The Viking's Captive Read online

  ‘Well, ’tis a pity I couldn’t divorce Ceawlin,’ she muttered, annoyed with herself. ‘But our marriage was supposed to benefit my cousin. And why are we even discussing the matter?’

  ‘Because I would know you, lady. I would especially know about this cousin.’

  ‘The king?’ She frowned. ‘You want to know about Edward?’

  ‘Edward,’ he repeated thoughtfully. ‘Aye.’

  ‘But what—?’

  She stopped dead, the answer striking her like a thunderbolt. Ransom.

  Of course! Oh, why hadn’t she thought of it before? The means to her freedom was right here to hand. Vikings wanted loot; she could offer it.

  Relief made her head spin. She had to struggle to keep her voice steady, to hide her eagerness.

  ‘What do you want to know?’ she asked as amounts of coin and jewels danced through her mind.

  ‘Why your cousin married you to a brute and a coward at such a tender age, for a start.’

  ‘I—what?’

  ‘The question was simple enough, lady. You said you were married five years ago. ’Twould have been about the time Alfred died, by my reckoning.’

  ‘Aye, but…’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘’Tis not important.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I will have your answer, lady!’

  ‘Oh, aye. Right away. At your command, O Leader of Pirates.’

  ‘Sarcasm won’t change the fact that I do command here. Speak!’

  Yvaine dug her nails into her palms, reaching for patience. Sarcasm would also not win her release.

  ‘Five years ago,’ she began with great care, ‘Edward was crowned King of Wessex. However, our cousin Athelwold challenged Edward’s right to the throne. When he failed to win enough support, he fled to the Danelaw and tried to gain followers there. ’Tis not unknown for Saxons to hire Norse warriors when it suits them, so Edward thought to ally himself through marriage to some of Athelwold’s English thegns. Ceawlin was one of them.’

  ‘That’s why the king’s standard flew over your hall?’

  ‘Aye.’ She shrugged. ‘Ceawlin would have it so, even though the king never set foot in the place. Mayhap he thought proclaiming his royal connection was support enough for Edward’s cause. Heaven knows, he was too cowardly to fight for either side, but Athelwold was killed in battle last year, so it no longer mattered.’

  ‘Except you would have been bound to a man who mistreated you for the rest of your life.’

  She gaped at him. ‘You have the effrontery to make that statement?’

  ‘I haven’t mistreated you,’ he pointed out mildly.

  ‘Holy Saints! How do you describe murder and kidnapping? As doing me a favour?’

  ‘You tell me, lady.’ He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment. ‘You were beaten almost unto death. If your husband still lived, and resented your presence as you say, how long would you have survived? There are many ways to kill a woman while she lies senseless.’

  Yvaine moved restlessly under that cool, steady gaze. Uneasy memory stirred. Something about Anfride’s potions.

  ‘Ceawlin could hardly kill me before witnesses,’ she muttered.

  ‘What witnesses? The place was deserted and might have remained so. I’ve heard of people not returning to their homes for days after a raid.’

  ‘Aye, because there’s nothing for them to return to after you finish burning and looting.’

  ‘Not all of us burn and loot, little one.’

  His voice had dropped to a dark tone she thought she’d heard once before. She shivered. No. Impossible.

  ‘Do you think me blind?’ she scoffed. ‘I saw the smoke from your fires. I saw your friend, Thorolf, with plate and silver, I—’

  His brows went up. ‘You recall a lot, little cat, for one so grievously hurt.’

  ‘I recall you killing,’ she retorted. ‘I recall seeing others lying dead. Even now one of your captives has thrown herself into the sea, and…

  ‘Ah. You blame me for that?’

  ‘You caused her to be—’

  ‘No!’ His voice was suddenly stern, those light eyes piercingly intent. ‘Do you accuse me of her death, lady?’

  Yvaine glared at him. ‘No,’ she said at last. ‘I cannot. Precisely.’

  The hard line of his mouth eased. ‘You would seem to have a fine sense of justice, lady. It should surprise me, but somehow…’ He shook his head. ‘You also have courage. Too much, I think, to follow that unfortunate woman’s example.’

  ‘Sometimes it takes more courage to die than to let oneself by used.’

  ‘You know damn well I’m not going to hand you over to my men,’ he chided. ‘Despite your husband’s charming suggestion that I do so.’

  ‘Well, then, you do have a problem, don’t you. I’m not destined for slavery, I’m not destined for your men. The only thing left is to rape me yourself.’

  And, Holy Mother, if you have any mercy, you’ll let me sink through these planks beneath my feet and disappear into the sea.

  Nothing happened. Except that Rorik raised a sardonic brow.

  ‘Not the most enticing offer I’ve ever received,’ he drawled. ‘But an interesting challenge, none the less. ’Tis plain to see you need taming, lady.’

  The blood drained from her face in a heartbeat. ‘The way Ceawlin tried?’

  He was down beside her before the last whispered word vanished on the wind. Without meaning to, Yvaine flinched.

  ‘Thor’s hammer,’ he said very softly, ‘have I given you reason to fear me so greatly? Do you truly believe I’d strike you after seeing what that bastard did to you?’

  ‘How do I know?’ She shook her head, desperately trying to rally enough wit to defy him. The task was well nigh impossible. He was too close, too big, too overwhelmingly male. And this close, somehow different. Still tough, still hard, but the sun slanted over his cheekbones, touching his mouth so that his lower lip looked fuller, softer. And though his eyes were narrowed, she saw concern, and something that looked…almost questioning.

  She wrenched her gaze away, inexplicably shaken. ‘How can I tell you what you’d do? You took me from my home. I saw you kill Ceawlin. Even if you thought he…But he’d never touched me until then. In any way. So—’

  ‘What!’ Rorik reached out, captured her face with one large hand and jerked it around to his. Yvaine’s heart thudded at the flare of heat in his eyes. In the clear light they shone almost silver.

  ‘What are you saying?’ he demanded. ‘That he had you in his bed for five years and never touched you? Was the man dead even then?’

  ‘Well, he didn’t…I mean, he wasn’t…that is, he had other interests.’ Yvaine winced at the babbled explanation. Coherent speech was beyond her, but Rorik seemed to know precisely what Ceawlin’s other interests had entailed. His fingers tightened painfully for an instant, before he tore his hand away and shot to his feet.

  If the mast had suddenly fallen on him he couldn’t have been more stunned.

  Rorik stood rigid, only his seaman’s instincts keeping his hand on the steering oar as the truth hit him with the force of a battering ram. The Englishman hadn’t lied. Yvaine was innocent. She was his.

  By the Thunderer, she was his. No other man had seen her naked, touched her sweet flesh, held her—

  The violent rush of blood to his loins warned him to stop that line of thought, but what stunned him was the wild conflict of emotions raging within him. Protectiveness. Tenderness. Where had they come from? He’d felt liking for the women he’d bedded, affection for one or two, but never this. Never to the point where he was torn in two; rent savagely between aching desire and an equally fierce need to protect the object of his desire. Even from himself.

  Gods! He couldn’t think about this now. Couldn’t think about the grinding need to plunder, to hold; to ravish, to shield. He was all that stood between Yvaine and forty men. If he once broke the rule he’d laid down
while the women were on board, none of them would be safe.

  Clamping his hand harder around the steering oar, he forced his gaze from Yvaine’s startled face to her kirtle. The loosened garment had slipped sideways, giving him a tantalising glimpse of the slender column of her throat and one delicately curved shoulder. It wasn’t the distraction he needed, but the unpleasant suspicion that struck him at that moment, wrenched his thoughts from the storm howling within him.

  ‘Is that why you’re wearing those clothes?’ he snarled. ‘To cater to your lord’s other interests?’

  Shocked bewilderment sprang into her eyes, but he couldn’t soften the rage in his voice. The thought that her husband might have forced Yvaine to dress as a boy, in order to bed her to get a son, sent reason hurtling overboard. He could have killed the viperous bastard all over again. Slowly.

  ‘To cater—’ Bewilderment changed to comprehension, then to a fury that almost matched his own. ‘How dare you!’

  ‘I didn’t mean willingly,’ he growled, calming down somewhat in the face of this reaction.

  But Yvaine sprang to her feet, the reason for her boy’s attire sweeping through her on a tide of rage. ‘I was going to leave him,’ she cried. ‘I was going to return to Edward. And I would’ve succeeded had it not been for you! Thief! Plunderer! You even took the money I needed and—’

  ‘What money?’

  ‘That bag Ceawlin was so anxious to give you. It had my dowry in it.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t need the paltry wealth of such a nithing.’

  ‘Well, I did! Now I have noth—’

  She stopped, her gaze suddenly riveted to the hand she was waving about. A heavy gold ring, set with precious garnets and sapphires, adorned one finger. She tugged it off.

  ‘Except this,’ she said breathlessly, holding it out. ‘’Tis valuable and rare. Will you take it in payment for sending a messenger to Edward? He’ll ransom me and the others, I swear it. You’ll not lose by setting us free.’

  Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. ‘How do you know what I’ll lose, little cat?’

  ‘Nothing of honour, surely. All men understand the rules of ransom. Even Vikings. Take the jewel. I have no need of it now Ceawlin is dead, and never wanted it in the first place.’

  ‘Your husband put that ring on your finger?’

  ‘Aye, but—’

  Rorik whipped the ring out of her grasp before she could blink. Without even glancing at it, he drew back his arm and flung the jewel as far as he could. ‘Then let Aegir’s daughters have it,’ he muttered with savage satisfaction.

  Yvaine stood as though tied to the deck and watched in appalled disbelief as her property soared in a shining arc and disappeared beneath a rolling wave.

  ‘I can’t believe you did that.’ She turned on him, fury curling her hands into tiny fists. ‘To think that a moment ago I wondered if you might be different. But you’re nothing but a savage…an ignorant barbarian…a—’

  He stepped forward and clamped his free hand over her mouth, silencing her by the mere threat of those powerful fingers closing hard around her jaw. ‘Enough,’ he said with ominous quiet. ‘You can spit at me as much as you like in private, lady, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you do so in front of my men.’

  ‘In private!’ She spluttered behind his hand. And immediately froze, staring up at him, as the movement of her mouth against his calloused palm sent heat streaking through her.

  He tensed as if she’d struck him. His eyes narrowed, turned fierce. Then with a gentleness in shattering contrast to the blazing intensity in his eyes, he lowered his hand to her throat, touched his fingers to the pulse leaping there.

  ‘Aye, in private,’ he growled, and she trembled uncontrollably at the dark promise in his voice. ‘When you can release the fire frozen inside you by that travesty of a marriage.’

  Dear God, she was going to faint. His blatantly stated intent, allied to the gentle touch of his fingers, had her senses reeling. She couldn’t let it happen. Couldn’t.

  ‘Aye,’ he murmured as though privy to her thoughts. ‘You’ll fight me, little cat. Until you know me better, I wouldn’t expect otherwise. But while you fight me, think on this.’ His gaze, utterly focused, held hers. ‘Had I left you where you lay, I doubt you’d have lived. If you’d escaped your husband unhindered, you’d never—’

  ‘I don’t care.’ Horrified that the first man to wring a response from her was a marauder to whom she was nothing but an object to be used, she wrenched herself out of his hold and backed away. ‘I might have lived. I might have reached Edward. You had no right to stop me.’

  ‘Damn it, I didn’t—’

  ‘But you’re right about one thing,’ she swept on. ‘I will fight you. I’ll make you wish you’d never set eyes on me. I’ll—’

  ‘Do you think that hasn’t already crossed my mind?’ he snarled suddenly, shocking her into silence. ‘I don’t carry off women as a matter of course, lady, but damn you to the far reaches of Hel, I saw you lying in that hall and forgot why I was there. I looked at you, captured and helpless, and forgot your kind is usually at war with mine.’ His voice lowered to a guttural growl she barely recognised as human.

  ‘By the Gods, I touched your naked flesh and almost took you where you lay.’

  She remembered! Heaven help her, she remembered. Being tied, being trapped, being touched.

  She stood there, fighting for air, for the strength to defy him, while memory swept through her with a force that left her shaking; while her mind reeled beneath a vision more terrifying than any memory. A vision of herself engulfed by the Viking leader, their limbs entwined, his head bent over hers, the hard mouth taking…

  A shuddering wave of sensation tore through her. She almost staggered under the force of it.

  With an almost soundless cry, she turned to flee.

  Chapter Four

  He whipped an arm about her waist before she’d taken a single step.

  ‘Fight me here in the open,’ he warned, ‘and you’ll have every man on this ship licking his lips while he awaits the outcome.’

  The words were like a slap in the face. Yvaine dragged in a shuddering breath and almost choked on it when the movement brought her closer against him. His mail tunic had been replaced by a loosely belted kirtle, but it made no difference. The arm about her was like iron; the rest of his body as hard. Heat surrounded her, turning her limbs to water. His scent, a tantalizing mixture of male, salt air and sun-warmed skin, had her senses swimming.

  Desperate to escape the devastating assault, she made a small frantic sound and strained away from him. ‘Let…me…go!’

  ‘So you can fall on your face? Damn it, stop trembling like that. I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that? When you say you want me and damn me to hell in the same breath?’

  ‘Ah.’ He was silent a moment. ‘You know little of men, sweet virgin. I hadn’t realised how complete is your innocence.’ He lowered his head to hers. ‘Here’s your first lesson. A man is not at his most patient when he holds the woman he wants in his arms and can’t take her.’

  ‘Then let me suggest a cure for such a grievous malady. Release me at once.’

  She felt some of the tension leave his body; felt his mouth curve against her hair. ‘But you tremble still. ’Tis difficult enough to keep one’s footing in these seas.’

  Holy saints! After frightening her out of her wits, was he teasing her?

  Out of the maelstrom of emotions battering her senses, she managed to wrest some pride. ‘I won’t fight you in front of these savages,’ she muttered. ‘But nor will I give you the satisfaction of seeing me fall. Especially at your feet.’

  ‘That wouldn’t give me satisfaction, little cat. If you look like falling at my feet, I’ll catch you and we’ll reach the ground together.’

  ‘And angels will change their halos for forked tails.’

  He laughed. And kissed her swiftly on the chee
k. ‘This time I’m only going to fasten your kirtle. There’s nought to fear in that.’

  ‘No,’ she whispered through the pulse pounding wildly in her throat. ‘Nought to fear.’

  He released her, slowly, as though he wasn’t sure she believed him. It wouldn’t have mattered. She couldn’t run until her legs stopped trembling.

  Nought to fear? He had no conception of a woman’s fears. Until now, neither had she.

  The thought made her shiver.

  ‘Don’t make it easy for me,’ he growled.

  She barely heard him. Barely realised he’d felt that small betraying tremor. She had to get away. Had to think about this new threat that had sprung at her from nowhere. He’d fastened the first laces and moved to the next. There were three ties; two would keep her decently covered.

  The instant the second knot was drawn tight she sprang free and ran, stumbling over the uneven planking until she was forced to slow down or fall.

  Her heart pounded, her stomach churned. Reaction had her shaking so badly only sheer momentum kept her upright. That, and the promise of shelter. The tent beckoned, a safe haven.

  A safe haven? That flimsy tent? A strip of leather won’t keep him from you.

  No! Don’t think about it. Keep moving.

  The base of the mast loomed in front of her. She swerved, remembering the three dice-throwers. This time they were easy to ignore.

  Until one man rose to his feet and moved in front of her, bringing her to an abrupt standstill.

  He looked vaguely familiar. She frowned, wondering why it should be so, then, cursing herself for her hesitation, went to step around him.

  He stretched out an arm and propped his hand against the mast, blocking her path. He made no move to touch her, but his cold blue eyes raked her up and down with calculated insolence.

  After all she’d been through it was too much. Her teeth clenched on a snarl of pure rage. ‘Get out of my way, you accursed heathen!’

  The Viking threw back his head and laughed. ‘A spitting wildcat,’ he announced to nobody in particular. But his amusement was mirthless, malicious. He opened his mouth to speak again.