could have lost her. Quickly, suddenly. Forever.

  “Avril, do you think you could stay out of danger for mayhap five minutes at a time?” he demanded gruffly.

  “It was not my fault!” She lifted her head. “The bird—”

  A gust of wind made the branches sway and she buried her face against his neck, her fingers digging into his biceps.

  Hauk did not chastise her further. He simply held her tight. They would have to get her back to her own branch safely, but at the moment, she did not seem willing to go anywhere, shivering as if the combined dangers she had faced today had all become too much for her. Breathing rapidly, she remained pressed against him.

  And he could feel each breath, warm against his neck.

  Could feel her breasts pillowed against his chest through her soft linen tunic. The belt she wore dug into his waist. And the way she was sitting, with her legs across his lap, her soft thigh rested against a most sensitive part of his anatomy. The fact that she was wearing masculine leggings only made it feel more provocative.

  “Avril?” His own breathing deepened, his heart thudding as she wriggled against him. “What are you doing?”

  She did it again, a shifting motion of her hips before she glanced over her shoulder with a small sound of distress. “I think when I slid from that branch, I must have—I have either splinters or pine needles in my... “

  He looked down the curve of her back to see a dozen pine needles piercing her shapely derriere. She could not reach them without letting go of him and twisting around.

  “Hold still,” he ordered.

  “Ouch!” She flinched in his arms. “That—ouch—”

  He plucked out the offending needles for her, one by one, quickly.

  “—stings!”

  “My apologies.” He rubbed his hand over the injured spot, gently.

  She went still, her head still turned away from him. Which meant that she was watching what he was doing.