The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,12

had a day or two here with her at least before he’d need to secure her better.

“Of course not.” Her lip curled in distaste. “Alchere is an arrogant pig—”

She bit off the words with a quick glance to his face. Worried. Considering. Wulf laughed at the transparent thoughts in her expressive face because midway through the passionate assertion, she seemed to realize it might have helped her cause to claim marriage to him.

“Too late, Gwen.” Wulf lifted her gently over a rotten log, the damp of spring making the ground give under their feet. “I would not have believed you anyhow. The Danes already know your king has entrusted Alchere with several high-born widows of political importance to the kingdom. I imagine if Alchere was ever given permission to choose one of his wards for himself, he would not pick the most imprudent one of the lot.”

“How dare you—”

“He would also not choose a woman who did not obey him implicitly,” he continued, ignoring her obvious desire to argue. “If you were his wife, he would have ensured you were locked in his bedchamber with a guard at the door before a raid.”

He paused at a sound in the trees, quickly drawing Gwendolyn close and putting his hand over her mouth to staunch any noise. They had not been followed from the beach, but what if they’d strayed close a nobleman’s land? He would never be mistaken for a Saxon, even at a distance.

In that moment of stillness and silence, he peered down at his captive. A fresh cut marred her cheek from her run through the trees to escape. The veil she’d torn on a rock back on the parapet now had even more holes in the delicate material. But above the constraining weight of his hands, her eyes peered at him with dark fire in their depths—a willfulness and simmering anger that stirred more than lust within him.

Amusement at her headstrong ways? Nay. It was more than that. This was a woman who would fight for what she wanted no matter the cost—

Thor’s hammer.

He realized at once why he’d taken her. Why he wanted her. Gwendolyn possessed the strength and spirit that Hedra had lacked—the strength that might have given her enough courage to claim happiness with both hands instead of dutifully doing what her family wanted.

With a curse, he released Gwendolyn’s mouth. The noise in the brush had only been a curious hare anyhow. Angry with himself, he vowed he would forget all about the deeper reason he’d been attracted to Gwendolyn once he had her beneath him. She would become any other woman then and this dark fascination with her would be broken. Powerless.

He tugged her forward a bit more roughly than he’d intended. They needed to make better time if they were to reach the ruins before dark.

“I do not wish to be your—pleasure. I will serve no man’s pleasure.” Her cheeks burned so hotly he could easily imagine how she might look with another kind of flush on her face. Was it from fury? Or did she imagine his touch upon her and resent a stirring?

He hoped for the latter. But either way, he had time to incite the response he wanted. How long would it be before he would see her skin heating with excitement from his touch instead of the mixed emotions she must feel now?

“Are you not a widow?” He did not address her concern directly. Her comment stirred questions of his own. Why would she refuse pleasure when it was offered? He understood her refusal of him. For now. But why dismiss pleasure altogether?

All at once, she fell to the ground, becoming boneless in his grip so that he lost his hold for an instant.

And just like that she ran, limping and slow as a wounded doe after the hunt.

Where was the woman’s sense? She was all fight and fire, reflexes and instinct.

“Woman.” He jogged toward her, not needing to run any faster than that. Collaring her, he gripped the back of her dress and reeled her backward. “You do yourself greater harm than good. And if you run again, I will carry you the rest of the way like a sack of grain over my shoulder, a position that will be far more enjoyable for me than for you.”

He hid a grin, appreciating the vision of that scenario tremendously.

“You do not scare me, Norseman.” Her lie could not have been more obvious, but he understood the need to bolster