The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,59

wishing she’d suggested they banish Margery along with the outgoing soldiers.

The widows had been called out to the courtyard in addition to the Earl of Alchere’s steward and one of the king’s envoys who’d remained behind until Alfred’s proposed return in a fortnight. Wulf would make arrangements for all of them before he allowed his men to take their ease in the great hall and celebrate their victory.

It was impressive to see them assemble there, some still bleeding from the short skirmish that won the day, not moving a muscle until Wulf released them. Of course, Gwendolyn now understood how important that tight rein was for Wulf. She had seen a hint of his control slip last night and she felt his regret afterward like a tangible thing. Would he ever show her that wildness again?

Watching him now, his face expressionless even as he gave his men permission for a victory cheer, she could not imagine it.

“So?” Margery prodded, leaving the word hanging in midair for a long moment after Wulf signaled everyone to attend him in the great hall. “Was the Dane a brute or did he—eh—stir the pot before diving in?”

Gwendolyn blinked, then shuddered at the image.

“I have no wish to speak of my time away.” She could not help that her eyes followed him even though she’d told herself he would only break her heart.

Part of her feared he already had.

In spite of herself, she had opened her body to him and in doing so, she’d somehow opened her heart. It was a sly path to a woman’s soul, but ever since he’d cut open his hand to prove his gentle intentions toward her, she had felt a growing tenderness for Wulf.

How could she not when he’d treated her so much more kindly than any other man ever had?

“Then you will not mind if I sit beside him at sup?” Margery asked, her voice all veiled sweetness and wicked intent.

At that moment, Gwendolyn recalled her fate was no longer in the earl’s hands. Would Gwendolyn reign here as lady? Or would she remain little more than a concubine, succumbing to the heat he stirred within her even as her heart warned her it would lead to more hurt for her. Indeed, given her feelings for Wulf, she wondered if he could end up hurting her worse than Gerald had. Bruises healed. A broken heart…Well, just look how thoroughly the condition had wounded Wulf.

And heaven help her, didn’t her heart already ache every time she thought of him?

“If so much as your hem touches the Dane,” she warned, turning on Margery and whispering low, “I will show you what the Vikings taught me about the use of an axe.”

Just as Wulf had explained to her once, Saxons truly did turn green at the mention of the Dane’s weapon of choice. While it was probably crude of her to take some small pleasure in that fact right now, Gwendolyn had the feeling it would be the last pleasure she would know for a long, long time.

Because although Wulf had proposed a practical union between them, he would never offer her what she craved most from him. And what pleasure could there be in his touch, knowing she would never incite the feelings in him that he had in her?

While Margery huffed and puffed her indignation alongside her, Gwen couldn’t help but think her days of adventure had landed her right back where she started—under a man’s thumb and as much a prisoner as ever.

Only this time, much as she’d like to think otherwise, she’d brought a broken heart along with her.

14

TWO DAYS HAD PASSED since Wulf took over the keep. Gwendolyn knew this well, for she had marked the time on a sundial in her mother’s old garden.

She worked there now, taking out her frustrations on an overgrown bed of betony and daisies, foxgloves and hyssop. All around the coastal holding, the Danes labored to implement strategic changes to the walls and battlements, protecting the lands against attack by water—the tactic most likely to be used by Harold’s men.

On the first night back home under Wulf’s rule, he had not come to her bedchamber after the victory feast, making her think he had only wanted her in the first place to secure his hold on the lands. When she’d seen him briefly the next day, he’d told her that his presence and visibility was extremely important now that he’d claimed the keep—both for her people and for his men.