The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,10

“I cannot breathe.”

“Talking requires breath,” he assured her, striding through the water and up onto the sandy shore.

He could have easily set her on her feet then. She would not soak her shoes now that they hit land. But the man built like an oak tree continued to hold her fast, his hands making themselves more familiar with her body than even her husband’s had as the Dane’s fingers cupped the side of her breast beneath one arm.

Heaven knew her spouse had only been interested in the most rudimentary of rutting, so he had not bothered to touch her anywhere but the most crucial of places. And wasn’t that an absurd thought to have now of all times? Panic must be causing her brain to think strange things.

“Honestly, I can walk,” she protested, unsettled as much by being left alone on the beach with the Viking leader as she was by her realization that she’d just compared her captor to her husband.

Not that it was completely off target.

She’d been at the utter mercy of each. She did not dare an escape attempt until she knew there was somewhere to go. She did not think for a moment she could outrun the foreigner. And she could not lose him in broad daylight. Especially not when he could still call back his friends in the longship.

“We can move faster this way. I will lower you when we reach the top of the rise.”

She followed his blue gaze to the hilltop covered in low trees and recalled the steep incline she’d seen from the ship. Dear Lord, the man had already charged up half of it. Leaving her with the rest of his climb to consider her next move as he held her fast to his chest.

“I can pay you to leave me alone,” she realized suddenly. If he had not known her identity, he could not know how much she was worth. “I am an heiress. My overlord will pay well for my safe return. You can barter with him the way your ruler bargains with King Alfred for peace in Wessex.”

“I have enough riches.” His thighs brushed her rump as he climbed, his strides long to climb the hill.

“No man believes that.” Although, now that she thought about it, her father had believed it. He had inherited such extensive lands from his father that just managing them well took much of his time. He’d never wished to acquire more. But since his death, she’d never met another soul—male or female—who thought that way.

“I will accept no price for you.” He glanced down at her then and his gaze stirred a prickle of warning along her skin. Her flesh fairly hummed with it.

Acute awareness traveled through her, a sudden hot warning that she must free herself from his grasp. There was too much intimacy about it. He held her so closely she could feel the warmth of his skin emanating through his tunic. And where his thighs brushed her rump, she could feel the dampness of his braies from his dive into the sea. His tunic and skin both held a scent of some spicy herb he must use to wash. Bergamot or perhaps it was some plant native to his region.

“Release me,” she demanded, arching away from him.

“Almost.” He climbed on, heedless of her struggle. “There is another rise after the first.”

She’d only succeeded in twisting the hem of her gown. A cool breeze fluttered up beneath it, teasing her legs and exposing her calves. Her cheeks burned and she counseled patience. She would simply wait until he set her down. For now, however, she distracted him by asking a question that occurred to her.

“You know my name, but I do not know yours.” She’d heard him called Wulf, of course, but what of a family name?

“Wulf Geirsson.” He turned his head to look upon her and she remembered how close they were. His straight blade of a nose hovered less than a hand’s span away. She watched his hard, sculpted mouth form the unusual name, the primitive sound bringing to mind the fierce beast that shared it.

“Why did you take only me, Wulf Geirsson?”

She feared the answer, yet it had to be asked. And she might never feel so bold with him as she did right now, absorbing the beat of his heart along the side of her chest. A man would not treat her violently after ensuring she did not get her shoes wet while disembarking, would he?

His foot