The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,26

and was more apt to talk about his latest reading than himself. She was the daughter of a wealthy Mercian house and knew the nobles who patronized my father’s work.”

Gwendolyn could not recall the last time she’d told their stories and promised herself that she would do so more often in the future. Like the shooting stars, her parents’ lives had left blazing trails that should be remembered.

“They sound well suited,” Wulf remarked, causing Gwendolyn to wonder if he’d ever thought of taking a wife.

For that matter, didn’t the Danes keep wives and concubines at the same time? Gerald had certainly believed that to be so, claiming he’d learned the custom from them.

“Are you married?” she blurted, unable to wait another moment to find out. The thought of touching a man who belonged to another was abhorrent to her, no matter how well-accepted the practice might be in their culture.

“Of course not.” His denial was immediate and heartfelt, yet it seemed tinged with an emotion she could not read. Regret? “I have not set foot on my native soil for a year. If I had a wife, I am sure she would be most ill-disposed toward me by now.”

“But it would not bother you to keep a wife and take another woman to bed?” She had never been a woman to mind her tongue, a fact that had been pointed out to her repeatedly by her overlord, her husband, the other widows…well, everyone.

But Wulf had been forthright with her thus far. Why should she concern herself with social convention?

“I would never wed a woman unless I wished to touch no one but her for the rest of my days.” He retrieved the mead and finished the contents of the cup. “So there would never be a question of wanting another.”

He replaced the cup in the dirt and stared into the flames. She assumed his thoughts were far away until he turned that clear blue gaze toward her. Then she realized his thoughts were very much here. With her. About her.

Her mouth went dry. Her own thoughts vanished.

Swallowing hard, she finally found an answer.

“That is a noble sentiment.” She liked his sense of honor and his passionate avowals.

Indeed, she liked many, many things about Wulf Geirsson.

“My thoughts are for one woman at a time, Gwendolyn.” He leaned closer to make his point. “And lately, all my thoughts are of you.”

Her breath hitched at the idea of him thinking about her. From the mead in her blood and the blanket around her that held his scent, her world narrowed to him.

“I fear I cannot give you what you seek.” As much as she had resented her marriage and the need to bind herself to a man, at least marriage came with a certain amount of respect in the eyes of the world. As a Dane’s concubine, she had no assurance of a protector, no legal claim to Wulf. He could simply trade her away when he tired of her…“As a noblewoman, I was not raised to be some man’s pleasure thing. My overlord will come for me and then I will remarry—”

“And you could end up with someone just like Gerald. What stops you from finding pleasure—adventure, if you will—with a man who has vowed never to do you harm?”

He had struck a nerve. The idea that she might be living the same life as Margery—dutiful and dry, more worried about well-stitched wedding garments than finding joy in the world—stopped Gwendolyn cold.

“You are an enemy to my king and my people—”

“But not an enemy to you. You know this.” His eyes darkened to a deeper blue as he spoke. His jaw had grown shadowed with the bristle of his unshaven face. He looked even more dangerous than when they’d first met and yet—not. She knew him better now. “And you must know your Saxons will assume you have suffered the touch of a Dane whether you return to them as pure as the day you left or not. Why cling to someone else’s notion of how you should conduct yourself when you have been denied passion your whole life?”

Her heartbeat sped along with the rise in his voice, her feelings soaring in time with his speech. In truth, she did not know why she let anyone else’s expectation dictate her behavior when she was in the middle of the woods with a compelling stranger whose kisses roused the sweetest fire she had ever known.

What harm could it do to see where another