Women and children scurried out of their way as they traveled. A brave old hag muttered a curse and spat on him as he passed. Ivar halted and spun around with a roar that sent her melting into the crowd of gawkers.
Perhaps they only delayed his death in order to make it a public spectacle? How would Christians torture a godless heathen? Would they burn him at the stake? His mind conjured an image of the same old woman who’d spat, lighting the pyre. How degrading that would be—to have his ears ringing with a crone’s cackle as he burned. He didn’t fear death but would prefer to depart the earth with a sword in his hand.
Ivar’s curiosity magnified tenfold upon entering the keep. The hall was massive and grander than any he’d ever seen, with colorful tapestries adorning the walls and elaborately patterned mats covering the floors and trestle tables laden with silver. It was so much as he’d envisioned Valhalla would be, that his gaze tracked upward, expecting to find golden shields on the ceiling.
He’d barely overcome his initial surprise when his gaze lit upon the woman who commanded the chamber—and his breath froze. Donned in golden silk covered by a mail hauberk and bearing a sword, she had every appearance of a Valkyrie.
“Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded with icy contempt that both annoyed and intrigued him. Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he assessed her slowly and silently. With the air of a queen and her dark, flashing eyes, Lady Emma of Quimper was magnificent.
When he didn’t respond to her questions, she turned her attention to the duchess. “Does this savage have a tongue?”
“Aye. He does,” Ivar answered, adding with a leer, “Were you not such a harpy, I’d show you.” In truth, he’d have her, harpy or not.
“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”
“I am called Ivar the Red. My brother, Valdrik slew both Duke Rudalt and Count Cornouailles on the field of battle and has come to claim the spoils.”
“Your brother presumes to claim Quimper?” she asked with a curl of her lip.
“Nay,” he shook his head. “I do.” He rocked back on his heels as he cast an appraising gaze over the keep. “Tis not much, but ’twill do…as will you,” he added provocatively.
“Me?” she replied with a snort of disdain.
Did she really believe herself too good for him? The fire in her eyes strangely annoyed and excited him. He moved slowly toward her, wondering if she’d retreat, but she stood her ground, eyeing him with defiance. “As the new lord of Quimper, I will be in need of a woman to keep my house…and warm my bed.”
“I think not, savage,” she hissed. “I would kill you first.”
In a flash, Ivar found a dagger at his throat and a slight sting as the point grazed his flesh. A drop of crimson stained his boot. One swift slice could end his life. He knew he should disarm her, but curiosity held him back. He’d given her the chance. Would his Valkyrie act?
With the knife poised at his throat, Emma had the perfect opportunity to take his heathen life and end the plague that had overtaken Brittany, but a split second of hesitation cost her everything.
Before she could even blink, his brawny arm encircled her waist. She shrieked in frustration as he effortlessly twisted the dagger from her hands. Why had she not killed him when she had her chance? She could have so easily done it, but now found the tables turned, with her life completely in his very large hands—and the dagger she’d wielded plied to her own throat.
The injustice and impotence of her position filled her with fury, but her own reckless impetuosity was her downfall. She’d lost the protection of her guards the moment she’d assailed him.
His rumbling chuckle filled her ears. “For sooth, you should have been born a man.” His breath was hot and humid against her skin as he murmured his next infuriating impertinence into her ear. “Surely beneath those milky white breasts beats the heart of a warrior.”
The heat of his gaze drifted over her bosom. His open ogling made her quiver with righteous rage. “Let me go now, or I swear I won’t hesitate next time to cut yours out!”
Still plying the cold metal blade against her skin, he turned them both to face the gaping duchess and Quimper’s former captain-of-the-guard. “Now that the castellan of Quimper is at my mercy, let us discuss the terms of surrender.”
“I will never surrender!” Emma shrieked and stomped on his foot.
He hissed a curse but held her fast. The Viking inclined his head to Gurwent. “Go and open the gates. Refuse to obey me at the lady’s peril.”
“Don’t do it!” Emma cried. “Kill him, Gurwent!”
Gurwent’s tormented gaze darted between Emma and her captor. He reached for his sword.
The Viking continued evenly, “You should also know that I left orders to torch the keep if I don’t return in an hour.”
“You wouldn’t,” she insisted. “You would die as well.”
He shrugged. “What is death to a heathen like me? I will die when the gods desire it, not before. My fate is already written.”
“If you burn us, there will be nothing left for your people to plunder,” she argued.
“And you think that would stop them?” Adèle interjected. “It would mean nothing to them to burn it all. This is not a raiding party, Emma. They have not come just to plunder and leave. They came to conquer.”
“The land is indeed what we came for,” he said. “The rest can easily be replaced.”
“Let me go,” Emma pleaded. “I have silver and jewels. You may take it all if you leave us in peace.”
“You offer what is already mine,” he said. His grip tightened around her, constricting her breath. He once more addressed Gurwent, “Open the gates. Now.”
Gurwent’s shoulder’s sagged in defeat. “I’m sorry, milady. I’ve failed you. There’s naught else to be done.”
The Viking jerked his head to indicate Adèle. “The duchess will go with you and see to my brother’s care. The rest of you,” he addressed the guards. “Leave us.”
Emma watched in horror as everyone vacated the great hall. Did he want her alone? What would he do with her? Did he intend to rape her? Her throat filled with bile. He was bigger, stronger, fiercer, and smelled of blood and death. He could easily overpower her. As panic struck, her gaze darted about the chamber, seeking any object that might serve her as a weapon, but she had no defense.
Bracing for the assault, she squeezed her eyes shut as his hands slid down her body. To her shock, he removed her sword belt and released her. When she opened her eyes, she found him smiling smugly and strapping her sword around his own hips. With utter indifference, he then crossed the hall and flung himself into her father’s high seat where his smile stretched to mocking proportions. “Now we talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” she spat.
“All the better. I will talk and you will listen,” he replied mildly. “Consider it your first lesson in obedience.”
“Obedience?” she snorted. “Do you think to make me your slave?”
He shook his head. “Fortunately for you, your high station protects you from that fate.”
“I don’t understand.” Emma knew her country’s history well. Her grandfather had fought and died by King Alain’s side in their effort to drive out the Norsemen who had once enslaved her people. “Isn’t it Norse practice to press captors into bondage?”
“Only lowborn captives are put into bondage.” He smiled fully for the first time, revealing even, white, teeth. “I see your surprise that even savage Norsemen have a code of conduct.”
“What do you want from me?” Emma demanded.
“You will swear fealty to my brother, Valdrik, Duke of Brittany.”
“I will do no such thing!” she answered defiantly. “I will never submit to any of you.”
“You will if you wish to remain in your home with all of the comforts you have become accustomed to.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I will let my brother decide. Perhaps he will
hold you for ransom.”
“There is no one to pay you,” she replied. Suddenly remembering the betrothal ring that could give her away, Emma slipped it from her finger and concealed it in her hand. The less he knew about Count Ebles, the better. His arrival must come as a surprise or the rescue would surely fail.
He raised one ginger brow. “No one?”
“Nay. You killed my father,” she answered.
He shook his head. “’Twas Valdrik, not I, who killed your father.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said. “You are all godless, heartless, swine.”
He inclined his head to the chair next to him and reached for a chalice. “Come, Lady Emma, let us cease the insults and speak civilly. I will deal fairly with you.” He poured a cup of wine and offered it to her. “You have earned the honor.”
She stood rooted in place. “Is it an honor to bargain with Lucifer?”
“Lucifer?” he repeated with a blank look.
“Satan,” she explained. “The devil who has been consigned to the eternal flames of Hell.”
“Ah. Hel.” He nodded in apparent understanding and returned a slow smile. “I know this place, Hel.”
“A certes, you do,” she snapped.
He laughed then, a full, rumbling sound that echoed in the chamber and rippled down her rigid spine. How dare he ridicule her! She raised her chin defiantly. “I have no patience for pointless conversation. Just tell me what you want from me.”
“I also find little pleasure in… conversation.” One corner of his lips twitched as he eyed her up and down. Refusing to show any sign of weakness, she resisted the urge to look away. She hadn’t noticed the color of his eyes before, but now they were intently and inscrutably fixed on her. They were not the icy blue she’d imagined, but the greenish hue of a stormy sea. “Your station protects you from slavery, but it does not guarantee your freedom.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“All things come at a price, Lady Emma.”
She suppressed a shudder as he continued studying her with his disconcertingly familiar eyes. “I already told you there is no one to pay my ransom.”
“Then perhaps there is another way. Take off the hauberk,” he commanded.
“No,” she responded, fists clenching at her sides. Removing the armor would only accentuate her womanhood, her chief weakness.
His gaze hardened. “Cooperation with me would serve you better than defiance.”
She stood her ground. “You have already threatened to make me your prisoner if I refuse to swear fealty. What punishment do you intend to mete out for my refusal to give myself to you? Will you beat me into submission?”
His lips compressed as he set the chalice down and slowly rose to his feet.
She licked her lips, wondering if she’d finally gone too far. Emma swallowed back her fear as he advanced toward her. Instinctively, her hand rose to the silver crucifix at her breast.
“You should never tempt the devil.” His gaze tracked her hand and narrowed. Reaching out, he closed his fist over hers and pried her fingers open one at a time. His eyes flickered in apparent recognition of the symbol of her faith. Then his full lips curled into a sardonic smile. “Apparently that is indeed who you think I am.”
“The devil assumes many forms.” She snatched her hand away, but his gaze continued to linger unnervingly at the level of her breasts.
“Your faith is mistakenly placed.” She gasped as a firm jerk of his hand snapped the delicate chain. “This will not protect you from me. Now, take off the hauberk.”
“I will do no such thing.”
“Bend over,” he growled.
“I will not!”
Emma’s lungs emptied in a painful rush as her abdomen collided with his powerful shoulder. Finding herself upside down, and gasping for air, she kicked and flailed but the man was as unmovable as a mountain. “Take your filthy hands off me,” she railed. Her ears roared as his hand connected with her all too vulnerable backside. How dare he strike her! “I will kill you for that!” she screamed.
Another connecting sting of his large palm followed.
“Do you yield?” he asked, ignoring her threat.
“Never!”
Shrieking and squirming, she continued to struggle but now fought not only her captor but the weight of the chain mail as the hauberk began sliding down her torso to pool its full bulk under her arms. Panting from her futile exertions, she gave up the struggle. Extending her arms outward, she tucked her head and wriggled her shoulders to free herself of the hauberk. “I did as you demanded,” she huffed as the mail shirt fell to the floor. “Now put me down!”
With a mocking laugh, the contemptible bastard squeezed her burning buttocks before setting her back on her feet. Emma scrambled backward, but dizziness overtook her. She landed on the hard stone.
He stood over her, looking satisfied with thumbs once more hooked in his belt. “Will you swear fealty? Do you now submit to me as your lord?”
She glared up at him with all the venom she could muster. She’d never been so humiliated. “Never! I will never acknowledge you as anything more than the savage you have proven yourself to be.”
“You have no conception of savagery. I have seen horrors you could never even imagine. By comparison, I have shown you nothing but forbearance and restraint.”
“You beat me and dare to call it restraint?”
He rocked back on his heels with a roar of laughter. “Beat you? I merely warmed your backside, which is no more than your sire should have done long ago.” He pulled her to her feet. “If you please me, I will treat you as a queen, but if you continue your insolence I will be forced to make an example of you.”
She swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. “What do you mean by example?” Her mind was already racing with wild visions of Viking barbarism.
“We Norse have many creative punishments. I cannot make you a slave, but I can keep you prisoner. Mayhap it would amuse me to keep you in a cage.”
“A cage? Like a wild animal?” Her blood froze. Would he really carry out such a heinous threat?
“Aye,” he answered her unspoken question. “I could even hang you on the top of this keep where the eagles nest and let the eaglets pick at your flesh. More loathsome to thee than the light-hued snake to men, shall you become. So fearful to see, that all will marvel at thy hideousness.”
The threat struck pure terror in her heart. Was he really so cruel?
“Perhaps warming my bed is not such a horrible prospect after all?” he suggested softly. Norsemen were known for their brutality, but the crinkled lines at the corners of his eyes and the twitch on one side of his mouth gave her pause. Was he still secretly laughing at her? Emma’s throat tightened as his calloused, blood-covered hands anchored on her shoulders. “Give yourself to me freely and you will have no cause for complaint.”
She focused on his hands rather than his words. “You’ve stained my best tunic,” she remarked with disgust.
He cocked a brow mockingly. “My bloody appearance offends you?”
“Everything about you offends me,” she answered with a curl of her lip. “You’re filthy and you stink. I would rather bed in the pigsty.”
He shrugged. “Your wish is easily granted, but I’ll give you time to reconsider. Just know this, Lady Emma, I make my offer only once, so think carefully before you answer.”
Ivar’s gaze followed Emma as she stormed from the chamber, escorted by two of his men. Damn her for scorning him! He’d hoped to avoid heavy-handed measures, but all of his attempts to reason with her had failed. One way or another, he vowed to teach her respect. If he could not win her goodwill, he would bend her by any means—fair or foul.
Knowing she wouldn’t recognize the Norse tale, he’d fed her fear with by stealing from the story of Freyr and the giantess. When he’d mentioned the cage, his fearless Valkyrie suddenly had the look of a frightened sheep. Her horrified expression and sudden pall
or of her face told him that she believed him capable of any atrocity. He’d fought hard to suppress his laughter. She must truly think him a fiend, but if that’s what it took, so be it. He wouldn’t physically force her capitulation but would let her stew in the uncertainty of her fate. By morning, he was certain she’d have a change of heart.
Chapter Six
For the second time in a fortnight, Emma found herself locked in her rooms with only Havoise attending to her. How long did he intend to keep her prisoner? Beyond confining her, the Norseman had revealed nothing. She knew from Havoise that his brother still lived, but whether he recovered or died from his wounds, she cared not. She only hoped his injuries would keep the heathen occupied.
Had Count Ebles received word that they were under siege? Why had he not come? Had something befallen the messenger? Even if he was unaware of the Norse attack, he would be coming to wed her in a matter of days. Once he learned of the circumstances, would he confront her captor? Would he pay a ransom or would he fight? She knew far too little of the man even to guess. Her hope of rescue was diminishing daily.
With so many uncertainties, she refused to put all of her faith in Count Ebles. She must try to escape. But escape would be far easier if she at least had access to the bailey. How could she gain her freedom without losing what little she still held dear—her dignity and self-respect?
She startled at the rattling of the latch. Was it Havoise with her supper? To her dismay, it was the treacherous duchess rather than her trusted servant who entered. Emma turned her wrath upon Adèle the moment she closed the door.
“So it’s the traitor who came knocking at my gate?”
“I did not betray you,” Adèle contested calmly. “In truth, I probably saved your life.”
“I would rather be dead than locked up like a prisoner in my own home,” Emma retorted.
“I said the same thing until I was pressed to choose,” Adèle replied. “But when the decision was forced upon me, I chose to live.”
“By bedding the enemy?” Emma spun to point an accusing finger. “You chose to become a Viking’s whore!”
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