The Captive - By Joanne Rock Page 0,9

fear dozens of time during the trip since a ship full of invaders would have surely been much happier to ravage a whole village full of women. And the leader had made it sound as if he would be alone with her.

By the saints.

The thought would terrify any woman. But she was not a maid ignorant of the ways of men. She knew that a man’s touch could bring wrenching pain. And that had been in the bed of her husband. What would it be like with a heathen with no legal tie to her?

While the oars lifted from the water, bringing the warship to a crawl and then a halt mere feet from land, the Norseman gave some command to his men. He spoke in the quick, harsh language of the Danes that bore some small resemblance to her Saxon tongue, but not enough for her to comprehend. She’d understood snippets of what he’d said back on the boat, but he’d been speaking more slowly then. Now, she guessed he said something about his thanks and a meeting, but nothing that gave her any clearer idea what he had in mind here.

Then, he stood and allowed her to do the same, apparently trusting her not to pitch herself overboard now that he’d taken her too far from home to swim back. She debated leaping into the sea anyhow, but with a whole ship full of men at the oars, she could hardly outpace them.

“We depart,” he announced in his accented version of her language, then waited.

“I do not understand.” She shook her head, confused. They had not reached a keep or even an encampment.

“You and I are remaining here.” He gestured to the sandy cliffs that rose up from the water and ended in patches of thicket and trees. “I will help you ashore.”

“No.” She edged back, pressing herself against the carved dragonhead at the ship’s bow. The beast’s fierce aspect seemed a fitting figurehead for the sword-wielding heathens who manned the craft.

He frowned, his thick, dark eyebrows swooping low over azure blue eyes. “How are you called, lady?”

Did he truly not guess her name? Indeed, she’d hoped that he had known of her identity prior to arrival at her keep. If he did not know of her and her wealth as an heiress, what reason could he possibly have for taking her? He’d risked his life and his men’s by entering Alchere’s stronghold.

“I am Gwendolyn of Wessex.”

“Very well, Gwendolyn of Wessex, if you will not come willingly, I will be forced to carry you again. I would point out there is no sense screaming since this stretch of your coast is uninhabited.”

“You’re serious.”

He intended for her to disembark here, in the middle of nowhere. He would allow her to choose whether she wished to be toted around like a bundle of hay by him again, or else swim like a dog through waist-high water.

Her father’s journal—still tied to her thigh—could be ruined. It had a leather sleeve of sorts, but she did not trust it to keep the water out of the pages. She wasn’t sure why the journal mattered now when she needed to think of her own neck, but she had so little that was hers alone. As a woman, all the properties and wealth she’d inherited would never really belong to her. They went to her husband. Or the sons she might one day bear.

“I do not wish to depart.” She put the notion out there, hoping perhaps his argumentative friend would use it as a reason to stand up for her. The other man had not seemed pleased that Wulf had taken her.

Would the man protect her?

She braved a look in that warrior’s direction, but the man kept his attention on his oars as did the whole cursed ship full of Danes. Was there not a single chivalrous soul among them? Not to mention a nosy one?

While her head was turned, the Norse leader jumped overboard with a splash. On him, the water did not rise much higher than his knees. And once he had his footing, he reached back for her. He swooped close and, like a hawk plucks a field mouse from the ground, he lifted her high in his arms and carried her toward the shore.

She yelped and flailed in his grasp only a moment before his grip tightened. Fear made her lightheaded.

“Put me down, you overgrown lout.” She could scarcely move once he determined it necessary to hold her tight.