by Sandra Hill
She'd already taken off her surcoat and gunna. She stood before him in a chemise thin enough to show her thigh hose underneath. "You're not going to kill me, are you?"
"Not right away," was all he would disclose. Actually, it was all he knew at this point. He waved a hand for her to continue disrobing.
While she lifted her chemise over her head and bent at the waist to roll down her hose, she remarked, more to herself than to him, "I may as well take my final vows as a nun, since it appears you will not be helping me to regain Evergreen."
The sight of her standing now, nude and absolutely glorious in her beauty, took his breath away. When he was able to speak, he said, "M'lady, there isn't a convent in the world that would take you when I am done with you."
She tilted her head to the side in question. When she understood his words, a flush swept over her face, down her long neck and over her breasts, which were full, rose-tipped and glorious. Her gaze fixed then on that part of him which was especially appreciative of her bodily charms. "You would rape me, then? That is to be your method of punishment?"
"There will be no rape."
She exhaled on a sigh of relief.
"But there will be sex. Lots of it."
Her eyes shot wide. She appeared about to say something nasty to him, then thought better of it. "So be it," she said, lifting her mulish chin. "Let us get it over with so I can get on with the rest of my life… whatever that will be."
She walked grimly over to the bed, like a Christian to the lions' den. She should be quivering with fright. She should be begging him for mercy. She should be apologizing till she was blue in the face for what she had done to him. That was what he wanted of her. Wasn't it?
Within minutes, she was spread-eagled on the bed, just as he had been, arms and legs tied to the bedposts. He would not bother with the gag because no one would defy his wrath by coming to her aid, even if she screamed… which she did not. Instead, she just stared levelly at him, awaiting his next step.
Some men might feel guilty for shaming a woman so. He did not. His wounded pride and thwarted plan to avenge his brother's death rankled too much.
He dressed himself and pulled a chair near the bed. Rubbing a hand over his mouth, he studied her. He was aroused by her nudity, of course. What Viking worth his salt wouldn't be? But he was in control of his senses and would not assault her while his temper roiled. In truth, he would not assault her at all, despite his fury. He would couple with her at some point, though… that he knew without a doubt.
"Are you not even curious as to the Witan's decision?" he asked finally.
He saw the shock that overtook her. "Yea. Of course. Oh, Blessed Mary, how could I have let such an important thing slip my mind?"
"Well, you were distracted," he remarked.
"Go. Find out," she demanded.
He had to laugh at her nerve. Bare-arse naked and trussed up like a chicken and still she ordered him about. "I will go when I am ready."
She made a tsk-ing sound of disgust.
"I have been thinking—and, yea, I have had plenty of time to think—about your situation with Evergreen. I understand your overpowering drive to regain what is rightfully yours, but why would your father, a wealthy man in his own right, care so much for such a small estate?"
"Greed?"
"Greed goes only so far. There must be something about this property that makes it valuable to your father. Ponder the question whilst you lie in the bed you have made for yourself."
She curled her upper lip at him.
He soon uncurled it when he reached over and touched one nipple with a forefinger. It immediately peaked, as did the other one. Two obedient soldiers standing to attention… his attention.
He pulled his chair closer and examined her breasts in more detail. He should have pinched and prodded her in punishment till she was black and blue, but instead he used gentle fingers and soft sweeps of his palm to fondle her. Against her will, her body betrayed her. It liked what he was doing. He could see that in the widening of her eyes and the flare of her nostrils.
He moved his hand lower then, spending some time on her indented navel and the smooth skin of her flat belly. Finally he allowed himself to touch the silky curls of her woman-fleece and the damp folds hidden within.
She groaned aloud.
He swallowed his own groan.
"Are you going to eat me… again?" she asked.
"What?" He whipped his hand back. He could not believe she had asked him that. "Uh… not right now. Mayhap later. I do not want to give you pleasure. This is supposed to be torture."
A voice in his head asked, For her or for you?
He stood abruptly and walked away from the bed. As he was reaching for his cloak on a wall peg, she asked him in a panic, "Where are you going? Are you going to leave me here… alone?"
He secured the wolf brooch on his cape and walked back over to her. Taking one last look at her luscious body, he flipped the fur pelt up to cover her from the coolness which would fill the room once the fire died down. "I am going back to the keep. There is much news that I must catch up on."
She nodded.
"But you are not to worry, wench. I will be back to sleep with you."
She said something then that ladies rarely say. But then, she was not a lady. Hadn't he learned that the hard way?
Sometimes laughter is the best medicine...
Toste was soaking in a large brass tub in an upper bedchamber of Ravenshire.
He'd eaten a huge meal belowstairs, then come up to his room to shave his bristly face. Finally he'd lowered himself into the hot water. It seemed a year and not ten days since he'd bathed completely.
The relaxing soak also gave him time to think. What to do about Esme? He still did not have all the answers, but one thing she'd accomplished with her outrageous abduction was that he didn't intend to leave right away in pursuit of Vagn's killer. That could wait till he'd resolved some other problems. Like Esme.
His relaxation was soon broken by the entrance of Eirik, Tykir and Bolthor, who'd been in the stables helping a mare with a difficult birth.
"How goes it?" he asked.
"Not so good. The colt did not survive, and the mare probably will not, either," Eirik said.
"Sorry. I know that Sunlight was one of your favorites."
"She was. But she has given us four other colts in the past, and she had a good life."
"Speaking of the good life," Tykir said, pulling over a low stool and sitting near the foot of the tub. Eirik sat on the bed, and Bolthor leaned back against the wall. "How is yours?"
"Just wonderful."
They all grinned at him, waiting to hear the whole story. Figuring they would not leave him alone till he told them everything, he began with the seductive message he'd received and how he'd wound up tied to the bed. He even told them how he'd originally misheard Esme's name as "Eat me." When he finished, the three of them stared at him as if he'd grown another head.
Eirik was shaking his head from side to side. "You and Vagn always did have a talent for attracting preposterous situations."
"You think I invited this?"
All three men nodded their heads vigorously.
Bolthor, to no one's surprise, gazed off into the distance dreamily as the verse mood overcame him. "Methinks I should call this one 'Men and Their Convenient Ears.'"
"Huh?" the other three said.
"The lady said Ess-me.
The man heard 'Eat me.'
She asked, 'Will you beat me?'
He thought she said, "Heat me."
Eat me, heat me,
one and the same,
especially for a Viking man
with a convenient ear."
"How true! How true!" Tykir said.
"What will you do with her?" Eirik asked.
"Damned if I know!" Toste said, then immediately added, "Whatever I decide, none of you are to interfere, and that includes your meddlesome wives."
"Did you leav
e her back at the woodcutter's hut?" Eirik asked.
"I did, and there she will stay till I decide otherwise."
"Naked?" Tykir inquired.
Toste did not answer. He didn't have to. The other three men in the room grinned.
"And, really, none of you can condemn me. You have done as much and more. You, Tykir, once locked Alinor in a bedchamber at Dragonstead for days."
"Yea, I did, and some of the best memories of my life took place there. Wouldst like to borrow my collection of feathers? It was given to me years ago by a sultan who used it with his harem slaves."
Three male mouths went slack with disbelief. One never knew when Tykir was teasing or telling the truth.
"No, thank you, Tykir. I can come up with my own methods of torture."
"Might I suggest—" Eirik began.
"Nay! And one more thing. No one… I mean, no one… is to go within shouting distance of that hut. Is that clear?"
"Well, you'd better have this resolved by next week," Eirik said.
"Why is that?"
"Because this castle is going to be overflowing with guests for the yuletide festivities."
Toste put his face in his hands. "I am afraid to ask, but what guests?"
"Archbishop Dunstan, Ealdormen Byrhtnoth of Essex, Aelfhere of Mercia, Aethelwold of East Anglia, Aelfhead of Hampshire and various other notables. I would not be surprised to see the king or one of his closest thegns arrive, though they made no promises. And though not invited by any means, Lord Blackthorne may very well show up to claim his daughter."
"Can my life get any worse than this?" Toste asked.
Without asking, Bolthor walked over to the fire and got a bucket of hot water warming there. He dumped it in the tub, figuring that Toste was getting cold, if not wilted.
"Well, actually, life could get worse." Tykir stared at him grimly. "I fear for Esme… oh, you are no danger to her… but her father and brothers are. They are a scurvy lot. I suspect that her early years at home were not pleasant."
"You know, I had the same feeling," Eirik said. "There are some men who hate women. They many them, have daughters and sisters and yet, at heart they hate women."
"I love women—always have." Tykir took a long swig from the mug of ale he'd brought with him.
"We know," everyone else said.
"Don't let Alinor hear you say that, though," Eirik told his brother.
"She knows. As long as I keep my hands and my manpart to myself—and her—she does not mind."
"That's what women say, but it is not what they really feel," Bolthor advised. Bolthor giving Tykir advice about women was like a nun giving a harem houri advice on swiving.
Tykir turned his attention back to Toste. "What I was trying to say before I was so rudely interrupted, Toste, is that you must not be too harsh with Esme till you understand from whence she came. And she came from a snake pit."
"Mayhap that means she is a snake, too." Toste refused to make excuses for the deceitful witch.
"Or a mouse who has managed to escape the snakes… thus far," Eirik offered.
They discussed the situation further while Toste dried himself off and dressed in clean clothes lent to him by Eirik. They all went down to the great hall then to partake of the evening meal. The subject of Esme was avoided by everyone. It was midnight before Toste made his way down the path again, carrying a bundle of food, soap, linens, a comb and various other items.
He wondered if Esme would be waiting for him, wide-eyed and scared. Would she beg for mercy? Or suffer in silence?
Instead, as he was about to open the door, he heard the oddest thing. Whistling. His captive, who should be shaking-in-her-skin fearful, was bloody hell whistling.
Turnabout is fair play…or is that fun play? …
Esme was lying flat on her back, naked, whistling. She always whistled when she was nervous. She was really nervous now.
"You are a terrible whistler," Toste remarked as he hung his cloak on a wall peg and then threw several logs on the fire.
"The quality of the whistle is not so important as the fact that I whistle at all." Dumb, dumb, dumb! The man is making me dumb. Next I will be conversing about the quality of breathing. "Believe you me, whistling has been the only thing to keep me sane on many an occasion in the past."
His eyes shot up at her words. He waited for her to elaborate. Hah! She would not tell him she'd whistled when her father's birch rod whipped her back. She would not tell him she'd whistled when her brothers had locked her in a root cellar for two full days as part of a youthling prank. She would not tell him she'd whistled on many an occasion at the nunnery when her loneliness had become nigh unbearable.
"To be a good whistler, you must wet your whistle first," he told her and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
He must be as dumb as I am… continuing a lackwit discussion on the art of whistling when there are more important things to discuss, like my imprisonment. "I don't need to—"
It was too late. He was already leaning down and outlining her lips with the tip of his tongue. She noticed irrelevantly that he must have shaven his face and his skin smelled of soap. Then he dipped his tongue inside her mouth and laved her lips with moisture. Over and over he did this till her lips were more than moist. Then he stuck his tongue inside again, and kissed her long and deep. As much as she disliked the rogue, her body liked his ministrations. Well! she thought. Wellwellwell!
He pulled back just slightly and said against her wet mouth, "Now whistle."
Apparently, I'm the only one overcome with passion here. "Whistle this!" she said and nipped his lips before he could pull away.
He jerked back, then stood. "Not a smart move, Esme. Now you will have to be punished even more." He rubbed his mouth as if she'd severely wounded him when in fact she hadn't even broken the skin. "But first, are you hungry?"
She nodded.
"Good," he said and took great pleasure in making her eat tiny morsels of manchet bread dripping with honey from his hand, like a pet dog. After each bite, he forced her to lick clean his fingers. She seriously considered, biting one of those appendages, but decided to pick her battles. She suspected that licking his fingers might be the least of the offenses he planned to inflict upon her. When she finished, he gave her a cup of cool water, then asked, "Do you have to relieve yourself, Esme?"
She did, but she would wet the bed afore she let him put a pan under her bottom and watch her empty her bladder.
He just laughed when she raised her chin defiantly. Then he loosened her ties, telling her, "I'm only untying you for a few moments while I go out to gather wood for the fire. You have a very short amount of time to take care of yourself," he said, pointing to the chamber pot in the far corner.
She'd done everything she had to do and was back in the bed, covered to her chin with the fur pelt, when he returned carrying a large load of logs. He went out two more times for other loads, which he piled next to the hearth. He must be planning a long stay in the hut. Or was he building up the fire for her so he could go back to the keep?
She got her answer soon enough when he took off his belt and raised his tunic over his head. Esme already knew the man was stunning in his physical appearance, having seen him naked when he was brought to the nunnery from the battlefield and again here in the woodcutter's hut. He no doubt knew how stunning he was, too. Women fell at his feet like weeds under a soldier's boot. But not me. I am stronger than that. I hope.
He sat down to remove his boots, watching her the whole time. She turned on her side away from him, but she assumed he then stepped out of his tight braies, too. She was proven right when he slipped under the bed furs behind her and she felt his nakedness against her back… all of his nakedness. Is it possible to see a man with one's eyes closed? Well, yea, it must be… because I am seeing vivid pictures behind my eyelids.
"Turn over, Esme, so I can secure your ties."
Does that mean I have to open my eyes? "Why do you need to tie me when
your big body blocks my escape?"
"I might fall asleep and you could crawl over me." Crawl over him? Naked? I… do… not… think… so! He laughed. "You do not like my big body?"
She didn't answer. Truth to tell, I like your big body too much.
"Perhaps I will tie you to me," he said and took her left hand in his right one, palm to palm, fingers entwined, then tied them together at the wrists. He raised both their arms so they rested on the pillow above her head.
"Relax, Esme, I am not going to tup you tonight. I am too tired. But if you move or squirm about, I will interpret that as meaning you want me now. And I may decide to change my mind."
As a final outrage, he let the fur pelt remain where it was, mid-body, so that her breasts were visible to his eye. And eye them he did. Then he yawned loudly, laid his head next to hers, his mouth against her ear, and proceeded to fall asleep.
Esme couldn't believe what was happening. She had expected the brute to come back and rape her… or at least have his way with her. Instead, she was lying naked in a bed, her arm tied above her head, her breasts exposed, while he snored beside her, oblivious.
It was utterly humiliating.
Which, of course, was his point.
* * *
Chapter Twelve
« ^ »
Planning a road trip ...
"We are going to Ravenshire for a yuletide celebration," Gorm announced to all those at the high table.
"What? That is the first I have heard of this," Helga said with alarm. She and Vagn had been at each other like dogs in heat the past sennight, and the prospect of their being separated, even for a short time, filled her with surprising panic. Once separated, would he forget about her? Find someone else? No longer be interested?
"I have known for some time that Eirik and Eadyth planned a great feast, but did not think we would be able to go because of this winter storm that has beset us. Now that the roads are passable again, it seems a grand idea. All of us will go," Gorm explained, making a sweeping gesture that included Vagn.
