Reckless (Age of Conquest #5) - Tamara Leigh Page 0,8
to blame for allowing anger to delay her dismount during the trade.
She had tried to contain her roiling—truly she had!—but so vexed was she with Vitalis for siding with the Danes and insisting she be bound and gagged, she had failed.
“For naught!” She lifted her eyes to the canvas which the last of day’s light struggled to penetrate. “Now what think you of this adventure, Nicola?” she demanded of the young woman who had assured Mercia her own abduction was more interesting than working needle and thread. And it had been.
“Still is,” she told herself, though it was less interesting now she was aboard a ship which the earl’s whim could cause to sail for Denmark. Anchored outside the estuary, the shore was too distant to reach even were she a strong swimmer.
Hence, perhaps it was not a bad thing the earl did not like her. When Bjorn had unbound her, she had played the equally besotted Norman lady, but after the earl greeted his son, he had turned suspicion upon her.
“Nicola!” Bjorn’s call preceded the snap of canvas that granted him and the light of dusk admittance without permission.
Were her back not turned to him, he would have seen what took much effort to mask.
Find your opponent’s weakness and exploit it, her sister-in-law had commanded when her instruction in wielding quarterstaffs landed the younger woman on her back. And not only when weapons are at play, Lady Hawisa had added as she raised Nicola’s chin with the end of her staff. Even better when the mind is at play.
The latter far more difficult, Nicola silently grumbled, then forced a smile and turned. “As you did not alert this lady to your entrance, something must be amiss.”
The handsome young man let the canvas fall behind him, once more dimming her chamber. On one side of it, she was grateful it aided in hiding her falsity. On the other side, she did not like how much more vulnerable it made her feel.
“All is amiss,” Bjorn began in Danish, then blessedly switched to English. Though the two languages were similar, her increasing facility with that of the Saxons allowed her to more quickly translate it into her Norman-French. “But be assured, my sire will do right by us.”
She set her head to the side. “Have you word from him?”
“He tells Canute arrived with his betrothed, as well as your cousin.”
Nicola gasped. “Maël?”
“Shocking, eh? The king’s man gave pursuit, and when he tried to recover Mercia, was himself taken captive.”
Fear tightened her throat. “Was he injured?”
“Beaten, but not badly. He is imprisoned on my sire’s ship.”
Lord, protect him, she silently entreated, then added, and me.
As much as she wished to extricate herself to prove worthy of Lady Hawisa’s training, she had little chance of doing so without aid. “What of Mercia, Bjorn? Is she imprisoned as well?”
“Nay. Canute is unhappy she fled him, but since they are betrothed, he accords her much consideration.”
“Is she on the earl’s ship?”
“Aye, though now it is my cousin’s ship.” He grimaced. “My sire is not pleased.”
“What of your ally, Vitalis? He is with the prince?”
Bjorn frowned. “The messenger did not say, so likely not.”
Might the Saxon have fallen during the clash between Danes and Normans after the trade went awry? If so, had Maël slain the rebel who shamed the king?
“Your heart hurts, my lady?”
She had not realized she grasped her bodice. Releasing it she said, “I am concerned for my cousin.”
Bjorn’s smile was all assurance. “As he is the king’s man and a D’Argent, he is worth more alive than dead.” He stepped closer. “Worry not, Nicola. Canute will not ransom you.”
She moistened her lips and wished she had not when his gaze pounced on her mouth. “But if he finds me—us—here? What then?”
“If he seeks to search this ship, my sire will give warning so his men can move us to another. Do not fear, we shall stay ahead of him.”
He drew nearer, and she allowed him to kiss her. Grateful it was no more passionate than his other kisses, though this one lingered as if to coax a response, she closed her eyes.
Bjorn drew back. “Truly, you like my kisses, Nicola?”
Not at all, she thought. “I do, but as told, since a maiden and noble lady ought to have no experience with such, I had none before you.” A lie, as evidenced by her presence in England rather than Normandy from which she had been—
Not exactly exiled, she corrected, but it was thought best