by Quinn, Paula
“Aye,” he answered, watching her closely. He’d been taught at an early age to question everything, especially if it seemed too good to be true. A sound whipping provided discipline, but with a temperament like hers, he found her transformation hard to accept. “Tell me why the priests permit a woman to live here.”
“Is my life truly of interest to you?” She wet her lips with her irresistibly pink tongue.
“I expect an answer.”
“Before the king confiscated my family’s lands, my father served as a tutor for the sons of the northern lords. The priests took pity and offered him a position as a scribe. This is the only home I’ve ever known.”
She moved away, taking ingredients from a shelf and a pot from a cabinet. “If you thought to find anything worth stealing, milord, I assure you, there’s nothing of great value in this cottage. My father’s wealth disappeared with his estate. We rely on whatever the bishop gives us for food. And my father’s salary hardly covers our expenses.”
He believed her. “Your mother?”
She stopped working, staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Dead.”
“When?”
“The day I came into the world.”
He nodded with understanding. She’d not come to terms with the death of her mother yet. “We’ve something in common then. My mother perished three days after giving birth to my only sister, her fifth babe.” Konal stepped forward hoping to provide some comfort, but she avoided his arms. “I will not hurt you.”
Her protective stance conveyed her mistrust. “You demanded certain things last night. I’ll cook and clean, but I’ll be damned before I let you paw me like a common whore.”
He glared at her. She’d do whatever he wanted. And if it included providing the physical relief he needed, he’d strip her naked. “Do you really think anything you say or do will keep you from my bed if that’s where I wish you to be?”
Laughter followed his question. “I’ve never bedded a man,” she informed him bitterly. “My body is sacred.”
Sacred? Konal chuckled. “See what comes from living in the shadow of a monastery? Bloody Saxon priests fill women’s heads with lies.” Only the nobility could afford such luxuries. Virtue had no place in her world if her body could provide the means for her support and protection. “I suggest you forget whatever dreams you grew up with. Your new life is staring you in the face, girl. I’ll decide what’s best for you. And remaining a virgin isn’t part of it.”
Silvia stiffened. “You’ve already stolen my dignity.” She thrust a hand on her hip. “Now you threaten my chastity.”
“There’s no shame in sharing my bed,” he said. “I’m a celebrated warrior—most women would be honored…” She let her gaze stray to his chest, then below his waist. “See,” he said. “Your curiosity betrays you.”
She immediately snapped her head up. “You misinterpret my actions, milord.”
At the very least, Konal appreciated her wit. “Do I now?”
She retreated a step. “My wandering eyes don’t signify admiration.”
“What then?” He’d play her game for the moment.
“I don’t understand why women find you so irresistible,” she said smugly. “You’re not fit for a Saxon barn.”
He growled, then scuffed forward, snaring her delicate wrist. “Let me show you what kind of a beast I truly am.” His bollocks ached more than he cared to admit. Weeks without female companionship had left him desperate. And every time Silvia was within sight, his cock stood at attention. Her inescapable sensuality attracted him. “Your resistance increases my desire tenfold.”
Her unblinking eyes challenged him. “Your unnatural desires don’t frighten me. I care nothing for your murdering, heartless soul. You’ll die a violent death and rot in hell like all your kind. Your disdain for everything honorable and pure cannot deprive me of my faith.”
Konal held her gaze.
“Even watching my former king die like a pig at slaughter cannot silence me. Only one thing devastates me more than my father’s death.”
Her conviction was admirable, but it wouldn’t change her fate. “Tell me.”
“Your cowardice.”
The words struck as deadly as a dagger. Konal let go of her arm. Coward? Anger ripped through him. “You can’t possibly know what you’re saying. Recant.”
She shook her head. “Truth can never be retracted.”
*
She’d baited him on purpose, attacked his sense of honor and courage in hopes of making him hate her. If she died a maiden, perhaps God would forgive her for taking her own life. As impenetrable as Konal acted, his ego appeared as soft as a woman’s body. Something she’d learned the hard way after years of subjugation to the Danes. Saying the wrong thing had cost many Saxons their lives. This one refused to kill her—but if she openly questioned his honor and bravery—he’d prove himself.
“Truth is subjective,” he muttered. “Your insult is undeserved.”
“Is it?” she asked incredulously. “You murdered my father. A peaceful, defenseless man. In my country this suggests cowardice.”
“Don’t say it again.” He slowly backed her up to the wall. “I should kill you.” He loomed threateningly, all heat and rage. “I didn’t slay your sire, Silvia.”
His intense blue gaze nearly shattered her resolve. A strange feeling stirred deep inside her belly. Something told her to stop pushing him, to believe him. But she deafened herself to whatever inner voice was trying to change her mind. “Prove yourself to me.”
He slammed his fists against the wall on either side of her face. It frightened her, so she closed her eyes, willing him away. When she opened them again, he was still staring at her.
“I’m a fool for ever thinking you’d be obedient.” He shook his head. “Where I found you should have served as a warning. Women don’t belong in the places where men seek knowledge.” He retreated then and started to pace in front of her.
She wisely kept her place, giving him time to clear his mind.
“How many languages do you speak?” he asked.
“Five.”
“How many manuscripts have you read?”
“Too many to count.”
“Do you write?”
“Yes.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, his expression menacing. She’d pushed him too far. “I’ve heard that in your country a woman has the right to ask a man to prove himself before he wins her hand. Have you no respect for your own customs?” She did her best to mask the tremor in her voice.
“You’re a prize won in battle. Not a woman whose heart I wish to conquer. Yet you ask me to prove myself worthy. And if I refuse?” He pounded his fist against his chest.
She raised her chin. “Then shame will follow you wherever you go—even to the ends of the earth.”
“It seems we cannot agree,” he said, frustrated. “I have every right to bed you, but will not have my honor questioned.”
Praise God. Silvia sighed with relief. She hated having this beast in her house. The tactic she’d utilized had the same effect on him as castration. There’d be no lovemaking before or after breakfast. “Shall I finish making our pottage?”
“I’ve half the appetite,” he said severely. On a huff, he left the kitchen without telling her what to do.
She continued to prepare the morning meal, using crushed almonds to thicken the mixture. Next, she cut several slices of bread and placed them on a tray. She’d get through one meal and then carry out her plan.
While the porridge bubbled in the pot, she listened carefully for Konal. She’d never felt so ragged and frightened in her life. But after Konal whipped her yesterday and she’d shed every last tear, something changed inside her. The only way she could describe it, her fear retreated—enabling her to think more clearly.
The scrolls… She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. What about the precious manuscripts her father had entrusted her with? His last words w
eren’t a confession or filled with love as another man’s would have been. That’s what set him apart from others. God’s work took precedence. And she’d be damned before she failed to get those parchments safely into the right hands.
“Woman!”
Silvia spooned a large portion of cereal into his vessel, then spit in it. Placing two bowls onto the same tray with the bread, she then walked into the main room determined to get the scrolls before the day ended.
Chapter Six
Konal watched Silvia slowly eat the miniscule amount of pottage in her bowl. She looked nervous hunched in the chair at the far end of the table. He supposed it would have been impossible to convince her to sit near him. “Are you all right? Eat a slice of bread.”
She sighed. “Short of ramming it down my throat, milord, I’ll risk your displeasure by refusing.”
He leaned his head on his hand and stared at her. In Norway, every living thing was eager to please him out of respect. In Northumbria, he couldn’t get a woman to comply with his simplest wish. The gods had sent him good fortune up until this point. “I am needed in the village today,” he said. “If I let you stay here, I expect you to pack your belongings in preparation for our departure tomorrow.”
She gazed at him. “Where are we going?”
“East. To my lands.” He pushed his chair back and then stood. “If you try to escape again, I’ll fit you with a slave collar and chain. Trust me when I say it won’t be a pleasant experience to be paraded around the public square like a dog on a leash.”
She nodded silently, perhaps thinking what she would look like.
“And when nighttime comes,” he added, “you’ll be stripped naked and bound to my bed.”
She cleared her throat. “That’s how you’ve gained favor with women, forcing yourself upon them.” She clicked her tongue reprovingly.
He felt his patience slipping. “You’ll change your mind after you’ve slept with me.”
“If you’re in such an all-fire hurry to have me, why not clear the bloody table and take me now?”
He eyed the tabletop, then swallowed as his throat and braies tightened at the same time. Frustration settled over him. There was definite danger in her strategy. She knew he couldn’t have her until he proved himself. Before she’d spoken her latest challenge, he’d accepted the fact that he’d have to wait to bed her. No longer, she’d get her wish. He’d complete her blasted task and have her before dawn. “Name your price.”
“My price?” Her eyes narrowed to blue slits. “I’m not for sale.”
His palms burned. Another spanking would help her immensely. “Speak your challenge, woman.”
“Bring me the head of the man who murdered my father.”
She’d answered so quickly. No doubt she had this planned from the moment he claimed her. “Månen og stjernene ville være lettere å oppnå.”
“You speak English well enough, milord.”
“The moon and stars would be easier to achieve,” he growled in her native tongue. She had nothing to lose at this point by demanding something so outrageous. “You are not worth the life of one of Prince Ivarr’s men.”
She had the eyes of an angry child. “Then I believe you guilty of the crime.”
He didn’t answer.
“I welcome your resistance, milord.” She started to gather the dirty dishes. “The longer you delay, the longer I’m safe from your carnal desires.” Without looking back, she disappeared into the kitchen.
Konal didn’t give her the pleasure of a response. He opened the door and stepped outside. Wretched little creature. Structure and discipline defined his life. He took meals and went to sleep at the same time every day unless he was in the field. The girl disrupted his schedule—shamed him in ways no man would be permitted to do.
As he walked, it started to rain. He welcomed it and hoped his new lands were fertile. Before he returned home, he intended on organizing his new steading. Livestock and crops would help provide for his family in Norway and win favorability with his father.
Hallam met him halfway to the church. “Where’s your bewitching captive?”
“Hanging from the rafters inside the cottage.” There was a measure of amusement in his answer.
“Still refuse to take my advice and sell the she-wolf?”
“I prefer my own plan.”
“I’m willing to offer you another path,” Hallam said.
A couple of days weren’t enough time to judge Silvia. She might prove to be a valuable asset. “Different from before?”
“Four Danes favor an auction.”
She was still the talk of the barracks. What did they see in her? Konal shook his head. A stupid question. “There’s no slave market in Jorvik.”
“If carried out in secret…”
Why couldn’t his kinsman find another vice? “Walk with me.” There was only one way to put an end to this growing obsession Hallam and his friends had with Silvia—confront them.
*
Silvia felt nothing of her father’s presence today. She prayed his spirit would linger for a while longer, but as she looked at his favorite chair, his shelves, and the alcove above the hearth where he kept his treasures, she felt nothing but emptiness. Tears streamed down her face. Curse the Vikings for returning.
But she’d take what blessings she got. Konal was gone for the day, leaving her enough time to do what she needed.
She rushed to the corner by the fireplace where Konal had left his bag. Anger quickly replaced her sadness as she flung it on the table. If he could invade her life, she’d do the same. She untied the satchel and thrust her hand inside. Clothing. Three shirts and a pair of leather breeches that smelled familiar. Like him. At the bottom she found two wood boxes. The first contained a finely crafted necklace of silver and amber beads. The second, a matching ring.
Gifts for his sister? His wife or mistress? The idea of him having someone he loved waiting in Norway should have made her happy. It almost guaranteed that he’d have no long term interest in her. But the thought didn’t please her. It hurt knowing she’d be considered little more than an amusement to keep his bed warm for the duration of his stay. Miserable cur. She dropped the boxes back in the bag and then stuffed his clothes on top.
Now, she hoped more fervently than ever that she’d be able to retrieve her father’s scrolls, give them to a priest for safekeeping, and then return home so she could die in peace. She retrieved her cloak from abovestairs, then went outside. Although spring had arrived, some days were still cold enough to require an extra layer of clothing.
By the time she reached the church, the sun sat in the middle of the sky. The midday meal meant she’d likely succeed because the Danes never missed an opportunity to eat or drink. It grieved her to pass by the skeleton remains of the scriptorium, still smoldering, and the stench of burnt wood filled her nostrils. Would the north ever recover? Ever rebuild? She walked cautiously to the old graveyard, remembering the exact location of the mound. Bless the soul whose body was meant for this tomb. She knelt and then started brushing soil away with both hands. She found her other cloak. Praise God. Then she dusted it off and peeked inside. Safe.
Before heading to the sanctuary, she wandered the grounds, hiding behind trees and outbuildings when a Dane passed by. Where were all the priests? None had been executed. Perhaps Prince Ivarr imprisoned them or they were sequestered inside the church. As a child, she explored freely, often spending the day with one of the monks working outside or in the great kitchen. Men of God liked to eat. And that’s where she’d learned to cook.
Facing her home under these circumstances couldn’t rob her of the happy memories she had. Father Andrew and Father James were her favorite companions. Both were now elderly men, but as sharp minded and kind as ever. They’d protect whatever precious manuscripts her father chose to preserve.
*
A thrall refilled Konal’s cup and then he sucked down his fifth portion of mead. Seated at Ivarr’s table, he searche
d the lower ranks for the men Hallam told him about. He spotted Ulf and Berde sitting with his cousin. They were no better than hounds begging for scraps. The sooner he reached his steading, the better.
“When do you leave?” Ivarr queried.
“Tomorrow, milord.”
“What delayed your departure?” The prince looked him over. “Have you bedded the wilding yet?”
Konal gritted his teeth. “There’s no short answer—I refuse to force myself on her.”
“I knew the moment I laid eyes on her what you’d do. That’s why I let you keep her.”
Konal snorted. “Either I’m too predictable or you can read my mind.”
“I recognize the look of a satisfied man.” Ivarr shoveled a spoonful of meat into his mouth. “And at this moment, you aren’t one, my friend.”
“There’s no pleasure in rape. I’d have her come to me willingly.”
“You admire her?”
Konal wished the subject had never come up. “Aye.”
“She’s the center of attention around the evening fire. Some call her a Valkyrie. Others suggest she’ll kill you before you have a chance to bed her properly. I’m concerned. Do you need some help?” the prince mused.
“He’d rather shovel shite.” The rude comment came from below.
Within seconds, Konal was standing with his hand braced on his sword. He glared at Ulf. The bastard had no right to interrupt a private conversation. “I’d sooner disembowel you.”
“Is that a formal offer?” Ulf shot back. “The winner takes the whore to bed.”
“Konal.” The prince rested his hand on Konal’s arm. “Leave him, he’s not worth it.”
He couldn’t overlook the insult. Whatever rumors were circulating about why he chose to treat Silvia with care, he’d not be mocked for it. Never judge a man for what he did or didn’t do in his bedchamber.
The trestle tables were arranged in a rectangle, leaving open space in the middle. Konal stepped off the dais and then kicked the nearest one aside. “Shall I shut your mouth for you?” he taunted. “Let me show you how skilled I am. Bend over and I’ll shove my sword up your fucking arse.”