The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,43

more, she gazed at the water and wondered what her parents had seen when they’d peered out over such vast expanses. The promise of new lands to discover and people to meet? The lure of intellectual mysteries to solve?

It had been easier for her mother, who’d found a man who honored her dreams and ambitions. Gwendolyn knew no such man. But at least, for this moment, she knew the taste of independence.

Nearby, a fish jumped, the sound of the splash reminding her she hadn’t eaten in a while. No doubt, there was feasting aplenty among the Danes tonight. She had smelled the fragrant smoke of cook fires and the steam of savory sauces when the longship had neared the camp.

Her belly rumbled again, urging her to arise and make plans for the night’s shelter and the morning meal. With autonomy came responsibility.

Another splash sounded in the water, and she took it as a sign to begin preparations. But before she could stand, a hand emerged from the depths to take hold of her ankle.

Her scream must have carried all the way back to the longship. She hoped so, because if Godric had followed her here, she would not be able to fight him off unless Wulf—

Wulf.

He rose from the murky waters, recognizable instantly. Even in the dark. Even soaked to the skin.

He did not release her ankle as he hoisted himself up on his elbow. His arrival was frighteningly silent, his crystal-blue eyes vivid in the moon’s glow as if they gathered up the scant light and reflected it back at her.

“You found me.” She could not contain her amazement, her declaration as breathless as her surprise. “I swam so far.”

She peered back out to sea toward where the longship would have been anchored. The distance was formidable. She’d never heard him approach, taking reassurance that he had not called for a search party.

He hovered over her, not relinquishing her ankle until his body covered hers. He dripped on her though he did not touch her. His elbows bracketed her hips, his shoulders blocking out the moon where she sprawled on the sand like a beached mermaid.

He was furious. The emotion had not been immediately apparent since the man seemed to pride himself on maintaining rigid composure at all times. But there was a stormy set to his brow. A determined twist to his sculpted mouth. His nostrils flared as he glowered down at her.

“I will not be your concubine.” She had meant it to be defiant, but it came out defensive—the rationalization of a woman neck-deep in trouble.

Make that hip deep. Wulf’s chest aligned with her hips, his powerful body appearing just as capable of crushing her as saving her.

“I will not whore for you, only to be flung aside when you go off to raid other lands and steal away other women.” She filled the silence while he steadily unnerved her. Did he not understand her motive for escaping?

“Do. Not. Leave. Me.” He enunciated this very clearly, as if she were a mere child who might have trouble understanding the meaning.

“You plan to give me away soon enough anyhow,” she argued, grateful he’d at least said something. She could battle with words. She could not combat silence.

“I will ensure your safety before I depart.” He rose higher along her body, forcing her shoulders down to the earth not with his hands, but with her own determination not to touch him. “I will protect you.”

The water from the sea sluiced from his body in rivulets and fell onto her. Drip. Drip. His tunic clung to muscles clearly defined. The ties about his neck had come undone and the placket lay wide open, exposing his chest and the planks of taut skin over strong sinew. She swallowed back the ridiculous urge to arch up and kiss the water from his jaw. His throat. His bare chest.

“I know you are stronger than me and you can impose your will by force. But I do not have to make it easy for you. And I do not have to submit without a fight.”

The claim might sound ludicrous to an outsider observing them at a distance—a defenseless maid making such a bold statement to the outlandishly large Dane whose body quite literally imprisoned hers.

But even here, with her hair pressed into the damp sand and his angry eyes glaring down at her, she felt her own power. She did not fully understand it herself, this vague and formless feminine strength, but she knew