The Captive

by Joanne Rock

  “You have claimed her then? The Saxon is your concubine.”

  At first, Gwendolyn thought they spoke of someone else. She even looked around curiously for some other female she must have missed seeing. Intellectually, she supposed she must have known this was what she’d become by sleeping with Wulf. But in her heart, she abhorred the practice that had once sent dozens of whorish strangers into her household to make her marriage even more humiliating. At very least, it increased the risk of dreadful diseases.

  Yet, she had become the concubine now. No longer a wife with legal rights, but a dispensable plaything for a man’s pleasure. The hard stare of every man on the ship confirmed the status she’d never wanted.

  Separated from the family wealth that King Alfred held in trust for her son, she was no longer a valued heiress. She’d sunk to the most ignoble of places in Wulf’s life, a subservient female who slaked a man’s most basic needs.

  Would Wulf deny the accusation? Could he protect her now with words as he had done earlier with swords and axe?

  As he climbed aboard the ship himself, his dark hair slick with water from a quick swim, he stared hard at the men in his command. His eyes contained the stern warning of a captain and they all understood what he said was law here.

  That boded well for protecting her, she knew.

  “Aye.” With one word, he condemned her to an impossible role. “She is my woman and mine alone.”

  IF SHE COULD HAVE SLAYED HIM with her dark gaze, she would have.

  Wulf had known it from the moment his claim had fallen from his lips. He knew it still applied now as they pulled into his men’s encampment many leagues west of Gwendolyn’s keep. The trip had been swift. The waves easy and the oars strong.

  Now, as night fell and torches were lit all around the small village of temporary huts and tents to welcome him home, he could not enjoy the day’s successes with the fury of his Saxon widow surrounding him like a storm cloud.

  It seemed she’d come to terms with being a captive, but did not appreciate being his concubine. A prickly woman, his Gwendolyn of Wessex. Still, what else could she be for him? She was the daughter of an important Saxon noble, wealthy beyond imagining. Perhaps one day he would ransom her back to her overlord. But his thwarted love for Hedra had darkened a part of his heart. He did not plan to wed, and if he did, it would be for political advantage in his homeland, not for wealth he did not need.

  He moved to help her off the ship as they docked, but before he could get his hands on her, she cast him a dark glare and then dove overboard headfirst into the shallow water.

  “Thor’s hammer,” he shouted, convinced she would not clear the bottom when she landed.

  Leaping over the edge, he found the sea deeper than he’d expected as the water rose up to meet him. Reassured that she would not have hit her head, he looked around the ship where she should have surfaced. Where did she think she could go in the dark in a strange land?

  Nearby, his men jumped carelessly overboard to reach their women and wine on shore. He wanted to shout at them all to mind their bloody arses before they landed on Gwendolyn accidentally. But he was too busy fighting off the rising fear that something must have happened to her.

  She should have risen to the surface by now or else he should have seen her on shore.

  “Gwendolyn!” he bellowed.

  She had vanished into thin air.

  10

  FREEDOM.

  Had she ever known it until now? Truly?

  Gwendolyn swam for all she was worth, heedless of whatever sea monsters might take to the waters at night. Her arms burned with the effort of calling upon little-used muscles, but by God, it was worth it to be free. She did not know where she headed, but the darkness would provide cover and the victory over Godric’s men that day had made her bold. She’d hit a man in the head with a rock to defend herself. That decision to take action—a decision that had paid off—reminded her she still had choices. She would strike out on her own to find help and be free of the Danes.

  She’d shed her gown and condemned it to the muck at the water’s depths, refusing to be hampered by the heavy fabric. She swam underwater in nothing more than her thin shift for as long as possible, hoping to put enough distance between herself and the longship that Wulf would not see her in the darkness. The spring sea was cold, however, and she feared remaining in the water any longer.

  And now, pulling herself from the water by the roots of a tree, she threw herself onto dry land out of sight from the Danes’ camp. In the distance, she could hear their shouts and the merry-making of men returning after a journey. Strange music, rich with deep horns and guttural drums, drifted on the water. Closer to her, night birds whistled and called to one another while the waves rolled in at her feet, making shushing sounds as if to tell the rest of the world to be quiet.

  And Gwen was free.

  The giddiness of the moment could not be dimmed by her shivering or her fears for the future. True, she had no idea how she would proceed with her gown and shoes missing and naught to wear through the forest but a thin undergarment. But she would think about that later. At this moment, she simply wanted to enjoy the knowledge that she had masterminded an escape right under the heathen’s nose. He dared to call her his concubine?

  Never. When he had wooed her to his bed with his thought-drugging kisses and enticing touches, he had told her she should think only of her own pleasure. But instead of feeling free at following her impulses, she felt more a captive than ever because of his words. He had claimed her in front of his men, declaring her his personal plaything.

  The humiliation of it still stung, but she closed her eyes against the burn of tears and reminded herself about her triumphant swim through the dark sea. Blinking her lids open once more, she gazed at the water and wondered what her parents had seen when they’d peered out over such vast expanses. The promise of new lands to discover and people to meet? The lure of intellectual mysteries to solve?

  It had been easier for her mother, who’d found a man who honored her dreams and ambitions. Gwendolyn knew no such man. But at least, for this moment, she knew the taste of independence.

  Nearby, a fish jumped, the sound of the splash reminding her she hadn’t eaten in a while. No doubt, there was feasting aplenty among the Danes tonight. She had smelled the fragrant smoke of cook fires and the steam of savory sauces when the longship had neared the camp.

  Her belly rumbled again, urging her to arise and make plans for the night’s shelter and the morning meal. With autonomy came responsibility.

  Another splash sounded in the water, and she took it as a sign to begin preparations. But before she could stand, a hand emerged from the depths to take hold of her ankle.

  Her scream must have carried all the way back to the longship. She hoped so, because if Godric had followed her here, she would not be able to fight him off unless Wulf—

  Wulf.

  He rose from the murky waters, recognizable instantly. Even in the dark. Even soaked to the skin.

  He did not release her ankle as he hoisted himself up on his elbow. His arrival was frighteningly silent, his crystal-blue eyes vivid in the moon’s glow as if they gathered up the scant light and reflected it back at her.

  “You found me.” She could not contain her amazement, her declaration as breathless as her surprise. “I swam so far.”

  She peered back out to sea toward where the longship would have been anchored. The distance was formidable. She’d never heard him approach, taking reassurance that he had not called for a search party.

  He hovered over her, not relinquishing her ankle until his body covered hers. He dripped on her though he did not touch her. His elbows bracketed her hips, his shoulders blocking out the moon where she sprawled on the sand like a beached mermaid.

  He was furious. The emotion had not been immediately apparent since the man seemed to pride himself on maintaining rigid composure at all times. But there was a stormy set to his brow. A determine
d twist to his sculpted mouth. His nostrils flared as he glowered down at her.

  “I will not be your concubine.” She had meant it to be defiant, but it came out defensive—the rationalization of a woman neck-deep in trouble.

  Make that hip deep. Wulf’s chest aligned with her hips, his powerful body appearing just as capable of crushing her as saving her.

  “I will not whore for you, only to be flung aside when you go off to raid other lands and steal away other women.” She filled the silence while he steadily unnerved her. Did he not understand her motive for escaping?

  “Do. Not. Leave. Me.” He enunciated this very clearly, as if she were a mere child who might have trouble understanding the meaning.

  “You plan to give me away soon enough anyhow,” she argued, grateful he’d at least said something. She could battle with words. She could not combat silence.

  “I will ensure your safety before I depart.” He rose higher along her body, forcing her shoulders down to the earth not with his hands, but with her own determination not to touch him. “I will protect you.”

  The water from the sea sluiced from his body in rivulets and fell onto her. Drip. Drip. His tunic clung to muscles clearly defined. The ties about his neck had come undone and the placket lay wide open, exposing his chest and the planks of taut skin over strong sinew. She swallowed back the ridiculous urge to arch up and kiss the water from his jaw. His throat. His bare chest.

  “I know you are stronger than me and you can impose your will by force. But I do not have to make it easy for you. And I do not have to submit without a fight.”

  The claim might sound ludicrous to an outsider observing them at a distance—a defenseless maid making such a bold statement to the outlandishly large Dane whose body quite literally imprisoned hers.

  But even here, with her hair pressed into the damp sand and his angry eyes glaring down at her, she felt her own power. She did not fully understand it herself, this vague and formless feminine strength, but she knew she possessed it in no small measure with this man. He did not wish to hurt her. And—more to the point—he wanted her in his bed.

  Not in the way that Gerald had. Wulf did not want to possess her in anger. The Dane wanted to feel her come undone at his touch, and this he could not accomplish any way but with her compliance.

  “You made your point,” he acknowledged, the words sounding far more controlled and reasonable than he looked. “Now you will submit. And by your god and mine, there will not be a fight since you want this as much as I do.”

  He lowered his mouth to one side of her face and dragged his lips slowly along the slope of her cheekbone. Heat flashed within her like a starburst, strong and smoldering at the center and sending streaks of warmth to points beyond.

  It was difficult to argue with an arrogant man when he was so very correct. She wanted Wulf with a fierceness that surprised her, her hunger for him making her back arch toward him like a flower to the sun.

  “I will never be yours to command,” she reminded him, knowing she must find the will to walk away if he could not agree. “What I give you, I give because I want to and not because you demand it.”

  His thigh brushed hers, the heavy weight suggestive without pinning her to the earthen floor of spring grass. She nearly came out of her skin. Her thin layer of linen from the sea-washed undergarment was no barrier at all from the stark heat of his body.

  “Be warned, I will endeavor to make you want this constantly.” He plucked at the shoulder of her damp chemise and pulled the neckline wide-open so that he could see her collarbone and, as he tugged harder, the top of her breast.

  It was not easy to maintain the thread of the conversation with his tongue tracing lush patterns down her neck, following the pulsing path of her veins. Thoughts of the future scrambled, her sole concern for what happened here and now.

  “Touch me.” She brought her hand up to his chest and felt the warmth of his skin beneath the layer of cool seawater that clung to him. “I can think of nothing else.”

  He halted his kisses to study her in the moonlight. Time stood still as they searched each other’s eyes for secrets and truths. The music from the Dane’s camp played in the distance, the drums as relentless as the warriors themselves. The sound mingled with the soft roll of the waves near their feet. Stars dotted the sky behind Wulf, a map of lights only a seafarer could follow. Gwendolyn’s only guide right now was her blue-eyed warrior, a man who searched for his direction from her, it seemed.

  And, ah, he’d touched her more deeply than she’d intended. For instead of charging ahead to put his hands on her body as she’d asked, he sought assurance that she truly wanted this connection with him. And for her stark and ruthless Dane to consider her feelings that way stroked her heart most tenderly.

  Blinking back the tide of emotions that threatened, Gwendolyn merely reached for his hand and placed it on her hip, answering his unspoken question.

  Wulf felt the sweet invitation of her palm on his skin and released a pent-up breath. His fingers flexed against her waist, savoring the way her hips flared gently from there. Even more, he savored the knowledge that this proud Saxon noblewoman wanted him.

  “You lost your dress,” he noted, the sight of her skin beneath the delicate linen driving him mad for her. “I spotted you in the moonlight because your skin is so pale.”

  So fine. So soft. He molded and massaged her hip to fit his palm. Then, leaning more of his weight on her, he edged his knee fully between hers and lifted it to rest against her mound.

  Her gasp was a far sweeter music than the boisterous voices lifted in song on the far side of the island. Her fingers tracked a path across his lips, as if teasing him to remember how he’d used his mouth to please her in the past. The soaring satisfaction he took from knowing she sought his kiss and his touch was better than any victory in battle.

  “You saw me?” One of her fingers dipped into his mouth and he captured it, licking the salty taste of the sea from her. “My body seems to call for you even when I’m unaware.”

  A growl of possession started in his throat, roaring through him with such intensity he had to clench his teeth to keep from unleashing it. Instead, he moved his hands, moved over her curves to relearn every dip and hollow, to commit every lush swell to memory.

  Her eyelids fluttered and fell shut, her finger stilling on his lower lip, then falling away as she gave herself over to him completely. He eyed her hungrily, her body a banquet of temptations. Through the linen of her under dress, her nipples were tight buds as her breasts strained against the fabric. Unwilling to let her go long enough to pull the garment over her head, he yanked at the neckline with a quick jerk, tearing it easily. She arched up even higher, offering herself to him.

  Gladly, he feasted on first one taut peak and then the other. He worked her against his teeth and then smoothed those tender places with his tongue, making her squirm restlessly against his thigh.

  She was so hot there, between her legs. He wanted her all around him, to feel that slick heat gripping him as she found her release. But he had to taste her first, had to remember the flavor of her before he lost himself inside her.

  “Wulf.” She ran restless fingers over his chest and shoulders, reaching lower for more of him, but he eluded her grasp.

  His own release was already there, poised and ready in the head of his shaft. He couldn’t risk letting her touch him yet. Grinding his teeth together, he fought back the fierce need and kissed his way down her belly, circling her hipbone with his tongue while he spanned the place between her hips with his hand.

  The womanly scent of her filled his nostrils. She was all he saw. His whole world narrowed to her and what she wanted. Her need became his.

  When he licked a path up the center of her slick folds, she raked her fingers through his hair and down to his shoulders, melting on his tongue. Release hit her so fast she simply clung to him. He didn’t let her go until she came, again and again, until he couldn’t put off his own need
any longer.

  She reached for the fastening of his braies, but he couldn’t allow her fingers too close to him or he would never make it inside her. He’d put off release so long, and he’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her slim, pale body swimming away from him in the darkness. Possessing her had been a driving force stronger than he could have ever imagined.

  He didn’t question it, then or now.

  “Come,” he commanded, shifting her position so that she was centered on the remains of her torn undergarment. “This will keep the sand off you.”

  Vaguely, she nodded, following where he moved her. Then her hips arched, demanding more.

  He freed his shaft but kept his clothes on to keep the sand at bay. Planting his knees between hers, he entered her in one smooth stroke. She was so wet, so warm and ready, she welcomed every inch of him. Blood pounded in his head more insistently than the cursed drums playing out their war tunes on the other side of the island.

  Fulfillment hovered near and he fought it for as long as he could. But then she pressed her soft breasts to his chest and held him against her, enveloping him with her sweetness.

  When his release charged through him, he could not hold back his howl. Never had he wanted a woman so much. Never had he risked all to possess one.

  Because no matter what they called one another or how they defined the connection between them, Gwendolyn of Wessex belonged to him as no woman ever had.

  And no matter how rational his plan for returning her to safety, he now understood he could never let her go.

  11

  A DREAM HELD HER FAST.

  Gwendolyn knew that what she saw was not real, but she could not seem to wake herself from disturbing visions that plagued her deep in the night.

  “Don’t,” she murmured, clutching Wulf by the tunic to plead with him. “Don’t do it.”