The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,71

a grin.

“Nay. I will not look upon her. And I will pay homage to you on your lands. If you allow me to go, I will accept the wergild you paid for Hedra and leave you in peace.”

Behind Wulf, Gwendolyn gasped. Once again, her gentle hand brushed his arm. And to Wulf’s surprise, he felt unsteady enough that he needed to reach back and hold on to her hand, as well.

“What trick is this?” He saw Erik step away from the king and knew Harold could take his sword anytime, but he did not move for it.

“No trick.” Harold waved the sword and Erik aside. “Anger has eaten away at me all year, Wulf. Not just because of Hedra, but because I did not believe you mourned her enough or even loved her the way the misguided girl adored you.”

Wulf had taken sword blows that stung less than that accusation.

“You have no right to judge—”

“Perhaps not.” Harold raised a hand to cut him off. “Either way, I can see now that you are not just a warrior. And now—finally—I can believe that maybe Hedra wounded you as much as you hurt her. Because with my own eyes, I see that you are capable of losing your heart just like any other mortal man. For me, that is enough justice for my sister.”

The older man had the gall—nay, the iron-clad balls—to turn his back on Wulf and head for the garden gate even though he stood in a thicket of Saxons and enemy Danes.

Beside him, Gwendolyn squeezed his arm. “Say something,” she urged, her quick-witted tongue always finding words faster.

Releasing the hilt of his sword Wulf called to him.

“Where do you think you are going?” He gestured to the thick walls of the fortress all around the courtyard.

“I am returning to my ships and giving the order to retreat.” Harold turned, holding his weight off his wounded leg. “We will not see one another again in this lifetime, Wulf. You do not need to fear me.”

He really intended to just sail home. End of story. All because he thought Wulf had a heart and that he’d lost it.

A cagey opponent, Harold Haaraldson.

Not having the same facility with words as his Saxon lady, Wulf settled for pounding his chest with his fist. It was an old gesture of respect for the Danes.

His men followed suit, the crash of hard knuckles on chainmail filling the courtyard.

Harold closed his hand and repeated the gesture once. Twice. Then he raised his fist as if to rally his army, and stalked off toward the battlements, the setting sun streaking his departure with bright gold and purple.

An old weight rolled off Wulf’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized how the dark the cloud over him had been until just now when he felt the last of the day’s light on his shoulders and saw Gwendolyn peer up at him with misty eyes.

“He must be a good king,” she announced in the hush of the aftermath.

Erik waved the others out of the garden although he remained to stand guard. A good man, that one.

“He has always been a strong leader,” Wulf agreed, waiting to pull her closer until he saw some sign from her, some sense of how she felt about their future. “You understand now why I did not wish to kill him.”

Gwendolyn gave him a small smile, clearly careful of the cuts about her mouth. All Wulf could think of was how grateful he was to have her back. Safe. His.

Or so he fervently hoped. He could have tolerated any defeat today save losing this woman who meant everything to him.

“Does it hurt overmuch?” He lifted her in his arms, not giving her the option of walking.

Gwendolyn did not know it yet, but he did not plan to let her leave his chamber for a fortnight at least. His heart—a very real organ he possessed despite commonly held rumor—would not tolerate another scare like today.

“I am well enough,” she assured him, tipping her head close to his chest.

“Excellent.” Heedless of the destruction about them, and Godric and the rest of the Saxon prisoners being led to a holding area, Wulf strode toward the living area behind the outer bailey. Toward his chamber. “I know a priest who will be glad to attend you in our chamber if you are able to speak the vows.”

GWENDOLYN SWALLOWED HARD.

This was what she wanted. And she’d told herself that she did not mind if Wulf did not always speak the words she