The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,56
live with vigor and passion. That is why the women seek out the warriors as much as the warriors seek them on the eve of battle.”
For some, it would be the last tenderness they knew.
Wulf followed Gwendolyn’s gaze to a half-dressed couple straining together under a birch tree a good stone’s throw away. Even at that distance, the pale skin of the woman was easily visible under the glow of a three-quarters moon, her shift up to her waist while her lover’s hips kept a steady rhythm against hers. Backed against the trunk, the maid’s spine arched while her slender thighs gripped the man’s sides, her fingers clenched tight about his shoulders.
Gwen clapped a hand over her mouth, but could not stifle her gasp of surprise.
“They do not wish their coupling was more private?” she whispered, tugging her gaze from the couple.
At her wrist, Wulf could feel the effect the scene had upon her pulse, her blood pumping faster. As did his.
“Since we embrace passion and virility, we do not feel the need to hide it.” He lifted his other hand to her cheek and stroked the soft skin along her jaw. “But if you have any wish to feel my hands upon you that way, I am happy to keep it private.”
Her breathing accelerated, and he savored the quick rise and fall of her breasts as they strained the seams of another woman’s dress. His hands itched to cup her full curves and tease the tips to pebbled stiffness before he took them in his mouth.
“You did not think of our privacy when you dragged me to the soothsayer’s tent to discover your seed would be fruitful.” She clenched her fist at her side. “I am not a mare that you can discuss how well I might breed in front of a tent full of people.”
He felt the tendons strain beneath his touch.
“I believe that is a standard blessing she bestows on many supplicants. If she sees health and longevity for a man, she suggests he will have many children.”
At the time, he had not given that aspect of the woman’s words much thought, focusing instead on the necessary battle ahead and what it would mean to put the past behind him.
“I am a noblewoman. I do not wish to be left alone when you go to battle with a babe and no—” she stepped back, away from him “—no legal rights for either a child or myself. It is bad enough that I have no control over my life. I will not pass on that helplessness to a child.”
Desire and loss burned within him. He could almost taste her on his tongue. The thought of going to bed without her, without her kiss on his lips or her sighs of pleasure in his ears was more than he could bear. Besides, he could not suffer the hurt in her voice.
The thought of a woman in pain because of him—he would not stand for it again.
“Then we will wed now. Tonight.” He had planned to wait until he took her keep so that he could marry her in front of a Christian priest. “If that is the assurance you seek—”
“You only want to wed me to legitimize your claim to lucrative Saxon lands.” Her gaze focused solely on him as if she’d shut out all temptation of the sensual couplings around them. “Why would I be comforted to wed a man who only offers such protection after discovering I am an heiress to a fortune?”
Anger stirred. He tried to do something for her and she twisted his every word. The Saxon woman used speech the way Danes used their swords—wielding a weapon of language to confound him. Why could they not seize what they wanted with both hands while life offered them the chance?
“I can take your lands and keep them by the might of the sword, make no mistake.” He reached for her, frustration urging him to show her how quickly she would shed all her clothes for him if he backed her up against a birch tree and settled his mouth on hers. “I have not raided and battled for a decade to rely on some greedy Saxon lord like Alchere to honor a marriage contract.”
Behind them, a woman called out her pleasure to the heavens, her throaty fulfillment echoing a man’s low voice urging her on and on with a rumble of words.
Wulf knew the sound affected Gwendolyn, for she relaxed in his grip, as if