The Captive (17 page)

Wulf had taken sword blows that stung less than that accusation.

“You have no right to judge—”

“Perhaps not.” Harold raised a hand to cut him off. “Either way, I can see now that you are not just a warrior. And now—finally—I can believe that maybe Hedra wounded you as much as you hurt her. Because with my own eyes, I see that you are capable of losing your heart just like any other mortal man. For me, that is enough justice for my sister.”

The older man had the gall—nay, the iron-clad balls—to turn his back on Wulf and head for the garden gate even though he stood in a thicket of Saxons and enemy Danes.

Beside him, Gwendolyn squeezed his arm. “Say something,” she urged, her quick-witted tongue always finding words faster.

Releasing the hilt of his sword Wulf called to him.

“Where do you think you are going?” He gestured to the thick walls of the fortress all around the courtyard.

“I am returning to my ships and giving the order to retreat.” Harold turned, holding his weight off his
wounded leg. “We will not see one another again in this lifetime, Wulf. You do not need to fear me.”

He really intended to just sail home. End of story. All because he thought Wulf had a heart and that he’d lost it.

A cagey opponent, Harold Haaraldson.

Not having the same facility with words as his Saxon lady, Wulf settled for pounding his chest with his fist. It was an old gesture of respect for the Danes.

His men followed suit, the crash of hard knuckles on chainmail filling the courtyard.

Harold closed his hand and repeated the gesture once. Twice. Then he raised his fist as if to rally his army, and stalked off toward the battlements, the setting sun streaking his departure with bright gold and purple.

An old weight rolled off Wulf’s shoulders. He hadn’t realized how the dark the cloud over him had been until just now when he felt the last of the day’s light on his shoulders and saw Gwendolyn peer up at him with misty eyes.

“He must be a good king,” she announced in the hush of the aftermath.

Erik waved the others out of the garden although he remained to stand guard. A good man, that one.

“He has always been a strong leader,” Wulf agreed, waiting to pull her closer until he saw some sign from her, some sense of how she felt about their future. “You understand now why I did not wish to kill him.”

Gwendolyn gave him a small smile, clearly careful of the cuts about her mouth. All Wulf could think of was how grateful he was to have her back. Safe. His.

Or so he fervently hoped. He could have tolerated any defeat today save losing this woman who meant everything to him.

“Does it hurt overmuch?” He lifted her in his arms, not giving her the option of walking.

Gwendolyn did not know it yet, but he did not plan to let her leave his chamber for a fortnight at least. His heart—a very real organ he possessed despite commonly held rumor—would not tolerate another scare like today.

“I am well enough,” she assured him, tipping her head close to his chest.

“Excellent.” Heedless of the destruction about them, and Godric and the rest of the Saxon prisoners being led to a holding area, Wulf strode toward the living area behind the outer bailey. Toward his chamber. “I know a priest who will be glad to attend you in our chamber if you are able to speak the vows.”

G
WENDOLYN SWALLOWED HARD.

This was what she wanted. And she’d told herself that she did not mind if Wulf did not always speak the words she wanted to hear. She really believed that. But by the saints, could he not mark the occasion with a few tender sentiments?

Nay. But she would.

“Wulf.” She placed her hand on his chest as he ducked into a narrow entrance to the gallery over the living quarters. “I cannot wait to be your wife.”

His pace slowed from a hard charge to a thoughtful walk.

“I cannot wait another moment for you to be mine.” The heat in his voice reminded her of that night together outside his encampment when they’d talked about how passion fueled the lives of his people.

Her heart warmed at his declaration. Simple. Direct. Heartfelt.

She knew it in her bones.

“But since it is a momentous occasion, could we not wash away the blood of the day first?”

Wulf paused outside his bedchamber, his face shadowed in the harsh light of flickering torches. At first, he frowned. Then, after a moment, he threw back his dark head and laughed.

“Yes.” He kicked open the door to his chamber. “By all that is holy, we will wash this day from our skin first. I need hot water,” he called out into the empty corridor like a man accustomed to having his wishes granted. “And a tub.”

“I fear no one is here to serve you. They are all out wading through the wreckage.” Gwendolyn hated to think of so much destruction. So much to rebuild.

“After a battle, everyone wants to return to normal. Even if there is no meal, they gather in the hall because it is familiar.” He settled her on his bed and then moved back to the door.

A knock sounded upon it before he even reached it.

“You see?” He swung it wide with a flourish, and sure enough, most every child that resided in the village stood outside the door with a bucket in hand.

Gwendolyn recognized several of them from those quiet, awful hours locked up in the keep. She gave thanks the day had been won and all of them had remained safe.

One by one, they trooped in to fill a tub carried by the biggest of them—a boy almost old enough that he could have fought with a sword this day. Another year, and he would be among the men.

In no time, the water was poured, dried rose petals thrust in by a small, giggling girl at the end of the line, and the group shuffled out of the chamber to whatever
repast the cooks offered in the hall. Gwendolyn had no doubt that Wulf would use his ample resources to be sure the widows were housed and all his people fed. But for tonight—right now—she had this magnificent man all to herself.

“Would you like assistance?” Wulf asked, locking the door behind the children and approaching the bed.

The low rumble of his voice told her he thought about the same things that she did. Removing their clothes. Being together.

In spite of the dark hell wrought today, her body warmed in anticipation.

“I think if I have help, I will not end up in the tub.” She smiled shyly at him, remembering how scared she had been of his touch a week ago.

So much had changed. She had changed.

“I would take another oath—”

“Nay!” Shaking her head, she tugged her smock up and off. “It was only a manner of speaking. I trust you.”

His avid gaze raked over her body in her thin shift and a blush crawled over her skin.

“You must speak less, perhaps?” He did not quite suppress his teasing smile.

“No. This, I will not do.” Making quick work of the shift, she dashed for the tub and dropped into the water with a squeal. “The water is scarcely warmer than the river.”

“Then I will warm you.” He stripped off his tunic and belt, his weapons hitting the floor with a clank of steel against stone.

She licked her lips at the sight he made. A few dark bruises shadowed some places, but his hardened male
strength had kept him alive and safe. Her valiant warrior. Her favorite captor.

“I cannot imagine how you will fit.” The oval basin was deep, but narrow.

“Women like to say that, but it has never been the case.” He strode over to the tub and stepped inside, lifting her easily to sit on his lap.

“You are wicked,” she accused, breathless from the feel of his naked thighs beneath her rump. “But before we, ah…consummate the marriage that will happen sooner or later, I have things I would like to say to you.”

Reaching for a rag and soap on a bench near the foot of his bed, Wulf soaked the linen and began to wash her face with gentle strokes.

“That is good, because I did not really mean you should talk less. I like all the things you have to say. You could be a scholar, like your father.”

Her eyes burned with tears.

“That is the kindest thing anyone has said to me in…a very long time.”

Wulf tipped up her chin, studying her face as if curious to see the emotions she couldn’t contain.

“I will take good care of you and tell you more kind things.” His utter seriousness stole her heart for keeps.

She took the wet linen from him and cleaned away the blood over his eye.

“I love you, Wulf.” She realized she hadn’t spoken those words since her parents rode off without her many summers ago. “I know you believe in living with passion more than speaking about it, but it is important to me that you know my heart is yours. And I have faith that no wise woman can see the future as well as I do,
because I am certain I can make you happy as no other ever could.”

“Gwendolyn.” Tenderly, he pried the wash rag from her hands and shifted her in the tub so she faced him. “From the first, I told you that I would never wed a woman unless I wished to touch no one but her for the rest of my days. I have found that woman in you.”

Gwendolyn launched herself at him, flinging wet arms around his neck, squeezing him for dear life.

“That is so good. So wonderful. Because I will never let you go and I will never share you.” Her cut wrists stung where she clasped them together behind his neck, but she did not care. He had told her the words her heart longed to hear.

And by God, she knew he meant them.

“I love you, Gwendolyn.” He whispered it softly, into her damp hair. “Even Harold knew it. I did not understand it at first, but I had to have you the moment I saw you standing on the battlements, your veils whipping around you like a foreign princess.”

She kissed his neck and his shoulder, easing back to revel in his words and the devotion of a man she trusted to keep her heart safe.

“My feet must have been drawn up those stairs for a reason.” She had been destined to meet Wulf, to be his wife.

“Aye.” He splayed a hand along her back and pressed her tight to him. “You were meant to be my captive. And I was meant to be yours.”

Seven months later

“I
F
I
HAVE TO EAT ONE
more fig, I will throw off all my clothes and start dancing naked like the maiden in the work of art you’ve been admiring over the hearth.”

Gwendolyn made the threat lightly as she rubbed her flat belly and teased the overprotective warrior seated at the table beside her. They dined in a grand palazzo of Venice in a far-flung corner of the kingdom of Italy. One of many stops on a tour by sea that had delighted Gwendolyn for the past many months.

They’d traveled to Brittany and Bordeaux, hugging the coastline of Francia and then the kingdom of Asturias and Leon to visit Santiago de Compostela. Finally, they’d sailed into the blue, blue waters of the Mediterranean to see Barcelona and Rome, in honor of her parents. They’d crossed Italy by land to see Venice before they began the trek home.

After securing the keep, Wulf had offered her an adventure and she had thrived on every moment of discovery. New worlds had opened her mind and her
heart until she felt full to overflowing with life, love and happiness.

And just now, figs.

“You will maintain your strength,” he commanded, though he changed strategies by handing her a plump grape from a heavy silver platter instead. “My child will not be a puny Saxon, but a Dane to be reckoned with. You must nourish the babe with this in mind. But if you are of a mind to strip off your clothing to prove a point, you will witness how fast I can have you upstairs and underneath me.”

Warming at his stare, Gwendolyn could not believe how delicious it felt to love and be loved by her husband. She had only been sure she was expecting for about a fortnight, but Wulf already treated her as if she carried a full-grown babe.

They had wed the morning after the battle with Harold since they had found ways to pleasure each other despite their injuries. With Goderic dead and Alchere fled to one of his holdings, Wulf and Gwendolyn had celebrated their nuptials. Elsa and Erik had witnessed the nuptials and the keep celebrated with feasting for a fortnight. They had timed the ceremony to coincide with King Alfred’s return. And while the Saxon king was not pleased to have a Dane in charge at a Wessex keep, he was swayed by the feasting and the news he’d received of Wulf’s resounding defeat of all comers. Besides, as a wedding present to Gwendolyn, Wulf had declared fealty to the king of his new homeland.

“You must wait,” she pleaded sweetly, knowing how fast Wulf Geirsson could deliver on a promise. “You said we could visit the countess’s library and bribe her into selling us a book.”

Part of the reason they’d made their journey—besides the adventure—was so that Gwendolyn could add to her parents’ library collection. She did not have the same ambition to be a scholar as her father, but she hoped to open the keep to visitors again, to bring the world to her door during the years when she would not want to travel. Once the baby arrived, she would be very content to stay home.

“We do not have enough manuscripts already?” Wulf downed his wine and seemed not to notice the hungry glances from the lady diners in the sun-drenched palazzo’s hall. He drew feminine eyes wherever he went, but true to his word, he never showed the slightest inclination to admire other women. “I will be fortunate to pay for our return trip home if you find many more volumes.”

He offered to buy her jewels and silks, furs and metalwork everywhere they visited. But she’d been steadfast in her wishes. Although there had been a lovely glass hanging lamp on an island called Murano that she couldn’t resist.

“Do not be cross. You made a small fortune from ransoming Margery and the others back to Alchere and we agreed we would spend every farthing that foul woman brought in.”

“True. But you realize we could acquire more books if I went raiding for them?” He rose and took her hand to help her to her feet.

“You have reformed, remember?” She tucked her arm in his as he led her over the bright marble floors and out into the sunshine. “And we agreed this would
be our last book before we return home. Will you miss Venice and all our travels?”

Gwen loved the way the warm air swirled in off the water of this magical city. Still, she found she missed her mother’s garden a bit. And she had grown fond of Elsa’s surly practicality. She had not been afraid to wade into the village after the wedding celebration and help the women set their homes to right. Gwendolyn enjoyed her ease with getting her hands dirty despite her noble status.

“Now that there is the babe to consider, I will be glad to return home.” Wulf stepped off the street into the small boat he’d commissioned for their stay in this city on the water. “I want to know you are both well protected and close to the midwife.”

“You won’t miss adventuring?” She took his hand as he helped her down into the vessel that was not half the watercraft as his longship. Gwendolyn had been well educated during the voyage on what made the Danes’ ships superior to any in the world.

“Did you forget I spent the whole year on the sea before we met? I will not mind sitting still for a little while. I will have your king send me noble Saxon sons to foster and I can teach them to fight like real men.” He pounded his chest, mostly because he knew it made her smile. “Besides, I married the adventure. I cannot possibly leave it behind.”

Gwendolyn stretched out on her seat in the sun-warmed boat, happy to watch her husband’s strong arms flex as he steered her wherever they wanted to go.

“I think Italy agrees with you, my lord. You’re developing quite a way with words.”

The heat returned to his blue gaze and he dropped the oars at once. With the balance of a man who’d spent his life on the sea, he bracketed her hips with his arms and covered her mouth with his.

And for the next hour, tucked in the cramped cabin draped in silks at the back of the boat, no words were needed.