The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,63

the arrogant, infuriating man who had vowed to protect her? Too bad his oath did not safeguard her heart the way it protected the rest of her.

Giving up on drying her hair, Gwen rose from the looking glass to join the others in the great hall. She did not know what her answer to him would be, yet she was determined not to lose her temper again. Or at least, they could set aside their dispute until they both settled down.

She hurried toward the hall for the extra meal. The laborers from the village toiled over the battlements until the sun dipped below the horizon, and Wulf rewarded their efforts by providing a lavish repast after sundown. The special sup would not last long—another sennight, perhaps. A costly yet clever way to win the hearts of her people.

The Viking had not lied when he said he was wealthy beyond her imaginings.

She departed her bedchamber, savoring the feel of rich fabrics against her clean skin after the days of rough wool and muslin while she traveled with Wulf. The whisper of silk on her thighs called to mind how long it had been since Wulf had visited her bed. Who would have guessed she would miss a man’s touch after she’d feared it for so long?

Music from the great hall greeted her ears before she turned the corner into the space. Minstrels from Wulf’s temporary encampment to the west had arrived at the keep with the women and children today, transporting the whole of that rough village to her doorstep.

His doorstep. She had to remind herself she was as much a guest at his mercy as anyone.

Turning the corner, she felt the bright torches of the great hall bathe her in warm, golden light. The scent of roasted meat and fresh bread wafted toward her, making her stomach groan appreciatively.

Then she saw him.

Wulf sat in the lord’s seat on the dais, a massive ram’s horn in one hand and the other draped along the shoulders of Gwen’s least favorite widow.

Margery.

Gwendolyn blinked, hoping when she opened her eyes again they would show her a more favorable picture. But she got the exact same view the second time around. The cursed husband-hunter simpered up at him, drooling like a child viewing a sugared fig.

Gwen told herself she had no right to be angry, and she repeated the lie several times over on her approach to the cozy-looking couple. When she stood there, like a supplicant before the lord on the wrong side of his mighty table, she found she could not hold her tongue.

“My lord.” She curtsied prettily, less out of respect than from a need to capture the Dane’s attention.

Even through lowered lashes, she could see him remove his arm from her wretched rival’s back. The gesture proved small comfort. And by the saints, was that a lump forming in her throat? She would never forgive herself if she shed a tear in front of Margery.

“My lady.” He greeted her politely. Warmly. He stood. “We have been holding your seat. We were just discussing—”

“I seek an indulgence,” she told him quickly, her eyes still burning with the threat of ridiculous, ill-placed tears. “A favor in exchange for the time I spent as your captive.”

He owed her nothing. They both knew as much. Still, she recognized the politics of the moment. He was busy playing the generous lord and would not wish to deny the keep’s former lady a favor, especially when his abduction had robbed her of much marital worth.

What man wanted a bride who’d been the sexual plaything of a Dane? Even if he had never laid a finger upon her person, that was the reality of her reputation the moment she’d sailed off in his longship.

Wulf eyed her warily. He knew her well. Beside him, Margery arranged herself prettily on the trestle bench, straightening her posture and leaning subtly close to the man who’d clearly become her new romantic quarry.

“You may ask,” he told her, taking his seat again.

The confrontation attracted attention from all around the hall. The minstrels played on, though conversation nearby halted. The villagers pointed their way and whispered behind their hands.

On the other end of the dais, Erik and Elsa watched them closely.

Which was just as well. Wulf would have a more difficult time refusing her in front of so many witnesses. So, in a last ditch effort to save her heart anymore shredding, she made a perfectly reasonable request.

“Because you are not my true overlord,