Chapter Nineteen.
Kristen watched Royce while he slept. It was a luxury to lie there and do so, for she should have risen already. Eda usually woke her much earlier than this. The older woman would already be working below. And Kristen was not so naive as to think that just because she had shared the lord's bed, she would not have to work anymore.
She sighed, hating to leave him, but she wanted to fetch her clothes from the bathing room before more than just the servants were about in the hall. She slipped off the bed and quickly put on the coarse gray robe. She picked up the green gown from the floor and held it to her cheek for a moment. Then she sighed again and laid it carefully over Royce's coffer.
She knew he would not let her wear her own gowns. They had made love and likely would again, but it didn't mean the same thing to him that it did to her. To him she was still just a slave, and slaves were not adorned in finery. "Kristen?" She turned with her hand on the door to see she had woken him somehow. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hair tousled, as naked as he had been last night, and looking sleepy. In fact he yawned. Kristen couldn't help the tender smile that came to her lips. "Aye, milord?" "You would have left without waking me?" "I did not think you would want to rise this early," she replied. "Come here." She hesitated, but only for a moment. If he wanted to make love again, she could find no objection. She could not think of a more pleasant way to start the day. When she stood before him, he reached for her hands and held them lightly in his. It was not desire she read in his eyes as he looked up at her. "Where were you going?" "Below to work." "Then you have forgotten something." "Nay, I—" She stopped, her eyes widening, for he could mean only one thing. And he saw that she comprehended now. "Put them on, Kristen." She tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened, holding fast to her. She shook her head in disbelief. "You will still make me wear that chain after... How can you be so unfeeling?" "I know you hate it and I am sorry for that," he replied softly. "If there were another way to ensure you could not escape, then I would use it instead, but there is not. Too many Wessex slaves have escaped, running north to the Danes to join their army. I know that you would do the same, to try to reach your home." She was not hearing the words of explanation. "The men would, aye, but I would not go without them." "With your freedom, you could help them to theirs." "If I told you I would not, that I would not leave your hall?" "You cannot expect me to believe you." "Why not?" she demanded angrily. "You would believe me that I would not kill you, but you will not believe that I will not escape?" "Aye, you have it right!" His voice rose in impatience. "I can stop any attempt you make against me, but I will not take the chance of losing you!" "You do not take this precaution with your other slaves!" she snapped. "They are born slaves, descendants of the Britons that we conquered centuries ago. Wyndhurst is their home. But you have been captured, losing the freedom you once knew. You have no reason to want to stay here." Didn't she? God's teeth, what a fool he was not to see that she did not want to leave him. But he was more of a fool if he thought she would shrug and accept his shackles now, and blithely accept him too.
A coldness entered her eyes, a chill that he had never seen before. "Very well, milord. You can let go of me. I will wear your chain." He released her, but he frowned as he watched her walk stiffly to the table and pick up the shackles, then bend over to snap them on. "You can forgo the other chain, Kristen, if you will promise not to attack my cousin again." Was she supposed to be grateful for that? Curse him, he had no idea what his callousness was doing to her.
She stood up to her full height, her voice calm but tinged with bitterness as she said, "I would have promised not to escape, but this I will not promise." "It matters not to you that he is dear to me?" "My brother was dear to me." "Then you will wear the other chain as well until Alden's wounds are healed and his strength fully recovered. If you were not so strong yourself, 'twould be unnecessary." "I do not regret my own strength. It serves me well when needed," she said cryptically. Then, with stiff pride, she added, "If that is all, milord?" "Aye, go!" he snapped, her coldness rubbing him raw. She nodded curtly and departed, leaving Royce with his temper rapidly rising. What in God's name did she expect him to do? Trust her? Surely she could see how unreasonable that would be! He had not only himself to think of, but those for whom he was responsible. She could too easily aid her brother's men to freedom. But how could she stop the slaughter that would follow? She could not.
Having so many Viking captives was the problem. With their size, they could be as effective as a small army. He should have killed them all when he had wanted to. Then there would be no problem now. Nay, for he would have killed Kristen too.
The thought that she could have died by his order, without his even knowing she was a woman, cooled his temper. Her resentment would not last. She was intelligent enough to see that until he could trust her, precaution was mandatory.
Logic held no place in Kristen's mind today. Emotion overruled fairness. She was feeling hurt, betrayed even, and those feelings continued to fester throughout the long day. She said not a word to anyone. She lived in her thoughts, and these grew steadily more acerbated and fraught with resentment. With no outlet for this upheaval of emotions, she was simmering on a dangerous level by the time Eda escorted her upstairs that night. Eda passed her chamber once again, going on to Royce's. But Kristen went no farther than her own door, and this she slammed shut behind her. Eda opened it within seconds. "What means this? You saw me go on." "So?" Kristen said tersely, lying down on her pallet. "He has bid me bring you to him again, wench." "So?" Eda sighed. "Do not be difficult, Kristen. His will cannot be denied." "So you think. So he thinks, too. You will both learn differently." Kristen turned her back on the old woman. "You need not remove my shackles, Eda. Lock my door and go away." Kristen did not see Eda shaking her head as she closed the door, nor did she hear it being locked. She drew her knees up to her chest and reached down to grip the chain at her feet, pulling at it so hard the skin scraped on her palm. She let go with a violent sound and turned onto her belly, pounding on her pallet in a feeble effort to rid herself of some of her frustration. It didn't work. She succeeded only in ripping the thin material in several places so that straw spilled out.
She was quiet and still lying on her belly with her head turned away from the door when Royce opened it a few moments later. He moved across the floor until his feet nearly touched the pallet by her hip.
He had not seen this chamber since the servants had readied it for her. Everything had been removed from it except the thin, narrow pallet on which she slept. It was a dismal atmosphere for her to return to each night. Not even a candle had been spared for her. "Why did you not come to me, Kristen?" "I am tired." "And still angry?" She didn't answer that. Royce bent down beside her, touching her shoulder. "Sit up so I can remove your shackles." She turned over to look at him, but she didn't sit up. "If you will have them taken away, remove them. Otherwise leave them on." "Do not be stubborn, wench. Take what is offered." "And be grateful?" she said frostily. "Nay. If you will treat me like an animal, then be consistent." He ignored her choice of comparisons, reminding her, "You accepted this arrangement before." "That was before." "I see. You expected things to change, simply because you shared my bed." He shook his head at her. "Is that right?" She looked away, but he caught her chin, forcing her eyes back to his. "Is that right, Kristen?" "Aye!" Her cry was thick with bitterness, but hurt also. "I would not treat you so cruelly after what we shared. I do not see how you can me." "I know you understand why it has to be this way, Kristen; you just do not like it," he said impatiently. "You must know I like it no better." "Do I?" she retorted. "You are lord here. What is done to me is done by your order, no other's." He lost patience with her, standing up, his expression stern as he fixed her with his dark eyes. "Very well, I will tell you the alternatives to that chain. You can be locked in a room instead—mine, if you will—but you will not leave it at all. I can spare you little time in the day, so you would be alone mostly, e
xcept at night. Would you prefer that?" "You might as well put me in a cell!" "We have none here. I offer you my own chamber, rather than this one. I give you the choice." "There is no choice, milord," she retorted. "You offer me an even worse constriction. You said alternatives. Give me one I can accept." "There is one other tiling I can do that would enable you to have the freedom of Wyndhurst. I can kill your friends." "What!" She sat up, staring at him in disbelief, but he went on undaunted: "You can be trusted only if they are no longer here, the threat removed that my people will be slaughtered if they escape. By yourself, you would not get far if you still tried to escape. I would find you." "You are jesting!" she said half hopefully, half incredulously. "Nay." "You know I would not take my freedom at such a price!" she hissed furiously. "Why do you even mention such an alternative? Could you really kill defenseless men?" "Those men are my enemies, Kristen. They would kill me without a moment's pause, given half a chance. I have never liked having them here, and would just as soon rid myself of them. 'Twas Alden who convinced me they could be useful." "Then rid yourself of me, too, Saxon!" she seethed. "I am one of them!" "Aye, you are my enemy, too, wench," he replied softly. "But you I like having around. Now, give me your shackles to remove for the night, or make another choice." She glared at him, but she stuck her feet out before he decided to take the choice out of her hands. She was still glaring at him when he stood up again, wrapping the chain about his neck to hold one iron band in each hand. "I want to make love to you, Kristen." His voice turned husky. "I suppose you will deny me because you are angry, but I will ask you anyway. Will you come to my bed?" "Nay," she muttered stonily, ignoring the responsive chord his tone and words stirred deep within her. "I could insist." "Then you will find out what 'tis like to have me fight you, Saxon." She heard him sigh before he said rather gruffly, "I will hope you get over your anger quickly, wench." Royce left then, and this time Kristen heard the door being locked.
Chapter Twenty
"What did you do to my cousin, wench, to put him in such a foul mood?" Kristen gave Alden only a cursory glance. He had come to stand on the opposite side of the worktable from her, the first time he had come near her since she had attacked him. His company was not welcome. "I am not responsible for his moods," she said surlily. "Nay?" Alden grinned. "I have seen the way he watches you. You are indeed responsible." "Go away, Saxon," she retorted, fixing him with a hard look. "You and I have naught to say to each other." "So you still want to kill me?" "Want to? Tis something I am bound to do." He gave a mock sigh. " 'Tis a shame we cannot be friends. I could give you good advice on how to handle my cousin, for you do not seem to be doing so well on your own." "I want no advice!" she snapped. "And I do not want to handle him. I want naught to do with him!" "Mayhap, but I have seen you watching him, too. Such lustful looks that pass between you and—" "Curse you!" She cut him off furiously. "I swear you must be Loki's kin. Get away from me, before I throw this dough at your head!" Alden chuckled as he walked away. Kristen pounded angrily at the dough she was making. How dare that man tease her? Did he think she was not serious in wanting his death? She was serious. She did not care if he had such an amiable nature. Nor did it make any difference to her that she had learned he was indirectly responsible for her and the others still being alive. It didn't matter either that he reminded her of her brother Eric with his teasing charm and his boyish smile. She was going to kill him—if she ever got free again.
Her long, thick braid had fallen over her shoulder and she angrily whipped it back behind her. It was the middle of summer now, and the hottest weather Kristen had ever known. At home she would be out swimming with Tyra, or racing across fields on Torden's back, with the breeze whipping through her hair. She certainly wouldn't be stuck near a hearth that burned all day long. She had so many regrets, but the "should have done's" only served to remind her that she was here by her own design.
It had been a little more than a month since the ship had anchored on the river that disastrous morning. Occasionally Kristen saw Thorolf and the others through an open window as they came and went to their labor on the wall. They could not see her, though, in the far corner of the hall where she was.
Kristen knew they probably still worried about her; at least Ohthere and Thorolf would. They should have escaped by now. She hoped the thought of leaving her behind was not preventing them, but it was more likely that Royce and his cursed precautions made it impossible.
She had considered asking Royce if she could speak to them, but Alden was right. Royce's mood had been foul this last week since she had refused to share his bed, and his answer to her, about anything, would undoubtedly be nay. His orders to his men were sharp, his looks dark. His sister and the servants stayed well away from him and were unusually quiet, so as not to draw his attention. Was she responsible for his short temper?
She would like to think so, but did not credit herself with that much sway over him. It was true that he came each night to ask her to share his bed, and each night she held tight to her resentment and refused him. Somehow Alden must have learned about this. Mayhap he had heard Royce's voice raised in anger by her door one of these last few nights, for his patience with her was definitely wearing thin. Or mayhap he was just interpreting the looks Royce gave her, as he said.
It was doubtful that Royce would actually discuss her with his cousin. Why should he? She was just a wench he was attracted to at the moment, enough to want in his bed, but not enough to mention to his family. He would not admit such an attraction to a slave, especially a captive slave of an enemy despised by them all.
Eda knew what was happening, but she was loyal to Royce and not about to tell anyone that Kristen was defying him and he was letting her get away with it. She scolded Kristen daily for her stubbornness, for it was her feeling that if Royce wanted her, he should have her. She was also aware that their one night together had been agreeable to them both, for no screams had come from his chamber that night, no bruises had marred Kristen's smooth skin the next day. She was coldly silent that day, but Eda had guessed the reason why, seeing her glare so often at her chains.
Eda had called her foolish after that for not trying to curry her lord's favor in that age-old way. Kristen had retorted that she could do without such favor that still kept her chained like an animal.
She was puzzled, however, that Royce was conceding to her wishes. He continued to ask her to share his bed, and continued to accept her refusal, though less graciously lately. She had never dreamed he would. In fact, she had expected him to force her instead. That would have been more in keeping with her position that put her utterly at his mercy. But he didn't. And that he didn't was causing Kristen some unanticipated frustration of her own. She still wanted him. And now that she knew what lovemaking was all about, she wanted him even more than before. But pride, of which she had her fair share, was going to keep her from ever saying so again—to him, anyway.
That night Kristen waited anxiously for Royce to come to her room again, but he did not. She thought of him seeking his pleasure elsewhere and tried to convince herself that she didn't care. She would have been less irritable the next morning had she known where he did spend the night.
As it was, the day proved a long one and she was feeling like the cat that bit off its nose to spite its face. Much of her misery was of her own making. She was sure now that Royce would not come to her chamber again, that he was done with her. Not seeing him the whole day strengthened this conclusion.
Still, Kristen waited a while after Eda removed her shackles and locked the door this night, sitting on her pallet in the dark, plucking at the already frayed ends of her rope girdle, and hoping. She didn't want Royce to just give up on her. She wanted him to force her to give in. Her pride wouldn't let her, so he had to overcome that. Why didn't he?
After waiting more than long enough, Kristen finally sighed and removed her clothes to sleep. That was one thing she had not done this last week, until after Royce had come and gone. Last night she had slept i
n her clothes, as uncomfortable as they were. But tonight— he wasn't coming. She was still awake when the door opened. A torch in the hall behind him made his huge frame a black silhouette in the doorway. Her body came instantly alive with tremors of excitement. She was filled with joy that he had come, that he hadn't given up yet. But none of this showed in her expression as she looked toward him, unable to see his own features with the light behind him.
When he just stood there without speaking, she realized he wasn't going to. Well, she supposed he had his pride, too. And words were unnecessary to know why he was here. She conceded enough to break the silence. "Do you take the chains away for good, milord?" "Nay." "Not even if I swear on my mother's life that I will not leave this place?" "Nay, because for all I know, you could hate your mother, or she could be dead, which would make your vow worthless." Kristen controlled the pique that pricked her because of that. She rose up on her elbow, letting the thin blanket fall beneath her breasts. This was an unfair tactic on her part, but she was tired of this stalemate.