Savage Want (Wicked Wants, #3)

by Annice Sands

  I slowed my movements, but my pulse thundered rapidly in my ears. My breath caught up shortly after and I rose to prop my head against the visible peaks of my knees and with my arms wrapped around my legs like a disparate child, I wept.

  Chapter Six

  Cecil waited to greet me in the parlor, once I had been dressed and fussed over, and held out his hand to take mine. His gaunt face transformed with a smile. I mentally criticized his leanness, lack of muscular structure like...no, I needed to push Torsten out of mind. Cecil was to be my husband still, I hoped. I couldn’t worry over the fate of a Northman.

  Men stood and conversed among themselves in the adjoining room. One was Cecil’s father. Another was mine. I temporarily forgot my manners and rushed to his side. His kind eyes fell on me with a spark of irritation smothered deep within the green. Green eyes that I’d inherited, instead of my long-lost mother’s black eyes. “What is it, child?” he asked, and placed an arm around my shoulders.

  We embraced briefly.

  “I have missed you so,” I said in a small voice that I hated by then.

  That voice was the sound of a weak little girl. I was not a little girl anymore. But I felt like one again.

  I would be privileged to have the Duke’s son accept my hand in marriage. I would bear his children and live in absolute comfort as long as his gold held out. But would I be happy? I wasn’t so sure that sort of silly emotion would matter. I was to act in the best interests of my family’s name, and in Cecil’s. The man was fascinated by me, I had no doubts. Even then, he was gazing through the doorway at me, standing there with the older men as if I belonged there, in a sort of heated gaze.

  “Elena.” He called me to his side.

  I ignored the fact that he may as well have called his favorite sighthound to come to heel.

  My father and Duke Penbroke carried on their important man-talks, my father patting my shoulder as if to encourage me to go to my betrothed.

  I slid from under my father’s arm to return to Cecil’s side. Father was busy. Cecil took my hand and placed it on his arm. The soft sateen of his coat slipped richly under my fingers.

  “I thought we might walk through the gardens,” he said, “so that you might tell me of your time among the savages.”

  My heart plummeted in my chest. What could I say that wouldn’t lead to Torsten’s immediate execution?

  I nodded. “Of course. Though I was not harmed by them.”

  We proceeded through the house and out the back doors, where the manor’s gardeners tended a lush complex of shrubbery and shaped patches of exotic flowers. Lilies bowed heavy blooms in the late-morning sunlight in shades of gold, ivory and carmine. Ivy crept over the ground with leaves of jade and pale ecru to climb the stone walls of the manor. Butterflies floated on the light breeze, busy as butterflies tend to be, alighting on each flower to drink from deep in the center with an uncoiled tongue.

  Would that I could coil my tongue as they did.

  “I must apologize that it took me this long to find you, Lady Elena. The Northmen proved to be rather elusive. My horsemen only located the enemy camp because of the smoke from their fires.”

  I frowned, but said nothing. Torsten had cautioned everyone in the caravan to douse their fires. The Northmen mostly cooked with hot coals and burned fires carefully only at dusk. Secrets that could help the kingdom find them again and eradicate them from the lands.

  “I worried for you.” Cecil stopped and held my hands together to pull towards his mouth for a kiss.

  I dared meet his gaze. “And I feared that I would never see you or my father again. I thought you were both...”

  “—Dead?”

  “Yes. I fled the house, not knowing where you were. I tried to reach the stables, but that is where the Northmen knocked me unconscious.”

  Cecil’s expression softened even more and he clutched me to his chest, his silk buttons pressed into my cheek. I hesitated before wrapping my arms around his waist. His warm lips touched my forehead in a gentle kiss.

  “I am so sorry, my lady. You must have had a terrible fright.”

  Should I have agreed? I was afraid at first when Torsten loomed in my vision. But the nights spent in his bed...

  “The Northmen are an unusual people,” was all I could muster.

  “The barbarians are not ‘unusual’ my lady. They are animals. And we shall hunt them down as such. One by one, until they are all dead. Once we’ve driven them out of the kingdom, the king intends to start a war. We will take armies up into their mountains and slaughter them in their homeland. Only then will we be safe.”

  Cecil had made no mention of Torsten, or even if Torsten was still alive. No execution was mentioned anywhere in the manor. I could only ascertain that Torsten still lived. But I could not bring his name up. Cecil had to do so.

  “Yes,” I said in a voice that felt shaky, though I hoped he would not hear. “They will need to die to maintain the kingdom’s safety. Perhaps you could gather intelligence from the prisoners you took when you came to rescue me.”

  Cecil blinked. “My lady, we only took one.”

  I felt as if I would faint. “One?” I sputtered. “But what of the women? There were innocents there with me.”

  “None of them were innocent,” Cecil scoffed. “Many of the women were pregnant with halfblooded Northumbrian brood. They were dirty and damaged. We ended their suffering.”

  “Why take the Wulf, then?” I knew Cecil had spared Torsten’s life. Yet he was secretive about it.

  Cecil snorted. “Why would you have any interest in what was done with your captor?”

  “...I do not know.”

  He laughed and released me from his hold. “You want to avenge your townspeople. Shall I have him lashed for you? Stoned by the peasants? I can torture him, but father wants him alive. He is the prince of the North.”

  I held my tongue. Torsten had admitted he was the son of Jarl Kolla. Cecil, and apparently his father, intended to gain information from him before he was put to death.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the women from the Northmen’s camp. Had Cecil and the Duke’s army actually killed them in cold blood? Did they not care to discover where the women belonged, perhaps even help them get home? My stomach curdled at the thought and bile rose in my mouth. But I had to maintain an outwardly pleasant demeanor. No telling what would be done to me otherwise.

  “So, it was the prince of the North himself that held me?”

  “Did he hold you?”

  I stepped back, my mind racing for something to say that would neutralize the conversation. This turn in topic hadn’t been expected. I had my confirmation that Torsten was here, somewhere. I needn’t enrage the situation. “He cared for me while I was held prisoner.”

  Cecil’s blue eyes turned to hard ice. “Did he touch you?”

  What was I to say? I couldn’t lie, but to say that Torsten had me in his custody and that he’d never even once tried anything remotely barbaric on me...

  “His men tried, but I believe Torsten loves a woman already.”

  Cecil’s brows rose. “Torsten?”

  Without another word, he spun on his heel and stomped off, hailing his men nearby.

  * * *

  I ran back to the house, in spite of my low heels, nearly tripping over my long proper lady’s gown. At the door, I disposed of my shoes and kept going, only to stop when I met my father again. He was alone, looking out the front windows to where Cecil had joined the Duke.

  They had not been sure. Why would they? Torsten was known as the Wulf, but apparently my people were ignorant of who the Wulf actually was.

  “What is happening?” my father asked without looking at me. “I had thought that you and Cecil had gone out to the garden. And where are your shoes?”

  “He asked me of my time with the savages.”

  My father turned his gaze to me then. “What of it?” His face hardened. “Did something happen that you’re not sharing with us?”
/>
  My mouth hung open as if unhinged. “No, father...”

  “The bastard.” It was more of a confirmation than a question posed. My father scratched his chin. “You had better hope that is not the case.”

  He pushed away from the windows, his features reddening. His eyes flashed in fury.

  “Father, he may have information,” I chided. “Perhaps he should not die just yet.”

  My father’s features eased in thought. “He may know where the camps are going. For the gods’ sake, he wore the bleeding crest of King Kolla!”

  I wasn’t sure what the difference between a jarl and a king was, but both seemed to be important positions.

  I backed away to leave him to smolder in his fury and retreated to my rooms. There was nothing more I could do. I’d done enough already.

  One of my handmaidens, Celise, came in to see if I needed anything. I glared at the wall.

  “You may brush my hair,” I said finally. My eyes were burning and I’d rather been left by myself. But that, I could not do. I could not let my feelings for Torsten be known. Celise nodded, and for the first time since I’d arrived, I looked at her directly. Her dark waves were pinned at the nape of her neck. She was plain, but pretty. A low-born woman and would be so for life, most likely. She wouldn’t have the opportunity laid before me. She would serve others until the day she died.

  She approached me with the long-handled brush and began to pluck the pins from my hair. My eyes brimmed with tears.

  “Do you sing?” I asked her.

  “Only old songs, my lady,” she replied. Her voice was soft as it was, soothing.

  “Sing the old songs to me.”

  Celise began to hum as my hair cascaded over my shoulders. The brush dug into my scalp gently and I closed my eyes. One tear escaped to roll down my cheek. There were no further doubts in my mind. I loved the Wulf.

  A knock sounded on my door.

  “My lady?” A male voice said.

  “Come in,” I responded, my words tight with grief.

  A thick man bearing the crest of Penbroke came into my room. “Your presence is requested immediately downstairs.” He paused, possibly to take in just how long a lady’s hair could be. “Best to finish up what you’re doing, of course.”

  “Who is asking for me?”

  “Duke Penbroke, my lady.”

  I dismissed him politely. Celise had stopped brushing my hair and no longer sang. I didn’t know why I was being summoned by the Duke himself. The meeting could only be about Torsten’s fate, and I was already crumbling to bits at the thought of never seeing him again. Never hearing his voice. Never having him above me in bed. I groaned loudly, giving Celise pause.

  “Is everything alright, my lady?”

  I shook my head. “Just finish my hair.” I glanced up at her, causing her to accidentally tug a thick strand of my tresses. Ordinarily, I’d have shouted at her for her ineptitude, but that was another lifetime. A different me. “Please fetch a handkerchief.”

  The cloth she brought me bore the Penbroke monogram on a corner in gold thread. I crushed the soft material to my eyes and swallowed back tears as Celise re-pinned my hair.

  Men greeted me with dark faces as the Duke stepped forward to take my hand as I stepped off the last riser on the staircase.

  “My son tells me that the man we hold is not the prince of the North. Perhaps the lady is mistaken?”

  Duke Penbroke must have been attractive in his earlier years. Shorter, with more bulk to his frame than his son, he had a heavy brow, an over-pronounced nose, enlarged with age. His eyes were small and deep-set, which the wrinkles surrounding them threatened to smother. His silver hair was neatly tied back with a satin tie. Rings sparkled on his gnarled fingers. Cecil wouldn’t have to wait long for his dukedom.

  I scraped my teeth over my bottom lip. “It is possible. He could be lying. He could have lied to me. Are you sure you have the right man at all?”

  It was a bold question for a lady of my status. But the Duke took no offense.

  “Perhaps we may not. Would the lady be so gracious as to accompany her future father-in-marriage to the warden’s lock? You alone can identify him.”

  I bowed my head. “I will ride with you.”

  ***

  Later that night, I was hoisted up onto the back of a bay mare. The darkness had brought a chill to the land and I was in an ermine-lined coat, soft gloves covering my hands. Two men flanked our procession as we rode a short distance to the west of the manor, a staked and gated enclosure, with more men atop the walls and a set of prisoner cells in the middle.

  The ground was muddy and everything inside was filthy, like an animal’s pen. Deep voices barked orders, and men bayed from their cells like starving hounds. Only I did not recognize Torsten’s voice among the chorus. We rode until we’d reached just outside the cell block and then we dismounted. I picked up the hem of my dress and was glad that I had been given a pair of tiny boots, suitable for riding, or walking through mud and madmen’s waste. I wrinkled my nose at the stench of offal, smoke and stale ale. Guards in mismatched armor stood watch over the prison. This was a dead end for most, I could already tell.

  “In here,” the Duke said and disappeared inside, of which I could hardly make out. A guard with a plumed helmet rushed in after him with a torch. I held my breath and followed.

  “Over there,” the guard said. His eyes were unreadable for the most part, but seemed lightly amused.

  I looked to where he indicated. My heart sank deep in my belly.

  Torsten was bent in half, as his head and hands were locked in a headstock. Chains encircled his feet. His face was so dirty it was nearly black with soot and mud and only his gods knew what else. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to release him more than anything, yet I stood there as the Duke spoke to Torsten.

  Torsten, apparently unconscious, stirred at the Duke’s words. His pale eyes fixated on me immediately, but his face remained blank. No indication that he knew me or that he knew me so well. I lifted my chin in expected defiance.

  “Tell me, Lady Elena. Is this the man that held you captive?” The Duke stepped closer to Torsten.

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  The Duke had pulled off his glove. He slapped Torsten across the cheek with it, hard. Torsten remained silent and shifted in his chains.

  “Tell the lady you are the prince of the North.”

  Torsten let out a low groan but did not respond. The Duke grabbed a handful of Torsten’s dirty hair and wrenched his head up.

  “Tell her.”

  Torsten’s gaze burned into mine. “I am the prince of North.”

  His voice was flat without any emotion.

  The Duke stepped between us, blocking my view of Torsten completely. I raised my gaze to him.

  “Did you lie with this barbarian or any other?”

  My mind shouted at my head to turn, shake no, no, no. But I merely stared, unable to move at all. I was weary of not speaking the truth. My heart swelled and burst over and over for the poor bastard in stocks. I wanted only Torsten.

  “Hmmph,” the Duke growled.

  He called for the guard, and we left Torsten there, standing in his own sweat and shit. Every fiber of my being wanted to break the Northman loose, even to my own detriment. I’d seen criminals executed, which was usually a ritual of reading aloud their atrocities before hanging them by the neck, but never had I seen a man in stocks. The pain he must have endured already in such an uncomfortable position, at that point, for a day’s time. How much longer would he be kept in such a manner?

  Guilt ate at my insides at the thought of the stolen dagger in my rooms back at the manor. I’d fully intended to kill Torsten with it, now it was just a sharpened souvenir of my time spent with him.

  “What will you do with the beast?” I asked the Duke as we made our way back to the horses.

  “Word has been sent out to the King of the North. He is to surrender his forces in our kingdom or Torsten Wulf
will be put to death. Painfully.” The Duke’s smile sent a frightening chill up my spine.

  How long before it became apparent that I had lain with Torsten? That my heart belonged to the savage? I should’ve stamped out the fires of love and made my peace with Cecil. I could live in his ivory tower for the remainder of my years while Torsten’s slain remains rotted away in a low rut somewhere. To want him was to invite disaster, possibly my own death.

  I did not comment further on the Duke’s plans. The gruesome trade order would have surely come down from our king. One did not question the king. At least not with their mouth.

  “It has been decided that you will wed my son, Cecil, in the new moon.” The Duke chuckled. “This will allow you time to cleanse yourself of the barbarian’s influence.”

  The blood fled from my face. What did he mean?

  “I’m not so sure I understand, my lord.”

  “Oh come, Lady Elena. You sympathize with the savages. When you asked of their ‘innocents’ and still now as you witnessed your captor in prison.”

  He kicked his horse’s sides gently and trotted off a ways from me. I followed on the bay.

  I was only making matters worse. I held my tongue and allowed the Duke to believe he’d chastened me. Better that than pursuing the subject and possibly betraying not just my sympathies for the Northmen, but my love for who they held as the heir to the North’s throne. There would be no great riches for Torsten, save that which he and his men had stolen, and now he had no men even.

  My mount stomped through the crisp grass at a steady pace, even though the Duke would spread out a distance, only to let me catch up to his side again. All a game and display of power. Had I trotted off without concern for his position, I’d be reminded firmly of a lady’s place. Was I marrying the Duke? Or his son?