The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,65
she’d behaved like a foolish, lovesick maid to confront Wulf so rashly in the hall. Nay. More than that, she staggered from his remark that she had wounded him. What woman could wound a man lest he cared a bit for her?
“Yes.” Nodding, she planned to agree with whatever he said. She only prayed she would have the chance to make this right with him after a victorious end to the battle. “I will not move until you come for me. May your gods and mine fight on your side.”
Arching up on her toes, she kissed his jaw, which was as high as she could reach without some aid from him. He peered down at her strangely, as if he did not understand her at all.
By the saints, she’d made a mess of things with him. In protecting herself, she’d behaved no better than the last woman who had trifled with his heart—and left him with a wound he still carried.
“Aye.” He nodded, a terse gesture that revealed nothing. His blue eyes were like the sea before the storm, churning uneasily with cloudy color. “We will discuss your options for marriage afterward.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left, effectively dumping her in the holding cell for women and babes. Pandemonium reigned as tears flowed from worried mothers and wives. Osbert and the other two Danes charged with guarding them appeared unmoved, their gazes turned away from the chaos to monitor the sole entrance to the structure.
She watched Wulf’s broad shoulders turn sideways through the door to fit through the stream of villagers’ wives and kitchen staff now joining the ladies and children in the keep. Gwendolyn fought the temptation to chase down the Dane for another kiss, but hadn’t she sworn to stay put? Ignoring the lure of what Wulf would call her “passionate nature,” she remained dutifully inside the keep though she hated knowing she would be ignorant of what went on outside the gray walls.
She had a bad feeling about the battle, an uneasiness in her gut that she struggled to ignore. Perhaps she was merely upset about the words she’d exchanged with Wulf in the hall after she’d vowed to keep her temper.
Taking a seat on the floor beside the baker’s wife and young daughter, Gwendolyn offered to hold the baby to give the mother’s arms a rest. Everyone suffered from overheating after the scramble of running to the innermost keep. Fear added another sticky element to the packed bodies.
At least when Margery came in, she sat on the opposite wall. Though Gwen noticed she’d lingered at the doorway bidding farewell to a man Gwen did not recognize. Just how many prospective husbands did she have?
With an effort, Gwendolyn ignored her and the pit of anxiety churning through her belly to focus on the shred of hope she’d savored from her conversation with Wulf. He’d given her reason to believe he had a heart beneath the warrior armor.
That alone would ensure she played the role he wanted for her in this battle. Captive no more, Gwen found she was more bound to the Dane than ever.
THE BATTLE DID NOT FEEL RIGHT from the beginning.
Wulf swung his sword with a wide, wild arc as he repelled Harold’s men on the battlements. Sweat stung his eyes and blood from a cut on his head distracted him, hampering his vision when he needed to see clearly. He did not tire; nay, he welcomed the chance to finally meet Harold’s vengeance with a year’s worth of frustrations. But something bothered him about the encounter.
Harold’s men fought like they wanted to conquer the keep, not just win Wulf’s head on a pike. They mounted ladders to scramble over the walls, attempts that so far had been foiled by Wulf’s men. But if even a few of Harold’s warriors succeeded, would the Saxon villagers recognize one Dane from another? What havoc might Harold’s men wreak within the walls if they were mistaken for Wulf’s people?
Dispatching his latest opponent, Wulf reached to push the newest wooden ladder aside from the walls. An arrow stung his hand, landing in the narrow space between his thumb and forefinger to stick between the rocks of the parapets.
Odin’s beard.
Desperation tinged the air in ways he had not expected. The loss of life on both sides would be detrimental to all. Could Harold not see that? Had he ceased to be an effective leader?
Swiping away more blood and sweat, Wulf turned from the shouts and oaths of