The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,6

only made him more certain he’d been destined to have her.

Now, he sprinted away from the keep with the woman in his arms, ready to meet his men and depart before Alchere learned they’d been there. Before the other Danes who led the invading party discovered his men had taken their spoils while they wasted time with talk down on the beach.

“Only a little farther,” he assured the woman, feeling her shaking against him. Of course, she would be frightened now, no matter how bold she’d appeared earlier. “Our boats are hidden nearby, just through these trees.”

He could have set her on her feet, but he suspected she would not move quickly enough for his liking. He did, however, remove his hand from her mouth so that he could balance her weight more evenly in his arms.

“A curse upon you!” she screamed immediately, nearly deafening him as he reached the longship already packed with three quarters of his men. “You rank and craven boar! Reeking devil’s spawn!”

“By Thor’s beard, Wulf, can you not gag her?”

Wulf’s cousin, Erik, waited in the bow of the boat, his gaze darting in the direction of the other invaders on the shore close to Alchere’s keep.

“A lone, shrieking woman will hardly draw notice during a Norse raid.” In his experience, there were generally a handful of females in every town who screeched from the moment the longships were spotted until the last boat had taken its leave.

Wading through the shallows to the ship, Wulf debated handing her over to Erik while he boarded. There was no choice, really. If not for Wulf’s iron grip on her, the writhing maid would have flung herself into the sea or cracked her skull on the side of the ship in the attempt, so settling her on the deck without someone restraining her was not an option. Still, the thought of Erik’s hands on the captive sent a surge of possessiveness through him.

Resettling her in his arms, he was able to keep her cradled while replacing a hand over her mouth. Her screeching halted at the same time he paused at the side of the ship.

She looked less like a haughty noblewoman and more like a trapped animal. Trembling all over, her eyes wide with fright, she felt cold to the touch even though sweat beaded along her brow.

Strands of dark hair and golden ribbons trailed over her cheek, everything askew from her struggle. Pink color flamed along her creamy cheeks and neck. She weighed nothing at all, her skirts and cloak accounting for most of the bulk in his arms. But her strong will was evident in the way her elbow still rammed his chest and her hips twisted for freedom despite his superior strength. Many women fainted at the sight of a marauding army.

Not this one.

He could already imagine the feel of her surrender beneath him. And it would not be the momentary satisfaction he normally took from lying with a woman. A bold wench who climbed castle walls to look out on the battlefield would present a challenge that appealed to the tactician in him. He would enjoy this.

“We will not be at sea for long,” he confided, his words soft for her ears alone. Erik would think he’d lost his wits to comfort a captive. Indeed, he could not say for certain why he bothered. But something about the woman had enthralled him from the first. “This ship is built for speed and can take us where we are going quickly.”

“Hand her over, Wulf,” Erik bit out through gritted teeth. “We should make haste before Harold finds out his spoils have been stolen out from under his men.”

Cursing the need to let anyone save him touch her, Wulf deposited the woman in Erik’s arms while he lifted himself out of the surf and into the ship. Seawater clung to his braies, the cooling effect welcome after the way the nameless Saxon lass had set fire to him.

She screamed more insults about their mothers, their gods and their resemblance to various animals in the moments when no one had her mouth covered, but Wulf’s men were too well trained to comment on his unwillingness to gag her. The Danes who sailed with him were an elite force of men who’d worked together ever since he’d been old enough to command his own ship. These were the men who’d remained loyal to him when he’d been driven from his homeland by Harold Haaraldson.

Harold held Wulf responsible for