Captured (6 page)

“Ah.” His smile made her toes tingle, but even as he smiled, he shook his head. She looked around and spotted a hole in the wall, much like the one where she’d found her tunic. She walked to it and pulled out a long length of cloth he obviously used as a towel.

She handed it out and she saw understanding dawn on his face. He took it and started to dry off. Venise turned her back on him, afraid that if she kept staring at his cock, she would grasp him and explore the tempting tool that rose to attention every time she saw him.

There was shuffling behind her, and when he moved in front of her, he wore a tunic exactly like hers, except it barely covered his ass. He nodded toward the other room, then walked to the hallway without waiting for an answer.

But what answer would she give him, really? They barely understood each other. She had to find a way to communicate with him, though. It was probably the only way she was going to find a way out of this hellhole.

* * * *

Rugoff took a loaf of bread from the table. He could sense his beautiful visitor behind him, her anxiousness coming off her in waves. He turned back to her and tore the loaf, offering her half.

She took it tentatively, looking down at it in wonder. He supposed what she felt mirrored what he’d experienced when the food had appeared on his first day in his prison. He’d been suspicious then, too. Hopefully she would know he didn’t mean to hurt her.

He watched as she examined the bread, lifting it to her nose to sniff. When she finally put a piece in her mouth, he felt as if they’d jumped a huge gap. He nodded in approval, then took a huge bite of his own food, watching her as he chewed.

The fact she watched him right back quickened his blood. It had been so long since he’d tasted a woman, and here one was, a gift from the gods, standing in front of him, wearing his clothes. It wouldn’t take much to pull that tunic from her and bury himself in her soft warmth.

The need was almost overwhelming, and he wasn’t sure exactly how he kept himself from throwing down the bread and tumbling her to the floor. Her gasp alerted him that something was wrong.

He looked down to see the bread, squished between his fingers, hanging out both sides of his fists. He let the ruined food drop to the floor and brushed the crumbs from his clothing. Touching the material was a painful reminder that his cock still pounded underneath it, the feel of the fabric increasing the arousal he felt.

She lowered her eyes demurely as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, then she walked to the wall where he’d arranged an array of weapons, some of them he’d made and some of them gifts from his invisible benefactor.

They helped when it came time to face his yearly challenge, although every year it was getting harder to defeat the beast.

She touched a sword, then let her fingers trail over the various arrows and swords, finally closing over a bow and taking it down. She didn’t grasp the quiver of arrows next to it, though. She simply turned the bow this way and that, looking over it as if she were trying to figure out how it was made.

When she put it back on the wall, she went to the table against the far wall. Her cry of delight was like music to his ears.

“
Hneftafl
.”

“
Ya.
” He hurried to her and picked up the king. He’d carved this board and its pieces over the years, trying to alleviate his boredom as the years crept by.

She pointed to the middle, the pointed to the edge square and he knew she understood the game.

“
Ya.
”

Before he knew what was happening she’d put her food next to the board, dragging a chair up to the table. There had only been one there before, since he’d never had anyone to play the game with him. She sat down, then pointed to the empty chair, the one he usually sat in when he tried to amuse himself each night.

Tears stung his eyes as she set up her part of the game. For the first time in forever, he was going to play
hneftafl
with another person, and it made him feel as if the sun had moved into the room and would never leave.

As he drew closer to her, he wished they could communicate, verbally anyway. His body did a lot of communicating for him, since his cock was still hard, painfully so. If he stood up and thrust his hips back and forth, would she understand him?

Oh yes, he had no doubt that she would. Sex was a universal language. But that didn’t mean it was one they needed to converse in right now, although his body had other ideas. If his cock had its way, he would throw the table aside, then get her down on all fours, mount her and ride her until they both screamed in ecstasy, which wouldn’t take long for him.

He sat down in the chair and put his hand in his lap, stroking himself gently through the material. Maybe he should go to the other room and once again take care of the problem before they started the game.

That wouldn’t help, though. He’d be hard the minute he came back in the room and saw her again. Best just to stay here and ignore the throbbing between his legs, as if that could happen.

Venise stared at the board, wondering what she should do next. In theory, she knew how to play this game. She’d studied it after seeing it featured in a folk tale she’d read. A witch had played the game, what Venise thought of as an early precursor to chess, with a warrior who wanted to be victorious in battle.

She’d told him if he beat her in
hneftafl,
he’d win the battle. The soldier had lost, and the witch had taken his soul. To her, the story had been a cautionary tale against gambling. She’d remember that before placing any wagers with the man who now sat across from her.

The main gist of the game was for the main player to protect his king and get it to the corner piece. Her pieces were of dark wood and the king was light. That meant she would be trying to keep Rugoff from getting to the edge.

Maybe while they were playing they would develop some way to communicate better than they were right now. One or two words at a time didn’t exactly made for great conversation, or help develop a bond that might make the two of them trust each other, since they seemed to be stuck here, together.

Maybe if they could communicate they could figure a way out of here.

“Or maybe I should just click my heels together three times.” She snorted at her own sarcasm, then glanced at him when he spoke.

“
Hvat
?” She understood that word. It meant he didn’t understand what she’d said.

“Sorry.” She picked up a board piece and moved it diagonally. Soon they were moving pieces, laughing and trying to outwit each other in play. True, they couldn’t understand what they were saying to each other, but body movements were plenty right now.

They playfully slapped at each other as they maneuvered the players around the board. He won the game and she wasn’t surprised.

Maybe he sat here night after night doing nothing more than coming up with strategies to beat himself at the game. Or he might work with the numerous weapons she saw on the wall. They were all of exquisite handcraftsmanship. Did that mean he’d made them himself, or had they been here when his father had outwitted the witch?

The scholar in her wanted to take notes on everything that was happening. Then she could write up a paper when she returned to the real world. No, she couldn’t do that. They’d fit her for a little white jacket if she did.

“Really, it all happened, doctor, and no, my name is not
Alice
.” No, a scholarly paper would not work. The story would have to be fiction. Maybe she’d do a romance novel, complete with a half-naked Viking whose cock was always at full staff and ready to give her pleasure. If she did enough research, it could be very realistic.

Of course, to do a proper investigation for a nice, hot erotic story she’d have to have sex with him; more than once. She grinned as she moved a piece for the opening of a new game.

They traded moves, laughing and pulling at each other’s pieces in an effort to keep them from moving to a spot that would block the other. Their laughter filled the room and when Venise won the second match, and the third, she jumped up and danced around the room, shaking her hips and lifting her arms above her head.

She stopped when she realized he was staring at her, and that the fabric of his tunic had tented, again. Or maybe it had been that way the whole time they’d been playing. After all, he’d been sitting down, and she couldn’t see it. And he hadn’t seen a woman in centuries. Of course his cock would get hard. And stay hard.

“Sorry.” She sat back down in her chair. “I got carried away and—” He couldn’t understand her, so why was she apologizing?

“It’s late.” She got back up, looking around the room. There was no semblance of a clock, or anything else that might tell her what time it was, or how long they’d been playing the game.

The stark reality of today came back to slam her in the stomach. She’d allowed herself to think that everything was normal, that she was with a man she knew nothing about except what some woman told her, and she was probably stuck her for the rest of her life. No, not that, for the rest of eternity, which, as Mrs. Westergard had told her, meant forever.

Tears formed in her eyes, and before she could stop them, a few crept down her cheeks; the first few became a small stream, and the stream turned into a river. She buried her face in her hands, wondering how she’d ever allowed herself to sit and play games when she should have been trying to convince him to take her back to the place where she’d landed, see if she could find a way home.

When warm, strong arms wrapped around her shoulders she didn’t fight him. She put her head on his shoulder, the crying jag continuing as he picked her up and carried her to the bed, gently placing her in the middle.

Venise continued to sob as he arranged the furs around her, then lay down and pulled her into his arms. She didn’t care they were in bed together, or that his hard cock demanded attention. All she cared about was the warm body next to her that reminded her she was alive—in hell, but alive.

She wondered vaguely how he’d handled his time here when he’d first arrived, but when he started to stroke her hair and murmur soft words that she was sure were meant to soothe her, she closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

* * * *

He could feel her pain, seeping out from her skin into his heart. The evening had seemed so perfect, with the two of laughing and enjoying the game. It had been so long since he’d felt the pain and fear that came with his banishment.

The memories of his first nights in this place came back full force, slamming into his brain. He’d been scared at first, wondering if he’d been sucked into the underworld after the witch had killed him. Then the food had appeared and it had become painfully obvious. He’d tried to find a way out, to no avail.

And then he’d come to terms with his imprisonment, although it hadn’t been easy. There had been times when he thought he would lose his mind. The only thing that kept him sane was the knowledge that there might be some way out of here, at some time. Was the woman he held right now his way out, or was she some ugly trick the witch played on him?

The answers would come in time, he knew. And they had lots of time. But first, he had to help her come to terms with what was happening to her. But how could he do it when they couldn’t even speak? She’d reacted well when he’d taken her in his arms; at least she hadn’t hit him.

The only problem was his manhood, already swollen, had throbbed with the need to seek out her soft, feminine center and make her his own. The thought of thrusting in and out of her made his flesh harder, and made him want to climb on top of her and bury himself inside her.

No! You can’t do that. What would she think of you if you did that? She’d hate you, and try to hit you again. But did it matter? She was his, after all. She was in his bed. In his world, he would claim her, no matter what her needs or desires.

After all, she was a gift from the witch, wasn’t she? But what if she wasn’t? What if Venise was just someone who had fallen into this world by mistake? If that were so, he couldn’t take her, because she might disappear. Right now, he didn’t really remember what it was like to take a woman. If he took her, and then she vanished, he was sure he would die.

At least in his mind. His body would live on, in torment with the memory of her soft body accepting him inside her. Staying down here by himself was torment enough, but having those thoughts to torture him would make it even worse.

It took him a few moments to realize she was no longer sleeping. He’d felt her drift off when her crying had slowed, but now her breath was coming in normal rhythm. She hadn’t moved out of his arms, however.

“Rugoff?”

His body flinched as she put her hand on his stomach and lifted up enough to look him in the eye, then sat up fully. The movement pushed back the sheets and her gaze drifted down to his manhood, now uncovered and still hard as a rock.

She started to talk, the words coming fast. He didn’t understand a word she said, but she kept pointing at the food table, then put her hand between her legs.

The need inside him increased as she jiggled, her breasts moving under the loose clothing she still wore.

Was she hungry? Should he get up and bring her food or what? She stood and danced around a little, looking much like she had when she’d won the game. But her hands were still between her legs and…understanding dawned.