Hearts Aflame

by Johanna Lindsey

  She put enough anger into her voice to make him think she was unaware of what she had done. "I happen to love my mother very much, and she is most certainly alive, and no doubt worried sick about me. You think because I am a woman that I am without honor? Or is it because I am a Viking woman that you will not trust my word?" He had taken a step toward her, but he stopped now. "Words, wench, easily said. Actions speak plainer, and yours do not say much for you." "Why? Because I want to kill your cousin?" she asked, then taunted, "Or because I do not jump when you call?" His fist slammed into his palm, telling her that her barb had struck home. At least she was inflaming his passion, even if it was the wrong kind of passion. "God's breath!" he swore in exasperation. "You are the most audacious woman! I see I waste my time here again. You simply refuse to understand." "I understand, Royce," Kristen replied levelly. "And I was willing to meet you halfway." "Nay, you want it all your way!" "Not so," she insisted. "I offered my word, which cost me much, for half of me still wants to leave here and go home." "And I cannot trust the word of anyone, woman or man, whom I have known so short a time. Nor do I believe part of you can truly want to stay here as you are: without rights, without hope of ever being more than a slave." "Aye, how right you are, milord," Kristen agreed ironically. "Why indeed would I want to stay here? Surely not because of you." "Me?" he scoffed. "You want me to believe now that I am the reason, when you turn me away each night? Or do you come with me tonight, Kristen?" "Do you unchain me for good, milord?" she countered pleasantly. "By the saints—" He did not finish, but turned on his heel with a low growl and left the room. Kristen felt like screaming with the closing of the door. "You accept defeat too easily, Saxon!" she spat in frustration, a little too loudly, for the door reopened, making her gasp with the suddenness of it. "Did I hear you right, wench?" Royce demanded in a voice too calm for the slamming back of that door. He left the door open for what light it provided and walked toward her slowly, purposefully. Kristen yanked the blanket back up to her neck. She would have liked to leap to her feet, for she felt vulnerable lying there on the floor with him now standing so far above her, next to her, but she wasn't going to show him that she was concerned at all by his nearness. She turned on her back instead, so she could look up at him. "What do you think you heard?" she ventured warily. "A challenge." His voice was still calm, but there was a definite menacing quality in that answer. "And when you issue a challenge, you must abide by the results." "What results?" He bent down and swiped her blanket away in answer. In a moment his body lay atop hers, both hands holding her head still so his mouth could descend. But before their lips met, Kristen gave a mighty heave that tossed him off her to the side. She knew it was only the unexpectedness that had allowed her to do that, but she took quick advantage, scrambling over him and to her feet. But his hand caught one foot, tripping her as she took her first step toward the door.

  Kristen fell to the floor, twisted over, and kicked at Royce with her other foot, gaining her freedom again. But he was sitting up now, and though she snatched her feet back so he couldn't try to grab them again, she knew she would never make the door in time. She stood up with him, backing away slowly, her arms out to ward him off. He moved to the side, forcing her to give up the path to the door. He stopped when he effectively blocked that only exit. "Get back on your pallet, Kristen." There was ominous warning in that cold order, but she stubbornly shook her head, backing away from him to the side of the room, coming up short against the wall. There was no escape, but she didn't really want to escape. He was finally going to force his will on her, and though she would not give him this victory easily, she wanted the victory to be his—or at least to have him think it was his. Pride would not let her give in, but brute strength would.

  Her heart was racing as she watched him strip off his belt and tunic and angrily throw them aside. And he was angry. There was danger in that, for he could very well hurt her. He was such a terribly big man, with immense power in his arms and hands. And he might be feeling at this moment that he needed to beat her into submission. It was what most men would do. But she had known the risk when she goaded him into this.

  He did not move until his remaining clothes lay scattered about the floor. He had stood facing her, staring at her the whole while, the light illuminating only one side of him, leaving the other in darkest shadow. If she had not been standing there naked herself, he might have calmed down, or at least reconsidered what he was going to do. But he was too aroused from the sight of her for that.

  She did not think he would leave the room to get a candle. She was going to elude him as soon as he closed the door, cutting off the light. That was her plan, as far as it went. Only Royce gave no thought to closing the door, mayhap for the very reason that the dark would hinder him until he laid hands on her. Kristen had to quickly rework her strategy when he started toward her.

  She pushed away from the wall, keeping away from the corners of the room that would trap her. She could stay out of his reach only so long, which would not be long at all if he moved more quickly. But he was stalking her now, maneuvering her closer to her pallet, staying in a position where she could not dash around him to run for the door.

  Kristen decided on the unexpected again, and with her hands clasped tightly together, she stopped retreating and turned on Royce to swing at him as she had done to Alden. The blow had staggered the slimmer man. But Royce did not have his back to her, and it was Kristen who was taken by surprise when he caught her locked fists in one hand. And he did not stop the blow, but added his own pull to it so that she was swung nearly full circle, making it possible for his other arm to slip about her waist and heft her off her feet.

  He had only two steps to take to reach her pallet, and he tossed her down there. As thin as her pallet was, it was like being dropped on the hard floor. Kristen was stunned for a moment, the breath knocked out of her. It was all the time Royce needed to position himself between her sprawled legs and enter her before she had a chance to use those strong legs to ward him off.

  He heard her gasp of outrage now that she had her breath back, and he chuckled as her hands slipped between them to try to push him back. It was a useless effort. He was firmly planted and prepared for anything she might try.

  "Give it up, vixen." He leaned into her to whisper by her ear. "You have lost what you are fighting to deny me." In answer she bucked her hips to try to unseat him. That was useless, too, and only served to send him deeper into her. She gasped again, but because of the exquisite feeling of capturing all of him. He gasped, too, at the delicious thrill such deep penetration sent through him. "Ah, woman, I take it back," he breathed huskily. "Fight me all you like." Kristen very nearly giggled at his impassioned plea, which would have destroyed the impression that she was being forced to submit to his greater strength. But his mouth prevented her, closing over hers in a fervent kiss. She showed him one last bit of resistance by trying to turn her head away, but his mouth only followed hers back and forth and she finally gave up the pretense, accepting his kiss, returning it wholeheartedly.

  His humor, although no doubt stemming from his feeling of conquest, had warmed her. She didn't care about its source. As long as he was no longer angry, he would not be brutal—though at the moment she thought she could have withstood that, too, so inflamed were her senses.

  Her hands slipped out from between them and gripped his head, keeping his mouth melded to hers as he began to undulate his torso in a most delightful way, not withdrawing completely, but grinding his hips against her instead, his belly, his chest, all combining in an erotic caress.

  Kristen reached her climax almost immediately, and unknowingly lifted his entire weight as her pelvis rose off the pallet to beg for all of him. His own thrust as he attained that bit of heaven too, slammed her back down and increased her pleasure, bringing a moan from deep within her throat. She could feel the pulsing of his climax inside her, and this kept her own sweet throbbing alive and lasting much longer than she could have believed possible.
It was with regret that she returned to reality. He was like a dead weight on her, but she did not mind. His head was turned to the side, his breathing still heavy. Her fingers moved dreamily through his hair. She felt she could stay just like this forever. That was too much to hope for, however.

  What he thought of her complete submission she couldn't guess. Considering the way a man prided himself on his prowess, he might simply attribute her capitulation to his skill as a lover. Whatever he thought was fine with her, as long as he didn't guess she had maneuvered him into making love to her. She imagined he would be furious if he realized that.

  Her hands fell to his shoulders, then on to his chest when he leaned up to gaze down at her. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, steady now, but with a strong beat. She stared at him, trying to divine from his expression what he was thinking, but he revealed nothing. In fact he seemed to be studying her features for the same reason, to see what she was thinking. If only he knew. She smiled at the thought. "So you are not angry with me?" he said. "Of course I am." Royce chuckled delightedly. "Do you always smile when you are angry?" "Not always, but sometimes." She said that so seriously. Royce shook his head. To accept everything she said as truth was to be constantly amazed by her. He would rather think she jested. "I suppose I should apologize," he offered. "Aye, you should." He snorted at her ready agreement. He would say no more about it. She had challenged him. Mayhap she did not deserve such a harsh response from him, but she had certainly accepted him in the end and reached her own pleasure too. Why she had stubbornly refused him to begin with... He knew why, and there was naught he could do to change it. He leaned up further to move off her, but for a moment their hips were more tightly pressed together. He was still inside her, and Kristen closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him before he withdrew. Watching her, Royce sucked in his breath. "God's mercy, wench, do you do it apurpose?" Her eyes flew open wide. "What?" She truly didn't know what she had done this time. "When you look like that... 'tis how you look when we—" "How do you know? Do you watch me?" "Aye." She was intrigued. "I had not thought of that. I will have to try it when next I make love." "To stare into those lovely eyes of yours at such a time would drive a man wild," he predicted. Deliberately, she smiled. "You need not worry, milord. I was not thinking 'twould be you I would watch." "I hope you jest, wench," he said sternly as he stood, pulling her up with him. "You would not like the consequences if you do not. I will not allow you other lovers. As long as I want you for myself, you will be faithful." She cocked a brow, feeling a certain satisfaction in being able to tease him. "Will I?" He did not answer, but pulled her along with him as he swiped up his clothes, her clothes as well, and headed for the door. Kristen felt her cheeks flush with heat as she realized the door had been open all this time, that anyone could have passed by and seen them.

  Someone could have stood right in the door and watched them the whole time for all she knew, so involved had she been with this lover of hers.

  Her lover. How she liked the sound of that. There would be changes now. There had to be. And he would not regret giving in. She would prove to him that he was indeed her heartmate.

  As soon as he reached his room and closed the door, Royce dropped the bundle of clothes to the floor and gathered Kristen into his arms. "Now you pay the forfeit for denying me for so long. You will get no sleep tonight." "Is that a challenge, milord?" Kristen purred, hoping more that it was a promise.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The sky was only a blaze of pink when Royce was roused by one of his men. There had been a disturbance among the prisoners. It had been brought under control, but Thorolf wanted to speak to him.

  Royce sent the man away. If the disturbance was over, he did not need to rush down to the yard. But he could not dally, either. He sighed, glancing down at his bedmate. The dawn gave only a hazy light to the room, but he could see her clearly from where he sat next to her.

  Kristen slept on, having been disturbed not at all by the sound of voices. Royce was not surprised. He had kept her awake most of the night—or, rather, she had kept him awake by her very presence. He simply could not leave her alone. He grinned in remembrance, a little amazed that he was not feeling exhausted himself this morn.

  She lay curled on her side with her hands tucked between her legs as if she were cold, a habit no doubt acquired from the frigid winters she was used to. Her tawny hair was loose and tangled, spreading about her head like a pool of gold. The thin sheet that had covered them when they did finally sleep came no higher than her hips now, leaving the creamy-white expanse above her waist exposed to his view.

  He felt a peculiar excitement in being able to look at her like this without her knowing. She was the first woman to ever share his bed for a whole night, the first he had ever watched sleeping. The serfs that he favored he usually took where he found them. The few he had brought to his bed left as soon as he was done with them. Corliss he left himself, having no desire to spend a whole night in her bed. It was the same with the ladies of the court whom he had known intimately.

  Why didn't he mind sharing his bed with this Viking wench for other than making love to her? Mind? Nay, he liked having her next to him in sleep. But why her? He still despised her for who she was. Or did he? She and her kind had done him the worst wrong possible. She was a woman, but she had still been raised with the same beliefs as the men who had come here to rob and kill his people. She was a Viking, a heathen, an abomination to all God-fearing Christians.

  If he did not still despise her, he should. He should also have resisted more successfully his attraction to her. He was disgusted with himself for this weakness she had made him see in himself, and more so now that she had proved her will was stronger than his. She wanted him still. Last eve in this room had proved that. Yet she denied him all week, and would have continued to do so if he had not forced her to submit.

  Royce made a disgusted sound with his tongue. Castigating himself now served no purpose. The damage was done, and he was not ready to put it behind him. Giving in once to his desire for her had not been enough. He still wanted her. And to resist her now would be like cutting off the hand after the fingers had been severed, causing more pain for no good reason. Even at this moment he wanted her. The only reason he did not wake her was the knowledge that he would have her later.

  It was a heady feeling knowing that this particular woman was in his power. A captured slave had even fewer rights than those Britons born to slavery, or than penal slaves, who were free men enslaved as punishment for certain crimes or because they could not pay the fines and compensations they had incurred. The church gave stiff penalties for the mistreatment of these Christian slaves. Those enslaved for crimes could even be redeemed by their kindred after a year. Those born to slavery could buy their freedom. They were also allowed to sell the products of their toil in their free time. But enemy slaves were a different matter. They could be ransomed or not, sold or not, killed or not. The decision belonged solely to their owners.

  This made Kristen his for the taking, and only his, as surely as if she belonged to him as wife. He could have her anytime, anyplace, and she had not the right to deny him. But there was an added pleasure in knowing that she did not despise his desire, that she enjoyed his body as much as he did hers.

  If he kept pursuing thoughts like these, he would be waking her after all. As it was, he could not resist touching her before he left the bed, inserting his hand between her breasts that were squeezed together to cup one gently in the palm of his hand. Kristen smiled in her sleep. Royce smiled seeing it.

  Damned if she couldn't make him feel good inside in so many different ways. He wondered if she knew what a rare woman she was in her joy of the senses. He knew no other who could be aroused to such passion—and so easily, too.

  It was going to be a wonderful day, he decided as he dressed and went below. Not even the prospect of trouble with the prisoners could daunt his good mood this morn. He found them in the yard, herded together i
n front of the shelter that had been built for them, Waite having held them back from working until Royce came. He dismissed them into Lyman's charge, keeping only Thorolf back. The younger man was definitely disturbed about something, and Royce surmised from the look he received when he nodded Thorolf back into the hut where they could talk in private, that it had something to do with himself. "I am told you fought amongst yourselves this morn, Thorolf. Do you wish to tell me why?" Thorolf rattled his chain as he moved about in his agitation. "That?" He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Twas naught. Bjarni anger Ohthere with jesting." Here he became still and met Royce's eyes, his own narrowing. "Concern you and Kristen." Royce digested that thoughtfully, doubting he would learn exactly what was said. "Do I take it you took exception to Bjarni's jest, too?" "Aye. Too long Kristen leave us. I need speak to her .. .please." Royce stiffened, knowing what it must have cost this brawny Viking to say that word. He became suspicious of his motive. This was the man he had watched so often protecting Kristen when she was still thought to be a lad. He claimed to be only a friend. But was that the truth? "How long have you known Kristen, Thorolf?" "Always. Neighbors at home. When children, swim, ride, hunt together. My sister Tyra and Kristen close, very close." "So she is your sister's friend, yet you seem to have made yourself responsible for her. Why is that?" Thorolf remained mute to that question. Royce walked around him until he stood at the Viking's back. "Is it because her brother is dead, or does she mean more to you than just a friend?" Thorolf turned around to face him. "Speak slower, Saxon. Or, better, bring Kristen speak for you." "Oh, clever," Royce sneered, "but I think not. She is well settled in the hall and does not need to be reminded of your plight. She can tell you naught that I cannot tell you. She is well and not overburdened. So you see, you have no reason to worry about her." "So you say. Need hear her say." Royce shook his head to that. "If this is all you wanted to speak to me about..." He began to walk toward the door. "Saxon!" Thorolf called angrily. "No touch Kristen." Royce turned back incredulously. "Are you actually telling me to keep my hands off her?" "Aye." He began to laugh. "What arrogance! Mayhap you have not noticed, but you are in no position to make demands." "Will you marry her?" "Oh, enough, Viking," Royce said impatiently. "She has been enslaved, not made a guest. What happens to her depends on you and your comrades, as I said before. She has not been harmed, nor forced to do aught she is not willing to do." "Then you no touch yet?" This time Royce did not answer. Thorolf drew his own conclusions, which detonated his Norse temper. Royce was not prepared for the attack, but then, he had not thought a smaller, less muscular man would dare. Suddenly he found himself tackled to the floor, his throat enclosed by a pair of hands that were deadly serious. His breath was completely cut off until the point of his dagger slipped an inch into Thorolf's side. "Ease off, slowly," Royce commanded him. He did, then stood up and backed away, holding a hand to his bleeding side. He was still angry, more so now because he had failed. Royce was angry now as well. "What did you hope to accomplish by that bit of foolishness?" he demanded. "So you no touch Kristen again." "By killing me? Aye, that would have done it, but then you would not be around to gloat over it." "No kill," Thorolf insisted. "Other ways to make you no touch again, ever." Royce frowned until Thorolf made a sharp twisting motion with his hand. Then he grunted. "Aye, so there are. I will have to remember to keep you at arm's length from now on, since I like all my parts just the way they are." And then he shook his head as he got to his feet. "Young fool. Did you disbelieve me when I said Kristen had not been forced? She has no complaints residing inside the hall, other than for the chains she wears." Thorolf glared at him. "You lie! Many want Kristen. Many," he emphasized. "She refuse all." "Truly? Then I suppose I should count myself lucky," Royce remarked dryly. "If you say true, Saxon, then must marry." Royce sighed at such doggedness. "I have a betrothed already, Thorolf, but even if I did not, I would not marry a heathen, nor a Viking, nor a slave, of which Kristen is all three. She already belongs to me. Give me one reason why I would want to marry the wench, and make it a reason that applies to me, not your impartial-ity." "Bjarni no jest. Kristen like what see in you. So be it. But no marry, no like for long. She choose you, Saxon. Make right or lose." "I cannot lose what I own," Royce said confidently and left before he became annoyed with the Viking's logic. Thorolf moved to the doorway to watch the Saxon lord cross the yard back to the hall. Waite stepped up to escort him to the wall, but he didn't spare a glance for the guard. So Bjarni was right after all. He had said he had observed Kristen watching this lord when she was still with them, and had never seen a woman more entranced.