The Viking's Captive

by Julia Byrne

  ‘’Twas Gunhild, as you guessed. I went back, collected the crew and set sail, only stopping at the coastal villages until we found the one where Othar had picked up more men. It didn’t take long to discover his route. Word spreads when men speak too freely in an alehouse. Although there was no talk of a struggle when you were taken on board.’

  ‘I’d been struck over the head,’ she explained. ‘Othar had been waiting, watching for an opportunity to get my attention or summon me by some ruse. He followed me, knocked me unconscious and had me carried overland to his ship.’

  Rorik’s fingers locked tight.

  ‘I swear, Rorik, Othar didn’t hurt me again until this morning.’

  ‘Being so undermanned probably hampered his usual style,’ he muttered. ‘But whatever it was, I thank the Gods for it.’ He rose abruptly and strode over to the entrance, lifting the curtain aside and looking out at the camp. The light was dimmer now; from the side she couldn’t see his expression.

  But then he turned his head and her breath caught. Though he still held the curtain aside, he was focused on her with an intensity that, weeks ago, would have stopped her heart. It did now, but for a different reason.

  ‘Yvaine, why did you run to Edward like that? On the beach.’

  She stared at him. That was the last question she’d expected. ‘I was afraid of what he might do if you told him that you were the one who carried me off.’

  ‘I did tell him that. I just gave him a reason for it he could understand.’

  She nodded. ‘Ransom. Revenge.’

  ‘Better that than confounding him with the knowledge that I wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to look after you. Couldn’t have borne not knowing what had happened to you.’

  Her eyes widened, but before she could do more than form a silent ‘Oh’ of wonder, he glanced away, jerking his head toward the camp. ‘Come. It grows dark. I’ll take you back to your tent.’

  He thought he could leave her to mull over that for the rest of the night? Not while she had wits in her head. And not while he was standing there gripping the curtain as if about to wrench it from its moorings.

  ‘Well,’ she said mildly, ‘it seems perfectly obvious that nothing I said or did on the beach was necessary? Since you and Edward are such good friends.’

  ‘Oh, it was necessary. But this isn’t the time or the place to discuss it. I’ll have no gossip about you. Bad enough that I carried you off, but at least Anna was with you then.’

  He would have no…

  Bad enough…

  Now he was concerned for her reputation?

  She clamped her hands around the edge of the pallet and resisted the urge to scream. Impatience with male reasoning would get her nowhere and screaming would only bring soldiers on the run. Soldiers wouldn’t help. If her plan was to work, it was time to bring out the warships.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ she said, waving a hand with airy unconcern. She hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in her voice. ‘When I left Edward, he was busy planning my next marriage.’

  The weatherbeaten leather in his hand buckled with a crunch. Rorik wheeled to face her, his eyes slitted. ‘I wondered if you were going to mention it,’ he said through his teeth. ‘Oh, aye, you may well look surprised. Did you think Edward wouldn’t inform me of his plans for you? Dangle her before some thegn who’s still questioning his loyalties, he said. Get her safely married and breeding, he said. You don’t seem particularly upset by the prospect.’

  ‘Well, I was at first, but—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said I—’

  She broke off with a jerk as he dropped the curtain and strode over to the table. He snatched up the candle-sconce and turned to glare at her.

  ‘Stay there,’ he ground out, stabbing a finger at the bed.

  ‘Stay right there. Don’t move!’

  ‘What about my rep—?’ she began, but he was already out of the tent.

  She wondered if the tremulous smile curving her lips constituted movement. She was still debating the point when Rorik returned with the candles lit. The short trip didn’t appear to have improved his mood. He dumped the sconce down on the table with so much force, the flames flickered wildly and nearly went out. She wiped the smile off her face.

  ‘You were upset at first, but now you’re not?’ he snarled. ‘Edward’s planning another political marriage for you and you’re not saying a word in protest?’

  ‘No. You see—’

  The rest vanished on a gasp when he took the two strides necessary to haul her off the bed and into his arms. ‘Three times I’ve thought I’d lost you,’ he said, no discernible change in his expression. ‘That’s three times too many. I’m not standing still for a fourth.’

  ‘Three?’ she managed. She could feel the smile coming back. There was still an obstacle in their path, a kingly obstacle, but her heart was soaring with happiness. Rorik was crushing her against him, glaring at her, but he was shaking as if with a fever.

  ‘When I found out I was the son of a slave; when Othar took you; when you ran to Edward on the beach as though you couldn’t wait to get away from me.’

  ‘Oh, no, Rorik.’ She flung her arms around his neck, clung. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Gods.’ The shaking increased. He bent suddenly and buried his face in her hair. ‘I thought you wanted to be free of me. I thought…just now…you spoke of Edward’s plans as if going to another man meant nothing to you.’

  ‘Only because I was so unsure. I needed to know how you felt about me, and I didn’t know how to ask without making you feel bound by honour. Or worse, if you’d felt only pity. Not upset? This past hour I’ve been desperate.’

  The shaking stopped. He lifted his head and she caught her breath at the smile that transformed his face. In that fleeting, precious moment, she saw the boy he’d been, before the years of vengeance had carved the stern lines on his face.

  ‘Desperate?’

  ‘Beyond despair.’ Wonderingly, she touched a hand to his face. The smile was fading, but he wasn’t distant now. Raw emotion darkened his eyes, love, longing, a burning desire that yet was achingly tender. ‘You went away,’ she explained. ‘After that night in Thorkill’s hut, and again this morning. Somewhere deep inside yourself where I couldn’t follow.’

  ‘Did you want to?’ he asked very low.

  She nodded, and, raising herself on tiptoe, touched her lips to his. ‘I would follow you over the edge of the world itself, Rorik. I love you.’

  ‘I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words,’ he said huskily. ‘Didn’t know that I loved you from the moment I saw you lying in that hall, so hurt, so courageous. It wasn’t until the truth of my birth came out. Losing everything didn’t matter then. You were all I wanted.’

  Tears welled in her eyes and he shifted his hold, cradling her face between his hands. ‘What? What is it?’

  ‘I needed the words, too,’ she said, smiling through the misty veil.

  ‘Then take them,’ he murmured. ‘For you are everything to me. All that is good and true and gentle in my life.’ He bent and kissed her. ‘Elsknan. Beloved. Keeper of my heart.’

  Her lips parted as he folded her close again, his kiss gentle, cherishing, and yet so deeply possessive she lost all sense of self, of separateness. He was hers; she was his. For eternity. It was there in the beating of his heart against her breast. In the whispered words that made no sense, and yet held all the meaning in the world. It was there in the sweet delirium of desire, simmering beneath the surface of a tenderness she had only dreamed of.

  And when he lifted his head, it was there in the look they exchanged, of love, immeasurable and everlasting.

  ‘I’ll never let you go,’ he said. ‘’Twould tear me apart to see you married to another.’

  ‘It won’t happen,’ she assured him. ‘You see—’

  ‘By every god in Asgarth, it won’t happen,’ he vowed before she could explain. ‘I’ll tell Edw
ard you’re with child by me and make sure every prospective bridegroom hears the same story if I have to.’

  ‘What?’ She clutched at him, alarm crashing through her euphoria. ‘The only reason you’re not already meeting Edward on the battlefield tomorrow is because you saved my life.’

  ‘He promised he wouldn’t kill anyone involved in your kidnapping.’

  ‘Then he’ll have someone else challenge you. He’ll do something. We’ll have to get away, but—’ Dismay widened her eyes. ‘But how? You have no crew, and by the time Thorolf gets back—’

  ‘Hush, little love.’ He reinforced the tender command by kissing her. ‘I was planning to kidnap you again even before I knew your response to Edward’s plans. To hold you until I won your heart, or we knew there was a child.’

  ‘Holy Saints! You were going to force the king’s hand?’

  ‘If you loved me. Or even if you didn’t,’ he added, a wicked smile dawning through the implacable purpose in his eyes. ‘I knew you didn’t hate me. I was going to build on that.’

  ‘I think I should protest that,’ she said, frowning. ‘But since I do love you, it seems foolish to worry about it.’ She shook her head; she had worse fears. ‘But what shall we do? Where—?’

  A scratch at the curtain interrupted her. Yvaine froze, her fingers digging into Rorik’s shoulders.

  He loosened her grip, set her gently aside and strode over to the entrance. When he drew the curtain back, Wulf was standing in the aperture. She wondered uneasily how long he’d been there—and what he’d overheard.

  ‘My lord. The king sends this message.’ The young man grinned at Yvaine, seeming not the least surprised to see her there, and handed over a rolled parchment. ‘It doesn’t require an answer,’ he said, and strolled away with a wave of his hand.

  Rorik stared after him for a moment, then let the curtain drop and unfurled the parchment.

  ‘What does it say?’ Yvaine whispered, bracing herself for the worst.

  To her utter astonishment, a grin very like Wulf’s lit his face. He finished reading, threw back his head and laughed until he was breathless. All she could do was watch and wonder if the news was so disastrous he’d lost his mind.

  ‘It seems,’ he said when he recovered and realised she was staring at him in dismayed enquiry, ‘that Edward has decided I can best repay him for depleting his army by supervising the improvement of his navy. My vow of allegiance would be required, of course, and to ensure it he’s suggested that I marry a certain widow.’

  She gasped. ‘Marry? A certain…Ohhhh!’ Her fists clenched.

  ‘If I wish to accept his terms, I’m to present myself, with said widow, at his quarters in an hour’s time when his priest will be available to marry us. An hour’s time,’ he repeated thoughtfully.

  But Yvaine was still spluttering. ‘I’ll never forgive him for this. All that time he was tormenting us. Playing with us, when…But why?’

  ‘To punish me,’ Rorik said drily. ‘A blind fool would have seen my reaction to his plans for you. Knowing threats wouldn’t keep me in line, he decided to employ a subtler bait. And got a little vengeance of his own into the bargain.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t kill off a whole lot of soldiers. What about my feelings?’

  ‘He used them, you little innocent. The cunning bastard is probably laughing himself into fits right now, having watched you run straight to me.’

  ‘I didn’t run straight to you,’ she said with dignity. ‘I picked up your clothes first.’ Then, narrowing her eyes. ‘But I’ll still never forgive him. I was sick with dread until I remembered the one escape left to me.’

  He looked up, still amused, from another perusal of Edward’s message. ‘What was that?’

  ‘I was trying to tell you before. All I had to do was publicly announce that my conscience dictate I enter the cloister and that would have been the end of any marriage plans. Edward couldn’t gainsay me without defying Holy Mother Church, and that he would never do. It wouldn’t have mattered then, you see.’ A little smile touched her mouth, that held all the sadness she’d been braced to bear. ‘If you didn’t love me, nothing would have mattered.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ His smile gentled into a look of love, so all-encompassing, so heartfelt, she felt tears prick her eyes again. He tossed the missive aside and reached out to take her in his arms. ‘There’ll never be a day when I won’t love you,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘Never a day when I won’t need you.’

  ‘And I you,’ she whispered back. ‘Make love to me, Rorik. I want to be close to you again. I need to feel safe.’

  ‘Safe? Like this?’ His low laugh sent a cascade of delicious shivers down her spine. ‘There’s a misguided notion if ever I heard one, but—’ he started backing her towards the pallet ‘—far be it from me to deny a lady’s wish.’

  Already quivering in anticipation, Yvaine waited for him to lift her on to the bed. Instead, he lifted her against him, turned and sat down on the edge of the pallet, settling her on his lap, facing him. Instinctively she shifted her legs, straddling him, her eyes widening in surprise. ‘Like this?’

  ‘This isn’t our feather bed at Einervik,’ he murmured.

  ‘You’re too small and delicate to lie between me and an army pallet. And we have scant privacy here. This way we can keep our clothes on and still be close.’

  ‘Oh.’ She glanced towards the entrance. ‘You think someone will intrude?’

  ‘If they do, they’ll soon leave,’ he said, grinning. Then he took her face between his hands. ‘But if you want to wait until we’re married…’

  She shook her head. She didn’t think she could wait. And judging by the hard evidence separated from her by just two layers of clothing, she doubted Rorik could either. And yet, he was holding back, waiting for her answer, because she’d felt that slightest hesitation.

  Something opened, flowered, deep inside her. Love welled, springing free with nothing held back; a flowing tide that she knew would toss her hither and yon over the years, but would always return her to this place of safety, to his arms. He was ruthless, she knew. He would always have that hard edge of danger. But he loved her. That made them equal.

  ‘Until we’re married?’ she repeated softly. She gave him an innocent smile from beneath her lashes and wriggled against him. ‘Oh, you mean as Christians?’

  ‘Little witch,’ he growled on a sharp intake of air. He lifted her slightly to push her skirts out of the way. ‘You knew.’

  ‘I learned of it from Edward.’ She gasped as his hand found her, stroked. ‘When were you going to tell me…ohhh?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to keep it from you,’ he whispered. ‘I’d buried it deep.’ He moved his hand again, one long finger pressing inward, circling. ‘As deep as I’m going to bury myself in you.’

  She cried out, wanting more, and with a muttered imprecation, he withdrew his hand to wrench open his chausses, before urging her close again.

  The first demanding touch of his body had her shaking with mingled need and doubt as she realised suddenly how vulnerable she was in this position. He gently opened her, pushed upward, stroking her as he thrust so that she trembled in his hold even as her thighs tightened in an instinctive attempt to stop the invasion, to slow it at least, to let herself adjust.

  ‘’Tis all right,’ he whispered. ‘You know I won’t hurt you.’

  ‘Rorik…no…I can’t…’

  ‘Aye, you can,’ he murmured. ‘That’s it. Give yourself to me. My own sweetheart.’

  His words flowed over her, easing her tension. Somewhere beneath the flood-tide of passion waiting to sweep her away, she knew he was asking for more than her body. Knew he wanted her acceptance of all that he was; her acknowledgement of the ruthlessness that was an integral part of his nature, her trust that he would never use it to hurt her. He wanted her completely open to him. Vulnerable. His.

  Desire replaced doubt as sensations, more thrilling than any he’d shown her before, washed
over her. She felt the liquid pulses of her response around him; those wickedly clever fingers never left her. Knowing that what he was doing was hidden excited her unbearably. The fact that she couldn’t control it, couldn’t close her legs or retreat against his restraining arm, had her trembling in helpless surrender.

  Only trust, she realised dimly. Only utter trust could make it like this. And love.

  Then with a groan that came from deep within him, he crushed her against him, forcing her forward and reaching so deep, he had to stop her scream of ecstasy with his mouth. She clung to him, sobbing with the intensity of the pleasure flooding her senses, holding him close as she felt his own release shudder through him, making him, in that sweet, incomparable moment, as vulnerable as she. Hers. Until, with passion spent, they simply held each other, still joined, her head tucked into his shoulder as their heartbeats slowed and their breathing levelled.

  Eventually, when an errant breeze found a gap beneath the tent, making her shiver slightly, he lifted her, gently disengaged their bodies and stood to return their clothing to a state of respectability.

  ‘I think I could sleep for a sen’night,’ she said dreamily, standing up on shaky legs as he straightened her skirts.

  ‘Tonight you’ll sleep in my arms.’ He gave her a wicked grin as he steadied her, but sobered almost immediately to frame her face between his hands. ‘Will you forgive me, sweetheart? For not telling you I was a Christian?’

  ‘Aye.’ She smiled up at him; there’d never been any doubt. ‘For you’ve told me the most important thing.’

  ‘Always,’ he said. ‘I will love you through this life and beyond. That is my troth. The vow I give you before we meet any priest.’

  ‘And I give you all that I am, Rorik of Einervik. My vow of love, for all eternity. No matter what words are spoken to bind us.’

  He smiled, took her hand and led her towards the entrance. ‘Then come, sweet wife. We have an appointment to keep.’

  Outside, all was calm and still. Guards patrolled the camp, but at a distance. Dogs slept. Horses dozed. In an indigo sky scattered with diamonds, the moon sailed across the heavens on its endless journey. The warm clasp of Rorik’s hand around hers was sure and strong.