The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,30

sincerely hoped not, but oooh. He knew what he was doing. He had not spoken a single bragging word. Wulf understood pleasure and—

It thundered through her like a mad rush. All her muscles clenched. Held. Tightened. Wave after wave of bliss drenched her insides, breaking over her like the high tide and dragging her down into unimaginable depths.

She knew she cried out because her throat was sore afterward. Her breath heaved her chest as if she’d run up and down the battlements ten times. Liquid pleasure filled the veins where her blood once ran.

“Wulf.” She said his name like an invocation, replete with the joy he had shown her.

A joy she’d never really believed existed.

She wanted more. Soon. But for now, she just wanted to soak in the moment and the feelings that—

“Go inside.” Wulf barked a command at her as if she was one of his men.

Confusion mingled with frustration. Was Wulf a bit like her husband after all—angry when unsatisfied? Then, she collected herself to notice he was on full alert.

His whole body tensed. Coiled. His hands were off her and at his sides, finding his weapons as he came up to his knees.

Fear didn’t just whisper through her. It bellowed.

“Wulf?” Her hands fisted in the blanket as she peered around the dark woods beyond the circle of flames. “What is it?”

“A noise. Someone’s here.”

With that cryptic statement, he leaped to his feet and darted into the trees, swift and silent. He had the keen hearing of a wild creature, for she had only been aware of the rush of her blood and the fire he’d started within her.

Heart pounding, Gwen blinked away her moment of happiness and hurried to the cabin. Could Wulf be in danger? If Alchere had come for her, he would kill Wulf on sight. She’d also neglected to warn him about her in-laws. And who knew what cruelty Wulf’s Norse enemy, Harold, might wreak if he came upon him alone in the forest.

As the darkness of the cold cottage surrounded her in all its stuffy staleness, she was only certain of one thing. Just now, she definitely did not want to be rescued.

7

THE TRACKS HAD DISAPPEARED at the water’s edge.

Wulf rushed toward the crumbling shelter, plagued by the knowledge that someone had come so close to them tonight. This time, it had not been Erik.

His cousin would have remained in the distance and sought him after Gwendolyn slept. Whoever had been in the forest tonight did not wish to be discovered.

Should he tell Gwen what he suspected? That Harold might have tracked them to dole out vengeance over Hedra’s death?

Gwendolyn peered from the shelter as he neared it.

“Did you see anyone?” Worry threaded through her voice, her dark brows a flat line in the moonlight.

“No.” It was true enough. “But the fire may have attracted attention from thieves and outcasts who dwell in these woods. It may have been a curious vagrant.”

“But you don’t think so.”

The certainty in her voice told him she could read him well for a woman he’d known so briefly. Looping his arm about her shoulder, he steered her back toward the shelter, eager to ensure her safety. The shadows all around them reminded him how vulnerable they were in the dark. He could have taken her back to his encampment, but he’d wanted to have her alone. All to himself.

Now, he cursed the foolishness of selfish desire.

“Actually, that is the most logical answer.” He had gone through the scenarios over and over again on the way back here. Harold would never know to look for him in the middle of nowhere without his men. “But there is a chance your overlord’s men have found us.”

“I doubt it would happen so soon.” She ducked into the lodging, her long skirts brushing his leg as she passed, reminding him how thoroughly undressed she’d been when he’d departed earlier. “I do not think he could spare many men to search when he and King Alfred are investing so much in protecting the Wessex borders from you.”

King Alfred had proven a most effective deterrent to the Danes. Unlike the Sussex and Mercian kingdoms, the people of Wessex had fought mercilessly against the widespread colonization prevalent on the east coast. Wulf admired Alfred’s tactics and found him a worthy opponent, preferring to avoid his army where possible.

“I hope you are right, for I am not willing to give you up.” He pulled a set of iron tongs from the hearth and went outside