The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,20

voice traveled the short distance between them, bridging a few hands’ span so that it sounded like he rested right beside her. His words were so intimate and so unseemly that she closed her eyes tight to shut out the awkwardness of hearing such a thing from the barbarian leader who’d stolen her.

“If she had told me that, I would have only learned the truth soon afterward.” And wouldn’t that have been all the more wretched? To think mating would bring pleasure only to find out it was fraught with pain?

Weariness overtook her as the firelight died and fresh night air blew through the shelter. She breathed deep, liking the clean smells that were so different from the ancient, musty dampness of her overlord’s keep.

“One day, you will know otherwise,” Wulf continued, though he seemed content not to argue for now. “One day, you will discover that the pleasure of a kiss is only the beginning.”

The smoky promise in his voice called to mind the way she’d felt when he brushed a hand along her cheek or thumbed a crumb from her sensitive lower lip. The kiss he’d given her had awakened feelings she’d not thought possible. But where could it lead? Only to more hurt.

She had to think coupling with a man of Wulf’s size would harm far more than it had with her husband.

“Gwendolyn.” He had a habit of speaking her name as if he enjoyed the sound of it. “When the day comes where you are ready for more, you will see that the pleasure of a kiss is but a small thing compared to the knee-buckling bliss of what I can give you.”

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