The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,73
soap on a bench near the foot of his bed, Wulf soaked the linen and began to wash her face with gentle strokes.
“That is good, because I did not really mean you should talk less. I like all the things you have to say. You could be a scholar, like your father.”
Her eyes burned with tears.
“That is the kindest thing anyone has said to me in…a very long time.”
Wulf tipped up her chin, studying her face as if curious to see the emotions she couldn’t contain.
“I will take good care of you and tell you more kind things.” His utter seriousness stole her heart for keeps.
She took the wet linen from him and cleaned away the blood over his eye.
“I love you, Wulf.” She realized she hadn’t spoken those words since her parents rode off without her many summers ago. “I know you believe in living with passion more than speaking about it, but it is important to me that you know my heart is yours. And I have faith that no wise woman can see the future as well as I do, because I am certain I can make you happy as no other ever could.”
“Gwendolyn.” Tenderly, he pried the wash rag from her hands and shifted her in the tub so she faced him. “From the first, I told you that I would never wed a woman unless I wished to touch no one but her for the rest of my days. I have found that woman in you.”
Gwendolyn launched herself at him, flinging wet arms around his neck, squeezing him for dear life.
“That is so good. So wonderful. Because I will never let you go and I will never share you.” Her cut wrists stung where she clasped them together behind his neck, but she did not care. He had told her the words her heart longed to hear.
And by God, she knew he meant them.
“I love you, Gwendolyn.” He whispered it softly, into her damp hair. “Even Harold knew it. I did not understand it at first, but I had to have you the moment I saw you standing on the battlements, your veils whipping around you like a foreign princess.”
She kissed his neck and his shoulder, easing back to revel in his words and the devotion of a man she trusted to keep her heart safe.
“My feet must have been drawn up those stairs for a reason.” She had been destined to meet Wulf, to be his wife.
“Aye.” He splayed a hand along her back and pressed her tight to him. “You were meant to be my captive. And I was meant to be yours.”
Epilogue
Seven months later
“IF I HAVE TO EAT ONE more fig, I will throw off all my clothes and start dancing naked like the maiden in the work of art you’ve been admiring over the hearth.”
Gwendolyn made the threat lightly as she rubbed her flat belly and teased the overprotective warrior seated at the table beside her. They dined in a grand palazzo of Venice in a far-flung corner of the kingdom of Italy. One of many stops on a tour by sea that had delighted Gwendolyn for the past many months.
They’d traveled to Brittany and Bordeaux, hugging the coastline of Francia and then the kingdom of Asturias and Leon to visit Santiago de Compostela. Finally, they’d sailed into the blue, blue waters of the Mediterranean to see Barcelona and Rome, in honor of her parents. They’d crossed Italy by land to see Venice before they began the trek home.
After securing the keep, Wulf had offered her an adventure and she had thrived on every moment of discovery. New worlds had opened her mind and her heart until she felt full to overflowing with life, love and happiness.
And just now, figs.
“You will maintain your strength,” he commanded, though he changed strategies by handing her a plump grape from a heavy silver platter instead. “My child will not be a puny Saxon, but a Dane to be reckoned with. You must nourish the babe with this in mind. But if you are of a mind to strip off your clothing to prove a point, you will witness how fast I can have you upstairs and underneath me.”
Warming at his stare, Gwendolyn could not believe how delicious it felt to love and be loved by her husband. She had only been sure she was expecting for about a fortnight, but Wulf already treated her as if she carried a full-grown babe.
They had wed the