The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,62

wood shuddered and cracked. He yanked his fist back through, the splintered wood raking open his skin as he did so.

“Save it, my friend.” A deep voice called to him from the other end of the garden. “You have far more dangerous enemies than the trellis, you know.”

Turning, Wulf saw Erik enter the wattle gate to the garden. The last thing Wulf wanted was a lecture on his temper. He swiped the blood from his knuckles onto his tunic and flexed his fist, stinging but not broken.

“I do not need you to tell me who to count among my enemies.” Since taking over the Wessex keep, he had heard that Godric—the brother of Gwendolyn’s dead husband—had been gathering forces to mount an attack. Wulf knew there were enough foes to go around.

“She is not happy to see you installed as the new lord?” Swiping at loose dirt with his boot, Erik covered the roots of some flowers Gwendolyn had been separating.

A practical and thoughtful gesture that Wulf rather wished he had thought to make. Perhaps his skill with women had vanished long ago.

“She asked me to let her choose her own husband.” Wulf was unsure why he admitted as much. But as his family, Erik would not share the tale.

“A bold lady, that one.” Erik shook his head and appeared to fight off a grin. “You think she has someone in mind?”

“I will cause him no end of pain if she does,” he muttered darkly.

“Perhaps she merely wishes to be given the right, even though she will choose you.” Erik handed him the spade and pointed to another clump of hyssop that apparently needed to be thinned while he went about pulling weeds from a thick border of daisies. “I gather some women do not enjoy being ordered about like oarsmen on a ship.”

Wulf dug apart the green stems in question, though his mind was hardly on the task. He had to prepare to fight Harold Harraldson and the considerable resources he would bring to bear on the coastal keep.

Still, as he shook the dirt from a shovel full of roots, he recalled Gwendolyn’s words to him that first day after he’d taken her.

Leading a woman requires discussion.

“That’s it.” Wulf recognized the solution to his problem, a practical way to fix the unhappiness Gwendolyn had been feeling toward him. “I will put the matter in her hands and let her choose me.”

It seemed abundantly clear under the unrelenting rays of the noontime sun. He needed to give Gwendolyn some say in her future and trust she would make the wise decision—the only possible decision. Because like it or not, Gwendolyn’s feelings had become a matter of importance to him even though he’d promised himself he would never care deeply about a woman again. As long as she did not know the power she wielded, all would be well.

Yet as he stalked from the garden to find her and make things right, he could not ignore the vague uneasiness that settled over him like a cloud and shadowed his every step.

COMBING HER DAMP HAIR before the looking glass in her bedchamber, Gwendolyn thought perhaps she had overreacted when she walked away from Wulf earlier.

After leaving the garden that afternoon, Gwendolyn had spent hours in her father’s library putting books in their proper places and reading bits from volumes she recalled from her childhood. She’d smiled to find the old ink drawing of a Titan, the picture she’d once thought about while gazing upon Wulf.

And as always, the thought of her parents’ counsel gave her peace. Patience. Perhaps Wulf had not intended to cut her to the quick with his easy assumption of marriage. He simply did not understand how she carried the hurts of her union with Gerald even now. The thought of being so powerless again—of letting a man dictate her every move—frightened her deeply. The very strength of will in Wulf that she admired, that would keep her people safe, could also make him a difficult man to live with.

Now, drawing a heavy silver comb through her hair to help it dry after her bath, she reminded herself that Wulf was not Gerald. The Dane was a far better man. Because of that, he had far more power to hurt her in ways Gerald could never have. She’d already lost a piece of her heart to him and seen how little he returned her caring.

How deep might the hurt be if she fell all the way in love with