The Captive

by Joanne Rock

  Before he’d made that outrageous claim, she had been tired and ready for sleep. But with the puzzle of knee-buckling bliss to unwind, she found sleep didn’t come for many hours and even then, her rest was disrupted by visions of herself weak with wanting in Wulf’s arms, her whole body soft with desire for pleasures she’d never known.

  WULF AWOKE TO A CRACKING TWIG somewhere in the distance.

  He’d slept outdoors often enough to rest peacefully through routine animal sounds. Something human approached or he would not be wide-awake. Had Alchere sent men after Gwendolyn?

  Wulf picked up his blade and strapped it to his belt on the hip opposite his axe. He did not carry a sword except on raids, an axe being far more useful. With a last glance through the dark at Gwendolyn where she slept in a pale patch of moonlight, he slid through the cabin door in silence. Outside, the moon rode low on the horizon, spilling misty illumination over the scattered trees and rocky outcroppings that dotted the landscape. Places to hide were few and Saxon men did not understand stealth. Why did he see nothing out of the ordinary?

  “Wulf.” His name rode the breeze, emanating from a copse of trees to the east. “I bring you supplies.”

  Wulf grinned in recognition, even knowing those supplies would come at a price. From the group of trees, Erik stepped into the light, holding a satchel in one hand.

  He walked freely toward his friend, appreciating that only another Norsemen could have moved so quietly through the undergrowth.

  “Come.” Wulf waved him forward, grateful there would be no battle to awaken Gwendolyn. “Thank you, friend. What news?”

  He stalked through the trees to meet him, taking the bag from him. While he was grateful for the small food stores and other items, he knew Erik would not have risked seeking him out if he did not have good reason.

  “We were not in the settlement an hour before Harold sought us out.” After handing over the goods, Erik dropped to a stump to sit and opened his wineskin for a drink. “He searches for you.”

  “He seeks me constantly.” Wulf had departed his homeland to avoid Harold, who had demanded vengeance for his sister’s death. And Wulf had indeed been responsible. A fragile creature, Hedra had been Wulf’s brother’s wife, and he knew his refusal to marry her after his brother died had driven her to take her own life.

  For that reason alone, he had not met Harold’s challenge. Harold was a good ruler and if they were to face each other, Wulf would win and Harold’s people would suffer. But it seemed a year of Wulf’s absence had not soothed Harold’s fury.

  “This is different.” Erik clamped a heavy hand on his shoulder, a gesture of equals he would not have made in front of the others, but which was his right as his cousin. “He is changed, Wulf. He neglects his kingdom to search for you, chasing the trail when he hears of your raids. Now that he has found the settlement, he will hound us until we lead him to you.”

  Erik’s hand slid away and Wulf understood the seriousness of this new dynamic. It meant a confrontation was close. It also meant Harold’s kingdom would look to Wulf as their leader if he unseated the previous ruler.

  “You are sure you were not followed?”

  Erik thumped his chest in proclamation of his strength.

  “I move as the wind moves.”

  “Nevertheless, I heard your arrival.” Wulf peered around the clearing more carefully.

  “No warrior is your equal. Harold sleeps in a soft bed after too much mead.” Erik rested a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  While Wulf’s tribe always stood out as warriors among other men, they were as committed to inter-marriage and peace as their brethren in the settlement and back home. They came to establish trade routes and increase wealth all around. They fought only when they found resistance.

  “You should return before the dawn.” Wulf guessed the run had been a long one since the settlement was not close. “The best way for us to reunite might be at sea and I regret that I do not have a vessel. If you do not hear from me in three days’ time, take to the water on a morn when the mist rolls thick and I will steal aboard in the cover of fog.”

  Nodding, Erik turned to leave and then looked back.

  “The men believe your Saxon captive is your new concubine.”

  “So?” Wulf was not surprised, considering the circumstances in which he’d taken her. And while he did not know what would happen with Gwendolyn, he planned to deliver on his promise to teach her pleasure.

  “If it is true, they believe she was an expensive one since they were not able to take women, as well.” Erik’s words did not accuse, but they did convey a tense mood among the men. “And if it is not true, you might consider protecting her with your mantle since she has stirred resentment already.”

  Without another word, Erik disappeared into the night. Wulf did not call him back as there was little to dispute. He should not be surprised that his followers would be disgruntled to expend their time and expertise obtaining a woman for him. But they did not understand that he’d been drawn to Gwendolyn more powerfully than he’d been drawn to anything in his life.

  He did not understand the meaning of it, either, but he knew better than to ignore the Norns when they wove your fate around you. Gwendolyn of Wessex had gazed down upon him from the battlements for a reason, and he would not part with her until he discovered why.

  5

  GWENDOLYN CAME AWAKE SLOWLY.

  She remembered sleeping fitfully through the night, a spring chill waking her frequently so that she’d been forced to burrow deep into the straw pallet and yank the wool blanket she’d been given more tightly about her. She’d been aware of Wulf beside her, but not close enough to touch. That had been fortunate, certainly, although occasionally she’d gazed upon him as he slept and thought about how much warmth his large, muscular frame must emit.

  And wouldn’t she be so much more snug if she could slide a bit closer to that natural source of heat?

  Right now, however, as the first purple hint of dawn slid into the high windows of the cottage, Gwen realized she was warm. At some point during the night she had apparently solved her problem of a persistent chill because at this moment, she felt cozy and toasty, her body cocooned at just the right temperature.

  At first, she assumed Wulf had given her another blanket. But as the dreamy haze of sleep receded, she began to realize the warmth at her back was alive and breathing.

  Wulf’s expansive chest fit tight to her spine.

  The discovery was so startling, she had to stifle a squeal. She put her hand to her lips to keep in the sound while her brain cataloged the rest of this new situation.

  If Wulf had not slept, she would have wrenched away immediately. But since they must have lain this way peacefully for some time, she could not resist the chance to inventory every facet of the warm arrangement that had kept her so comfortable despite the chill.

  A thick, strong arm wrapped around her, his hand flat upon her belly. Hard, male thighs backed up to hers, her buttocks nestled into Wulf’s lap. What shocked her most was the sword-straight ridge of his manhood pressed tight to the curve of her bottom, the tip of which nudged the base of her spine.

  She was familiar with male anatomy, obviously. But since her husband had never achieved this condition without exercising it immediately—at least not that she was aware—she found it intriguing that the Dane slept beside her so peacefully.

  Realizing his mood could become dangerous upon waking, she planned to extricate herself from his arms soon. But she could not deny the sense of warm contentment she knew here. And surprisingly, she experienced the same stir of feminine interest that she had during his kiss. The urge to arch back against him went against all reason, yet it persisted.

  Carefully, she shifted her hips, following her instincts while it remained safe to do so.

  “Do. Not.” The Dane’s voice growled low in her ear.

  Yelping in surprise, she scrambled away from the seductive heat to the other side of the pallet. Sh
e yanked a blanket with her, clutching the wool to her breasts. She peered back at him over her shoulder, then flipped around to keep an even closer eye on him.

  “Good morn to you, Gwendolyn.” Her warrior captor remained still and seemingly in perfect control of himself. “I cannot ever recall waking so pleasantly.”

  A predatory smile fired her blood, but he did no more than watch her. He looked like one of his pagan gods, his dark hair cascading to his shoulders, his massive arms strong enough to take on the world.

  “It must not have been all that pleasant since you chased me away.” Her cheeks heated to consider he’d been awake while she’d experimented with him, learning the feel of his body.

  “I know my own limits as a man.” He rose up on one elbow, the pendant of a hammer about his neck sliding along a leather thong as he straightened. “Given what you went through in your marriage, I thought you would appreciate knowing them, too.”

  She eyed him curiously. She never would have guessed he neared his limit since he lay so still.

  “I am grateful.” Unable to will herself out of bed, she cradled close the feelings of that morning. Wulf’s scent remained on the blanket. The memory of his body pressed to her back burned in her thoughts. She could recall the shape of each muscle and the outline of every inch.

  And the memory was not unpleasant in the least.

  “I will recover soon. Perhaps you can distract me until then.” His crystal-blue eyes seemed to catch all the light in the room, glinting brightly despite the dimness. “You can tell me how you became a widow.”

  “I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to know that my first husband—Gerald—died in a raid by your people.” She had not seen the fighting, but his men had told her of the skirmish on the beach and the damage done by the Danes.

  “Where?” Wulf appeared distracted now, the story capturing his interest as he sat up the rest of the way.

  “Gerald’s keep is called Fanleigh on the eastern shores.” She had hated her life there, from the cold, incessant rains to the illiterate war-mongers who filled the great hall. “And although he did not treat me well, he gave honor to his name in death by defending one of the village women from being carried off by a party of marauders in search of Saxon slaves.”

  She took some small comfort from the knowledge that his final deeds may have redeemed a soul dark with other stains.

  “In a way, he died defending you, as well.” Wulf tossed another blanket over her legs. “By protecting that one woman, he ensured the safety of many others.”

  “I never thought to look at it that way.” Had Gerald’s willingness to die for that woman’s safety discouraged the invaders from taking other women? The idea helped soothe old resentments she still carried about her marriage. It also demonstrated a kindness on Wulf’s part that she had not anticipated. “Thank you.”

  She tugged the blanket up to her chin, her skin cooling quickly now that she’d pried herself away from his warmth.

  “It is never too late for a man to redeem himself.” His eyes glimmered with new fierceness.

  She wanted to ask why he said it with the passion of the damned, but he rose to his feet and stalked out of the ruins.

  Apparently, that discussion had ended. And for the second time in as many days, Wulf Geirsson had treated her with noble restraint, releasing her even though he’d told her more than once he wanted her.

  You please me.

  If that was the case, he walked away from her so that she could make her own decision about whether she wanted him or not. Whether she wanted to find out if there could be more to the marriage act than the pain she’d known previously.

  The kisses she’d shared with him assured her she had missed out on the most magical aspects of lovemaking. But how could she give herself to a perfect stranger, even if she was admittedly curious about the way Wulf made her feel?

  She would not be the kind of woman that Gerald had kept on the fringes of his hall—a concubine. And what else could she call herself if she allowed this heated curiosity to capture her imagination?

  Rising from her pallet, she folded her blanket and watched Wulf through the door, her gaze following his every move while he took his axe to a dead tree. Each swing vibrated with the power of his strength, his expression ferocious. Did he work off frustration over her? Or was this punishment to the tree related to those cryptic words before he’d left the cottage?

  It is never too late for a man to redeem himself.

  What kind of redemption did Wulf seek? From the way he swung the blade, Gwendolyn guessed that his time of reckoning must be approaching.

  THE HEAT WAS ON.

  Wulf stoked the fire outside the ruins that night, hoping the blaze would help ignite warmth in his captive. Thoughts of her had plagued him all day.

  From the moment he’d woken with his arm full of womanly curves, he’d wanted her. Memories of the way she’d arched back into him, instinctively seeking the kind of fulfillment she didn’t seem to have ever experienced, rolled through his head like endless waves battering the shores of his restraint.

  Why had he chosen this widow of Wessex for his foray into indulgence? Other women would have been more easily seduced. His standing among his people would have made him a natural target for female attention anyway, but even as a younger man, he’d known that women found him pleasing. Yet he’d been drawn to a widow who’d learned to fear sex, someone who did not even possess the innate curiosity of a virgin since Gwendolyn thought she knew exactly what happened in the marriage bed.

  He stoked and ruminated, turning logs in the fire pit until a blaze lifted half the height of the crumbling stone hut, the wavering flames dancing in a spring breeze as dusk fell. Behind him, he sensed Gwendolyn’s arrival by the soft drift of subtle fragrance—a soap she used, perhaps, or a floral herb she packed in her wardrobe.

  “How is your knee?” He did not turn around to face her yet, requiring more time to steel himself for the powerful draw of her.

  “Almost ready to dash for help.” She faced him across the fire, placing herself where he could hardly ignore her. “How far could it be to the next farm or village? Surely any Saxon will take pity on a woman on the run from a Dane.”

  “You will not run away.” He needed to be clear on this point. “The dangers are too great. We are far from civilization here.”

  “I tried to escape you before.” She folded her arms. “Why do you think I would be scared to try again?”

  “Not scared.” He put down his stick near the pit and pointed out the seat he’d arranged for her by dragging a log out of the woods. “But you are too wise to flee food and shelter for the hardships of the wilderness. Thieves and beggars pose far more dangers to a lone noblewoman than a Dane who has treated you fairly.”

  Settling herself on the log, she tucked her skirts about her legs as if to keep away the bugs or perhaps to stay warm. She eyed their dinner with obvious interest, her gaze alighting on the array of fresh fish roasting on a wet hickory plank he’d split.

  “In your defense, you haven’t let me go hungry.”

  Clearly, this counted for something in Gwendolyn’s accounting.

  “It is my intention to take excellent care of you.” He would put her worthless husband to shame. No matter what soothing words he’d used to ease her mind about the man’s untimely passing, Wulf felt naught but cold anger for any warrior who would use his might to harm a female. Especially a woman whom he’d sworn to protect in front of his god and witnesses.

  “That is what I am beginning to fear,” she admitted, turning her dark brown gaze toward him in a twilight quickly fading to black. Her eyes glittered at him, sincere and anxious.

  “You worry I will treat you so well you won’t want to leave?” He liked this idea more than he should. He could not even pull into a port of his homeland without risking bloodshed. What would he do with Gwendolyn if he found he could not part with her at the end of three days’ time? Still, he did not know if her heart m
ight soften toward him, but he found he wanted that very much. Thoughts of her giving herself to him willingly were as addictive as good mead.

  “I worry that your idea of treating me well involves things I am not ready for.” She spoke so quietly—as if she feared his reaction—that it made him furious anew with the man who had taught her such reticence.

  “Gwendolyn.” He withdrew the blade he’d just sharpened that afternoon and—once he had her attention—he drew it quickly across his palm. A thin, red line appeared. “By my blood, I swear I will never hurt you.” He reached for her hand and held it in his, allowing his life force to seep into her skin along with the vow. “On my life, I will protect you.”

  He had shed blood for far less. But she looked at him as though he’d lost his wits, her eyes wide with mild horror. Then, perhaps as the words he’d spoken settled in, he thought he glimpsed a fleeting moment of understanding. Appreciation?

  She nodded jerkily and he wondered at the emotions that ran beneath the surface of the bold face she showed the world.

  “I will hold you to your word, Viking.” Her thumb smoothed across the place where he bled. “And I thank you for it.”

  A momentary hoarse note in her voice told him his gesture had not been wasted. They sat together, hand in hand before the warmth of the blaze, a new promise binding them as surely as any touch. The temptation to kiss her ran hot through him, the need to erase all memory of her cursed husband pushing him hard. But since intimacy seemed to make her more nervous than excited, he opted to seduce her another way.

  Easing their palms apart, he leaned toward the fire to check the fish.

  “Hungry?”

  GWENDOLYN’S BALANCE FALTERED like a just born colt, her heart and mind unsettled by the new facets she’d uncovered of her conqueror.