The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,54
besting your opponent. It’s why you took me in the first place.” Releasing his tunic, she straightened to face him, knowing she could not soften toward him again. “Not because you wanted me. You took me so that your enemy could not.”
LATER THAT NIGHT, WULF decided when he arrived in Valhalla his first order of business would be to confront the Norns in Helheimr, the world of the dark goddess of spinning and weaving, the deepest realm of the Underworld. Would those ancient sisters be able to explain why he had been confronted with the impossible task of protecting Gwendolyn’s physical well-being while safeguarding her womanly heart?
Right now, it seemed he could not do both. She was not some tavern maid that he could keep safe merely by providing her with a tent and a meal every day. She was a Saxon heiress coveted by many. Her king and her overlord collected rents on her properties. Her dead husband’s family sought the wealth that would belong to the man who fathered her child. Wars were fought over women that valuable. So if he wanted to keep her out of Alchere’s hands and out of Godric’s hands, Wulf had to install her somewhere with walls and gates, guards and weapons. Thanks to his feud with Harold, he did not have those things. But Gwendolyn did. It made the most sense to take the properties that would be hers one day anyhow.
Yet, this practical need made him appear calculating and greedy in her eyes, just like all the other men who wanted control of her. He’d hurt her today.
He watched her now from the edges of the night’s bonfire. His people toasted the warriors in preparation for their upcoming battle. The women gave themselves to the men in private couplings all around the woods, taking hold of precious life while they could and making the most of it. But his fickle widow was apart from the revelry after having ignored him all day.
She currently attempted to steal a horse. Not just any mount, either, but his. He wondered why she did not settle for one of the smaller mares that would have been easier to manage. But nay, the woman who strode the battlements during an invasion and dove off a longship into treacherous waters had to choose his oversize, battle-hardened warhorse for her latest escape attempt.
If he thought she might be in real danger, he would have whistled to the horse or intervened another way. Erik watched her from the shadows, as well, his second-in-command helping him protect her. Wulf would have been more amused at the brazen cheek of the woman if his chest wasn’t constricted so tight at the thought of losing her.
She truly would leave him.
He hadn’t wanted to believe it after the night they’d spent together. He’d told her things he’d never shared with another living soul, claiming her tender heart for his own after having claimed her beautiful body days ago.
He needed to wed her. Not just for legal rights to her keep and lands necessary for his battle with Harold, because he could obtain those by force on the battlefield. But he wanted her to bear his name and his protection everywhere she went. By invoking his name, she could send enemies fleeing.
He wanted her to have that power and that safeguard so that no man would even dream of touching her. But how would he coerce her consent in front of a priest without alienating her completely? Some Danes might force a marriage on a captive, but Wulf would not do that.
He could think of only one way to convince her, but he was not prepared to offer the tender sentiment she might respond to. Hedra had robbed him of that soft ness, and he would not lie about a love he could no longer feel.
While he brooded, Gwendolyn somehow managed to get her leg over the beast’s back. Her soft cry of surprise was echoed by the warhorse’s neighing. From the shadows, Erik looked to him, but Wulf was already on his feet to give chase.
He might not want to wed an unwilling woman, but with a fickle widow trying to outrun him at every turn and putting herself in one kind of danger after another, he might no longer have a choice.
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OF COURSE HE COULDN’T CATCH her on foot.
She rode a swift horse and she weighed no more than a kitten. But that didn’t mean he would concede defeat. Wulf called off