Falling For Her Viking Captive (Sons 0f Sigurd Book 2)

by Harper St. George

  ‘Is he angry?’ he asked.

  ‘He...he wants you to dine with us. He wants to meet you again to discuss matters, he says.’ She said this with a raise of her chin as if she had been caught doing something wrong and was willing to face her punishment.

  ‘He’s not angry that we’re lovers?’ He found that impossible to believe.

  ‘Concerned, perhaps, but he isn’t like any man you have met before. He knows how much Grim’s loss meant. He seems content that I have found a bit of happiness.’

  If that were true, then Wilfrid was indeed like no man he had met before. Propping his arm on the bars, he enjoyed watching her obvious embarrassment play out on her face. ‘And your proposition is...?’

  ‘I would like you to dine with us. Pretend to be my...who you said you were. We must be very careful about upsetting him. If he is stirred to anger, it could bring on another attack. Strong emotion has brought them on before. Therefore, you must agree not to mention your family. We will say you are an emissary from Jarl Eirik—’

  ‘You would have me pretend to be a Dane?’

  She frowned at the interruption. ‘A Dane sent by Jarl Eirik to check on things here. We have successfully avoided the Jarl’s meddling for several years. Wilfrid will believe that we were finally forced to accept a visitor.’

  ‘You would have me pretend to be someone else to pacify the man who was involved in plotting to kill my father?’

  She blinked and took a step back. ‘You are right. It’s unconscionable. I do not know what I was thinking.’ She turned and would have hurried out, but he realised at that moment that this very well might be his only chance to negotiate with her.

  ‘Wait.’

  She had the decency to look sheepish when she turned to him, her gaze trying to dip down, but she visibly forced herself to meet his eyes.

  ‘You said a proposition. What do you plan to give me in return?’

  Meeting his gaze, she said, ‘You can move upstairs into a chamber there. It will be more comfortable than your straw.’

  ‘You expect me to pretend to be someone else for only a bed?’

  ‘After tonight, we can discuss a way for you to earn your freedom. I would not be opposed to setting you free if you could somehow persuade us that you intend to leave and not harm us.’

  He thought of what leaving would mean and even glanced towards the steps that would lead him out of here. He could go, but what then? There was nowhere for him to go. Home to Maerr was out of the question. The kingdom that should rightfully belong to Brandt had been given to another. He could go back to Éireann.

  But, no. Even as the idea crossed his mind, he pushed it away. His mother had been Irish, but it was not his home. Rurik was Norse, but he did not belong there any more than he belonged in Maerr. Bastards rarely had true homes, he was learning.

  All he had was his need for justice. He needed to prove his family innocent in plotting against his father—he and his brothers had been declared outlaws in the aftermath as baseless rumours had circulated that they might have wanted Sigurd dead for their own gain. Rurik needed to know that those who had plotted against his family had been brought to justice. He could not leave without knowing the names of the assassins.

  ‘I need to know the names of the men who were with Wilfrid.’

  She paused. ‘I have already told you that I cannot give you that.’

  Gripping the bars, he stood as close to her as he was able. ‘I have to find justice for my family, for those innocent people who had no say in what Sigurd did, but paid for his perceived crimes anyway. Please...’ It was the first time he had pleaded with her. She drew in a shaking breath and seemed to drop the regal demeanour she adopted so easily. Perhaps it had never been real at all.

  Nodding, she said, ‘If you agree, then we can discuss it further.’

  It was all that he would get from her, but it would have to be enough. At least he would be a step closer and away from this cage. The truth was he was looking forward to a hearty meal. Thanks to his exertions last night, he had not been given food yet today. He would agree, but first he wanted to make certain that his knife was returned to him.

  ‘I will have your promise that my weapons will be returned to me.’

  ‘When you leave, perhaps.’

  ‘The bone-handled knife has meaning to me.’ He despised giving her that information, because it was always possible that it could be used against him, but he found himself trusting her a little more every time they met. He needed to know that it would be kept safe. ‘I will have your promise that it will be safe until such time that it is returned to me.’

  She gave a brisk nod and the tightness in his shoulders eased. ‘It is in the armoury. No harm will come to it.’

  ‘Do you not think he will question why the Jarl’s emissary is beaten?’ He indicated his nose. Most of the other bruises were hidden by clothing.

  ‘We will say you were attacked on the road.’

  He nodded, accepting the opportunity she was giving him. ‘Then I will need a bath first.’

  Chapter Eight

  An hour later, Annis sat at the table with Cedric across from her and Wilfrid to her left at the head. Her stomach churned as she waited for Rurik to make an appearance. After leading him up the stairs from below, she had seen that he was given access to the bathing chamber. Two men had been assigned to guard him, but she was not at all certain that two would be enough. Others were stationed in the house, but after seeing him in the fight in her chamber that morning, she had gained a newfound respect for Norse warriors. He had fought with an unbridled passion that had sparked as much admiration within her as it had fear.

  Had she let a wild animal loose in her home? Or had she done the only thing that was morally acceptable in the face of her own transgressions: given him a chance for freedom? She did not know. Her only comfort was the fact that he had not killed Wilfrid last night when he had the man defenceless. Only time would tell, however, if his mercy would continue.

  Cedric raised a silent brow at her from across the table. They had argued before she had gone below, he again for Rurik’s death, her for his eventual freedom. That brow seemed to declare he had been right all along. If Rurik did not show, she would expect to hear the roar and clang of battle very soon.

  The harsh tread of boots at the entrance drew her attention. Rurik stood there in borrowed clothing and his own boots, freshly cleaned. She did not know where the tunic had come from, but it was well made and deep green in colour. His trousers seemed to have been made for him, hugging his thighs just enough to display their power. His dark hair was clean and still damp, pulled back from his face, but left to fall to his shoulders. His short beard had been groomed, so that the strong build of his jaw could be seen. It was a fine jaw for a fine face. He appeared every bit a king’s son as he strode into the room with his shoulders back and his eyes, intense pools of blue, focused on his adversaries. Only the mark on the bridge of his nose from her forehead and a slight bruise on his temple indicated that he had recently been a captive.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said to the room at large as Cedric came to his feet. Wilfrid made a motion to rise, with his manservant Irwin at his back to assist him if needed. Cedric took an almost defensive stance, his shoulders stiff and a hand at his hip where she had no doubt he kept a dagger. Wilfrid was smiling his crooked smile.

  ‘Welcome,’ Wilfrid said and settled with a soft grunt back into his chair, waving Irwin away.

  Rurik inclined his head before looking at her. His eyes were narrowed to barely more than slits and they singed her skin when his gaze fell upon her. Her stomach flipped over itself. He had come to do battle. ‘Good evening, Lady Annis.’

  She nodded at him because she could not speak, then watched in dismay as he approached the place that had been set for him at the end of the table. Instead of taking his seat, he grabbed the silve
r, chalice and platter and walked with them before very deliberately setting them down at the place beside her. A look of unmistakable victory flashed in his eyes as he took his seat.

  The man was dangerous and unruly. This had been a terrible idea. A quick glance at Cedric, who was in the process of taking his own seat, confirmed his agreement. His jaw was tense as he stared at Rurik, as if to look away would encourage the Norseman to strike. It was too late now to stop the plan that had been set in motion. The die had been cast. Not for the first time, she wondered if they had gone too far in their attempts to keep Wilfrid placated, but he had been very insistent about meeting Rurik. It was difficult to deny him when he showed so little interest in things these days.

  After she settled herself, she waved Leofe over to begin serving. The girl presented a platter of roasted meats and vegetables, while another poured wine for the table. There had been a time when Annis was growing up that the table had often been filled to overflowing. Wilfrid and his wife had liked to have people around. In addition to the main table, others had been brought in and arranged throughout the hall. Sometimes the warriors and their wives would fill them. At other times, visiting lords and their families. The hall had held many banquets and long meals deep into winter nights. After Wilfrid’s wife had died, the frequency had died with her, but the evenings had ceased completely with Wilfrid’s illness. In order to make certain that he was able to keep his place as Lord of Glannoventa, it had been necessary to keep him isolated. Now their meals were passed in polite silence as she and Cedric watched him decline with every season.

  Seeing the way Wilfrid’s eyes lit up at Rurik’s company, she could not help but wonder if they had done him a grave disservice by keeping people away from him. Another wrong to add to her list of wrongs. The wine tasted particularly bitter as she swallowed it.

  ‘Rurik,’ Wilfrid said, his speech marginally better than it had been when he had spoken to Rurik the previous night. It was still garbled a bit from using only one side of his mouth, but it was clearer, betraying his excitement. ‘It is good you have come. Was your journey well?’

  Rurik looked at the old man and then at her. After softly repeating the man’s question, she tried to plead with Rurik with her eyes to stay with the story they had invented. ‘Well enough.’ He kept his gaze on her as he spoke. If his journey had been well, his arrival had not, his eyes seemed to say.

  Finally glancing back at Wilfrid, Rurik picked up the mutton shank Leofe had served him and took a bite. His strong white teeth bit into the flesh and he made dramatic work of pulling it from the bone. Grease shone on his lips as he chewed. ‘Thank you for your welcome and generosity,’ he said around the bite in his mouth, his eyes sparkling with mischief as they met hers.

  He planned to play the heathen Viking. Lord save her. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she took another drink of her wine.

  ‘We do not often have Danes at our table,’ said Wilfrid.

  ‘You do not have one tonight, for I am no Dane.’ He gestured with the leg bone and spoke loudly in deference to Wilfrid’s hearing, but his tone was casual, as if he had asked for a second portion. Annis nearly choked. From the corner of her eye, she could see Cedric lower his hand, probably to the blade at his side. She should have known better than to believe Rurik would go along with their plan. And why should he address the man he believed to have killed his father with any civility?

  Wilfrid gazed at Rurik in open curiosity. ‘Not a Dane? But you have the look.’

  Whether Rurik understood that or inferred the meaning, he replied easily, ‘I am from the North. I was raised Norse with my father’s family, but my mother is—was from Éireann.’

  ‘Éireann?’ Cedric spoke the word in a clipped voice, his eyes alert as they settled on Rurik as if looking for signs in his features that he spoke the truth.

  Rurik’s hand settled on her shoulder and her eyes widened at the physical contact. Squeezing gently, he tilted his head a bit to look down at her. ‘My father kidnapped her and made her his concubine...or slave, depending on who you ask.’

  He was taunting her, trying to unsettle her. She was ashamed to admit that it was working. An image flashed through her mind of him standing over her, much like he had looked down at her after their kiss, his eyes livid with desire. The very same look that was in his eyes right now as he stared at her before Wilfrid and Cedric and whomever else bothered to see it. Only, in her imagination, she was his...she belonged to him in a way that was so completely consuming that it lit a fire inside her. A shrug of her shoulder dislodged his hand, but only to have it move down her spine in a slow caress that ended at the small of her back. Tingles of a pleasant sensation followed the path, unsettling her more than his words could have.

  She did not want to belong to him or anyone else but herself. Then why on earth would she find anything pleasing in anything that he did to her? Or in that image that had been planted in her head?

  ‘How did you...?’ Wilfrid’s voice trailed off as he stared at them. His eyes were more alert than they had been in a long time and she had the oddest feeling that he knew more than she wanted him to.

  She opened her mouth to answer his unasked question, uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny, as Rurik’s hand seemed to burn right through her clothing. Her own husband had never touched her this way. Rurik certainly did not have that right. She had already planned to explain to Wilfrid that Rurik had misspoke, or perhaps been too eager in his word choice when he had said they were lovers. Rurik touching her now and looking at her as he did would not help convince her father-in-law of the truth.

  ‘Rurik misspoke last night,’ she said.

  Wilfrid’s gaze turned questioning.

  ‘We are not lovers...not the way you think he meant it.’

  Rurik moved his palm from her back, but only to grab her hand with his, making hers feel small in the confines of his larger palm. ‘Certainly, the things that have passed between us deserve that description.’ He smirked, clearly challenging her to deny him.

  His thumb traced a path from her wrist to her palm, stroking a small circle in the centre. The warmth of his touch felt so unexpectedly good on her cold skin that she jerked her hand away. His grin widened and, mercifully, he did not reach for her again as he went back to his meal. Of its own accord, her hand found its way to her lap where she cradled it. Her thumb absently tracing the path that his had taken, trying and failing to recreate the heat.

  ‘I am...f-fond of you.’ The word tripped over itself as she said it. ‘But we must respect propriety.’

  He smirked behind the chalice as he brought it to his lips and took a long drink. She could not help the way her eyes dipped down to his neck to watch the way it moved as he swallowed. She could imagine pressing her face there so easily that it scared her into looking away. Unfortunately, her gaze caught Cedric’s disapproving one.

  ‘At least one of you can remember your decency,’ said Cedric.

  Her face flamed, so she stared down at her food. Somehow this evening was getting away from her. Damn the Norseman.

  ‘Dane or not,’ came Wilfrid’s voice, ‘Jarl Eirik’s men are welcome here. It is the least I can do after...’ Wilfrid’s words sputtered out. Annis was not certain if he was simply grasping for the correct word or if he had forgotten.

  ‘After what?’ Annis urged.

  As usual, Cedric seemed attuned to Wilfrid in a way that anticipated his words. ‘After the way in which he and Jarl Eirik parted at their last meeting,’ Cedric explained.

  Annis jerked her head to stare at her father-in-law. ‘What do you mean? His last visit was...’ She thought back. ‘Why, it must have been after...after Grim’s death? He and Lady Merewyn had come to pay their respects.’

  She remembered the visit well. Having had a significant hand in raising Annis for the first years of her life, her Aunt Merewyn held a special place in her heart. Annis had been
comforted by the visit, confessing the loss of her child to the woman. Aunt Merewyn had three small children at home at the time and had professed to losing a babe early in pregnancy between her second and third child. At a time when Annis had felt that no one could understand her grief, the shared experience had been a comfort to her. The visit had been a timely and well-received one.

  Or so she had thought.

  Wilfrid gave a jerky nod in agreement. ‘He had the... He spoke of a marriage for you. Grim was not even... He was hardly in his grave.’ His eyes hardened as if the mere memory still had the power to stir the fire of anger to life within him.

  She reached out to him, wanting to be able to reassure him that he did not have to think of it if it would upset him, but she could not say it. She was too shocked. ‘I had no idea.’ There had been rumours that the Jarl meant for her to wed, but she didn’t know the subject had come up so soon after Grim’s death.

  ‘I did not want you to... Too soon.’ His gaze trailed off across the room, as if he were lost in his thoughts of the time. Tenderness swelled in her chest at how he had shielded her from what would have been a painful thing to handle at that time.

  Cedric gave her a warning glance, both of them aware of how dire the consequences could be of upsetting Wilfrid, and he reached over and placed a hand on Wilfrid’s shoulder, his touch lingering. ‘Eat, Wilfrid, while the food is still warm.’

  Wilfrid’s food had already been cut into tiny pieces before being served to him. It spared him the indignity of having it cut and prepared in front of him. He could no longer use a knife, nor could he chew anything too large or too tough. His meat was specially chosen for him, so he received only the tenderest morsels. She hated that Rurik would be a witness to Wilfrid’s weakness, but he hardly seemed to be paying attention as he ate his own meal with enthusiasm.