The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,51
her shoulders back as if gathering steam. “It is enough that you wear garments we labored all winter to craft. Do not think to insult our people because of the weakness of your men to protect their possessions.”
Did she need to be so difficult? Gwendolyn bristled at the reminder that she was no better than a possession. An object.
A small crowd had gathered about them. Women traveling to the shore’s edge with washing paused to listen. Children darting through tent doors slowed to eavesdrop on the conversation. Even the village elders hushed their chatter around a fire pit to watch.
Gwendolyn regretted her decision to antagonize the woman. She could always ask Wulf about the rings privately. And she would plead with anyone she could for the sake of the journal. But arguing with Wulf’s cousin in front of his people would not further her cause.
“I’m sorry.” Gwendolyn did not bend her knee to the woman, but she did dip her chin to bow her head in public concession of the point. “I only meant to thank you for the clothing.”
While the humility before another woman did not come easily, it was at least accepted. Elsa gave a brusque nod and, gripping her hand a bit more forcefully than necessary, led her on their way.
“You are welcome.” Elsa walked shoulder to shoulder with her the rest of the way through the short main street of the village. “You are wise to respect our ways. That will make life easier for you here. We share all that we have and work together to increase our stores. If you are to be one of us, you are entitled to all we have.”
They paused in front of the last tent on the makeshift street, a small, humble affair that reeked of incense and herbal smoke.
“I’m grateful.” Gwendolyn said as much, but privately wondered why Elsa felt the need to put her in her place in front of the whole village earlier.
“Wulf has brought you here at a difficult time for us,” Elsa continued, flipping her long braid behind one shoulder as she waved a greeting to another woman. All of the residents of the encampment were tall and blue eyed, their heritage evident in more than their garb. “Harold has declared open war upon him after Wulf’s raid on Alchere that robbed Harold of his spoils. The decision to take you now, when Harold’s anger has festered…”
Elsa finished with an eloquent shrug that said more than any words. The Danes resented Gwendolyn because she’d been a catalyst in bringing things with Harold to a head. And no wonder these people were concerned about open war. Wulf might be the superior warrior, but Harold’s army severely outnumbered his from what Gwendolyn could tell.
“Do you think he will return me?” Gwendolyn knew Wulf did not wish to keep her, a fact which still tore at her for reasons she didn’t wish to think about too carefully. “Or trade me to Harold in amends for taking me in the first place?”
Either scenario frightened her to her toes. She’d found a man to admire in Wulf, but what were the chances any other Dane would treat her so well?
“Wulf chooses to keep you for now.” Her pale blue eyes skimmed over Gwendolyn’s features as if searching for an answer to the puzzle of why he would do such a thing. “That is not uncommon among our men, but it is unusual for Wulf. He does not tend to take captives in raids.”
Elsa turned to open the incense-spewing tent, as if she’d said all that she needed on the subject. But Gwendolyn was more confused than ever. Did Wulf not take captives because of Hedra? Did he still love her?
The idea stung more than it should have.
Elsa waved Gwen forward. “Come. Wulf asked me to bring you here.”
Gwendolyn recalled the brief exchange between Wulf and Elsa earlier. Words had been traded in their harsh, guttural language even though both of them spoke hers well enough. Gwen had assumed that Wulf had merely repeated his order to Erik’s cousin to take care of finding proper clothing. But apparently there had been other instructions she’d missed. Had he not mentioned them on purpose?
The happiness she’d been clutching close to her heart deflated a bit in the harsh light of day. Perhaps the things Wulf had confided in her last night had been more to warn her away than a chance for her to understand him better.
“Who lives here?” she asked, following