Hearts Aflame

  He did stop, and Kristen sighed miserably when his lips left hers. He looked down at her, his eyes fierce, filled half with passion, half with fury. She met his look boldly, but this served only to anger him more. With a snarl, he shoved her away from him. "Bitch! My God, you have no shame, do you?" Kristen would have laughed at that if she were not so disappointed. He was placing the blame on her, as if she had come to him, not he to her. She did not so much mind that, for she had hoped he would come to her. But how could he now deny them what they both wanted? Where did he get the strength to do so, when she was standing there aching to be back in his arms?

  He might not be willing to be honest in what he was feeling now, but she had no such qualms. "I feel no shame in wanting you," she told him softly. "Or any man!" he sneered cruelly. "Nay, only you." She smiled then at his snort of disbelief. Deliberately, she added in a teasing tone, "You are my heartmate, Royce. Begin to accept it. You will eventually." "You will never count me as one of your lovers, wench," he stated emphatically. She shrugged, the sigh she gave louder than necessary. "Very well, milord, if that is your wish." "Not my wish, the truth," he insisted. "And you will cease to use your whore's tricks on me." Kristen could not help but laugh at this order. "What tricks are those, milord? I am only guilty of looking at you, mayhap more than I should, but I cannot seem to help myself. You are, after all, the most splendid man here." He drew in his breath sharply. "God's mercy, are all Viking whores as brazen as you?" She had been called whore once too often. She knew she dared not deny it, for she wanted him in passion, not revenge, as he would surely take her if he knew she was a virgin. But his calling her whore now, after he had just ravaged her senses, grated harshly. Irritation was ripe in her voice. "I know no whores, so I cannot answer that. What you call brazen, I call honesty. Would you rather I lie and say I hate you, that I despise the sight of you?" "How can you not hate me? I have enslaved you. I keep you shackled and I know you hate the chain." "Is that why I wear it still, because you know I hate it?" she asked suspiciously. He didn't bother to answer that. "I think you do hate me, that you tempt me apurpose, hoping to have revenge by bewitching me." "If you believe that, then you will never accept what I am willing to give, Saxon, and I am sorry for that. I do hate these shackles, but not you. And being enslaved is not new to my family," she added cryptically. "If I thought that I would always be enslaved and shackled, then aye, mayhap I would hate you." "So you hope to escape?" Her eyes narrowed at him. "I am through telling you what I hope for, through speaking the truth to you when you will not believe it. Think whatever you like." She turned her back on him, but was tense, waiting for him to walk away. He did not do so immediately.

  She imagined he was fighting to control a new fury that she would dare dismiss him like that. She would have been much appeased if she had seen that his eyes had simply moved over her, revealing for one unguarded moment the yearning in his soul. I Chapter Fifteen

  Kristen was in no fine mood the next morning. She had been open and honest with the Saxon, baring her feelings to him, giving him that advantage over her, and he her enemy, and she got only his hypocrisy in response. He wanted her, yet he was determined to deny it to himself and to her, making them both suffer instead. If that was not enough to unsettle her stomach and make her think herself a worse fool than he was, Eda had witnessed their whole confrontation and was none too pleased. "Taunt him no more, wench," she had warned Kristen angrily. "You will be sorry if he does take you to bed, for you will never be more than a slave to him." It might well be true, and it made Kristen furious. Was she prepared to give up her innocence to a man who might never care for her? She had been so sure she could make him care, but now she had doubts, and she did not like being doubtful. It undermined her confidence and depressed her terribly. They were cleaning the chambers this morning on the front-yard side of the house, as they did every morning. Royce's chamber was one of these. Kristen had looked at his bed before with a feeling of excitement. This morning she felt like ripping it to shreds. She pounded the pillow so hard, in fact, that feathers flew out of the seams. "From one extreme to the other," Eda remarked, shaking her head at Kristen. "Think no more of him." "Leave me alone," Kristen warned. "You said your piece last eventide." "But not enough, I see. If you think to harm him now, you had best think again." It was the last straw for Kristen, after spending a miserable night confronting the new emotions the Saxon had provoked in her. "Harm him?" Kristen snarled. "If I harm anyone, woman, 'twill be you if you do not cease to nag me!"

  Eda backed away warily. She had grown lax around Kristen, who had showed no hostility until now. She had begun to like the girl, forgetting that she was of a race that thrived on death and destruction. She had grown lax enough to be alone with the girl as she was now. And it was made plain to her, looking at the tall young woman seething with emotion, that it would be a simple matter, chained or not, for Kristen to pick her up and throw her out the open window. She was big enough and strong enough to do so. Not that she would be foolish enough to do it. But she could do it.

  Eda moved swiftly toward the door, grumbling more testily with each step that put her safely out of Kristen's reach. "Threaten an old woman, will you? And after I kept the others from abusing you?" At the door she turned to glower. "Finish here alone. And your attitude had best be improved, wench, ere you come below, or you can spend the rest of the day locked away, and without your supper. See if I care. And do not dawdle, or I will send one of the men up to fetch you down. You will not have such an easy time throwing a man out that window." Kristen wondered about the woman's last unusual statement for a moment, then dismissed it from her mind. This was the first time she had been left alone in an unlocked room. And it was his room. In no time at all she could destroy its contents. There was no one to stop her until the deed was done. Royce would beat her then, and she would welcome the pain it would bring, the oblivion, the hate afterward, for she still did not hate him. She should, but she did not.

  The idea was tempting, but more tempting was the possibility of finding an axe, the one sure weapon that could aid her escape. She had wasted too much time concentrating on the Saxon, when she should have been thinking only of leaving this place. An axe would sever the chain that bound her feet. An axe would open the shutters that were locked in her chamber each night. She had only a thin blanket and a rough sheet on her pallet, but with those and her own clothes tied together, she might have a long enough length to throw out the window and climb down. That same axe would then open the door that locked in Thorolf and the others. If she could find an axe, she could hide it in her chamber now before she went below. Then tonight...

  There was not a single axe among the assortment of weapons hung on the wall. Kristen quickly bent to the large coffer at the base of Royce's bed and opened it. Carefully she moved the clothes on the top, but only found more clothes underneath. She looked to the smaller coffer between the windows, but the iron lock on it stared back at her.

  She turned to the wall of weapons. There were old swords, some richly inlaid with silver, one even sheathed in a pure-gold scabbard. There were spears, a crossbow, a long club that must have been ancient, and dozens of daggers in different lengths and designs. She itched to steal one for herself, but knew the empty space would be noticed immediately. But a dagger might be able to pry open the lock on that coffer in such a way that it would not be noticed, at least for a while.

  She took down the smallest dagger, the easiest to work on the lock with, and knelt down in front of the coffer. The lock was not a simple design. In fact, she could find no keyhole on any of its sides. " Tis not locked, you know. That is only an ornament you are handling. The chest has no catch. Go on, lift it and see for yourself. My cousin has no need to lock his valuables. He knows no one will steal from him here." Kristen turned her head slowly with dread, not recognizing that voice. The dread was gone once her eyes touched on the man's face. She knew him. She knew those bright light-blue eyes, that height only a few inches taller than her
own. She would never forget the sight of this man with sword in hand, and Selig beside him falling to the ground. "You!" Kristen hissed, jumping to her feet. "You should be dead!" He took no note of her words. His eyes moved over her, wide with amazement. "God's breath, Royce's description of you did not do you justice." Likewise, Kristen was not listening to him, either. She would have flown at him in an instant, but she was not so far gone in the tide of rage that washed over her that she was unmindful of her chain. She moved toward him in her slow tread, the chain scraping against the floor, drawing his eyes to it. He winced, seeing the shackles. His obvious compassion had no effect on her. As long as he did not notice the dagger gripped in her fist, she would have him.

  She spoke to draw his eyes back to her face. She would be on him in a moment. "I did not ask after you. I assumed you had died, for no one made mention of you." "I have been recovering. You very nearly—" She struck, aiming for his throat. His reflexes were better than she anticipated, however, so she quickly changed direction, slashing beneath the arm he had raised to block her. But he was good, jumping back to avoid the blade. If the dagger were just a little longer, she would have had a clean cut. As it was, she only ripped open his tunic, drawing a thin line of blood. She saw this even as she spun about for momentum to come around for a side attack at his neck.

  His left hand caught her wrist, inches away from her target. But he had not so much strength in this hand, and she had thrown her whole body into the slash. The blade continued, drawing blood again, and he could not stop it, only deflect it, bringing her hand down in front of him.

  He was a slim man for all his height, nowhere near as strong as Royce. And Kristen had the added strength of revenge goading her. He could not hold on to her wrist with his left hand. She felt his grip slipping, and changed from pulling away to a sharp thrust. The blade half entered his chest, before his right hand came up to help the left, yanking the blade out. "For God's sake, wench, cease!" "When you are dead, Saxon dog!" With her free hand, she gripped a handful of his hair to pull him off balance. But he turned his body into hers, locking her right arm under his so she could no longer maneuver with it and he was free to pry her fingers off the dagger. She screamed in rage when she felt it slip from her grasp. He made the mistake of letting her go then. Before he could turn back to face her, she locked both hands together and clubbed him with them on his back.

  The blow sent him staggering into the hall, where he slammed against the opposite wall. The dagger had fallen on the floor, halfway between them. Kristen jumped for it, but the cursed chain tripped up her feet and she lost her balance. Royce's cousin had turned just as she was falling, and he threw himself at her. The momentum carried them both back into the room, where they landed heavily on the floor.

  This would have been the end of Kristen's fight, if she were a small woman. As it was, Alden thought she was finished. He had fallen on top of her, then gripped a wrist in each hand, holding them by her head. He looked down at her in confusion, and little patience at this point. "Why?" he demanded. "Royce said you have not been hostile to anyone. Why me?" "You killed Selig! He will be avenged, by me!" She threw him to the side, just as the last word was out. In an instant she was on top of him and had his head between her hands. Twice she slammed his head onto the floor before arms circled her chest and lifted her off.

  Kristen struggled until the arms tightened, squeezing out her breath, and a voice hissed in her ear, "Be still!" Oh, unfair! Not him! She could fight anyone but him. Kristen obeyed the order, sagging back against Royce but still staring down at the man on the floor. In another moment she would have had him dazed enough so she could have gone for another weapon on the wall. This time she would have gotten one that would have done the deed. Why did the Saxon have to come now? "What in God's name do you think you were doing, Alden?" Royce demanded. "Me?" Alden sat up, shaking his head. "Look at me! Does it look as if I was doing aught?" "Nay, and I will know why! If you tell me a woman has twice bested you, so help me—" "Have a heart, Royce." Alden winced. "I have been weak as a babe, and she is not exactly a frail woman. You try wrestling with her and see how you fare." "She is but a woman," Royce muttered contemptuously. So saying, he threw Kristen away from him, a move that was meant to send her flying, but only made her stumble once before she caught herself and tossed her head, glaring at him. "Just a woman, eh?" Alden shook his head again. "Well, this woman has an uncommon knowledge of weapons, so do not say I did not warn you, though 'twould seem 'tis only me she wants revenge against." "Why?" "Ask her." Royce turned on Kristen. "Why?" he repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to speak. Royce was fast losing patience and snapped at Alden, "What did she say to you?" "That I killed someone she calls Selig. She said she would avenge him." "A lover, no doubt." "Not a lover!" Kristen spat now, her eyes dark with fury. "Then who was he?" "You will never know that, Saxon." "By God, you will tell me!" he stormed, taking hold of her arm to jerk her back in front of him. "Will I?" she taunted him with a sneer. "How will you make me? Will you beat me, torture me? You can do that, but I will still only tell you what I want to tell you and no more. Nor will I beg for mercy, Saxon, so you may as well kill me now and have done with it." "Get below!" Royce growled, shoving her away again.

  She walked away slowly, yet her carriage was as erect and proud as a queen's. Royce frowned at the empty doorway even after she was gone. And then he rounded on his cousin just as Alden was standing up. "Nay, yell at me no more, Royce. God help me, I will hear enough screaming when Darrelle sees all this blood." "Then tend to your new wounds yourself, and say naught of this. You are not seriously hurt, are you?" "I was beginning to wonder if you cared." Alden grinned. "Nay, only a few pricks—though, God's truth, I was this close to having my throat slit. She fights like a demon, and she gave me no warning she was about to attack me." "Go tend your cuts, Alden," Royce said disgustedly. "I intend to, before Darrelle has a chance to restrict me to my room again. For a loving sister, her concern is stifling." "Alden?" "Yea." He turned at the door. "Stay away from her." Alden grinned. "That warning was unnecessary. I have had enough dealings with that wench to last me a lifetime." I Chapter Sixteen

  Royce leaned back in his chair, waiting for Alden to complete his turn at the dice game they were playing. It was the hottest day yet this summer, and although the small table they were using was drawn directly in front of an open window, little breeze was stirring outside or making its way into the hall.

  Most of Royce's men lounged about the large barrel of mead, even though it was only late afternoon. They had spent the morning training the less-skilled churls in the arts of warfare, but the heat had driven them back to the hall early. It was simply not a day for any but the most necessary tasks.

  This was the first day Alden had ventured into the hall since the Vikings' arrival. Two days had passed since the mishap that had sent him back to his bed. One of his new wounds was worse than he had at first suspected, and had refused to stop bleeding. He had lost more blood than necessary in waiting too long before he finally called Eartha to tend him. The loss had weakened him to the point where his bed again looked inviting. His only consolation was that Eartha had kept quiet and Darrelle still knew nothing of his second disastrous encounter with the Viking wench.

  Royce had been anything but amused when he had seen the nasty chest wound later that same day. He had immediately ordered a new chain for Kristen, a long length that was secured to the wall in the cooking area and also to the chain between her feet, giving her room only to reach the long table there where she did most of her work. He regretted that order after his anger wore off. He knew she hated her shackles. How much more must she despise this new chain that restricted her. He had not been able to look at her since. He did not want to see misery etched on her lovely face. He did not want to see the hate that she must surely feel for him now.

  Royce didn't know what to do about Kristen. He was in the midst of a dilemma that he had never faced before, and he had no one to discuss it
with. He had always been able to talk over anything with Alden, but he was loath to let Alden or anyone else know how much the wench troubled him.

  No matter how he sought to avoid it, she constantly preyed on his mind. He could not even escape her when he slept, for she invaded his dreams too. She was like no woman he had ever known. Not once had he seen her cry or bewail her plight. Not once had she cowered in fear before him. She hated her shackles, yet she had not begged to have them removed as other women would. She asked for no quarter, no mercy. She had asked for nothing, in fact, nothing except—him. She had said she wanted him.

  God, how those words had torn at his vitals and nearly destroyed his resolve when she said them! He had told her he suspected she intentionally meant to bewitch him. Whether it was intentional or not, he was already bewitched, from the day she had been cleaned up to reveal the incredible beauty that had been hidden beneath the grime. He had never felt such desire as this woman aroused in him. Not even Rhona, whom he had wanted above all women, had ever affected him this strongly. He had only to look at the wench and she destroyed his composure. His blood would run hot. His body would ache with need.

  She had driven him past his endurance the other night. He had returned to the hall to retire, but he should never have stopped to look at her, for he was caught, mesmerized by her slow, sensuous movements, watching her hand rise to her face to smooth back a tawny lock of hair, seeing her stretch, her back arch, her breasts thrust forward, more firmly outlined. It was as if an invisible line had been thrown out to lure him in, for he moved toward her without conscious thought, and nothing could have stopped him from tasting those enticing lips when he finally reached her.

  He would like to think she was a witch, or mayhap a Viking priestess, with a special magic divined from her many gods. That would certainly explain his dilemma: how he could loathe her and want her at the same time. She stirred emotions in him that he did not understand. It should not bother him if she suffered, but it did. It should not matter to him that she was a whore, but it did. He even became irrational every time he thought of the many men she had lain with, possibly every man from the ship, so he tried not to think of it. But now to know that she had cared for one more than all the others, enough to want revenge for his death, inflamed him even more.