A great deal of embarrassment was all she had suffered at his hands—and the loss of her freedom, which would in fact hurt quite seriously if she didn’t get it back. But what did that say for Selig? Was Eda right? Would his campaign of revenge end if he thought he was doing her serious harm? If she cried, if she whined and complained…
Erika’s cheeks pinkened merely at the thought. She couldn’t do those things—not unless she had no other hope. Her pride simply wouldn’t unbend that much.
And she did have hope, her brother. She would ride away from this place and never see these people again, never be reminded of the humiliations she had suffered here, never—That was not quite true. How was she going to forget a man like Selig Haardrad when she could picture him so clearly in her mind, he might as well be standing before her? And she was afraid that image was not going to fade for many a year.
The object of nearly all of her thoughts lately joined her early that afternoon, and he was wearing the smile she had learned to dread. The first thing he did was release her from the wall, but he didn’t give her the chain as he usually did. He drew her up with it instead.
“You are in luck, wench,” Selig said, humor in his tone. “That matter you and I have to settle need not wait until Alfred departs.”
Erika groaned inwardly, fully aware of what matter he spoke of. “Why not?”
“Royce has taken the king and his party hunting. They will be away for several hours at the least. Only a few lords remain behind, and most of the ladies.”
“Why did you not join the hunt? Or have you overtaxed yourself with the revelries below?”
“How hopeful you sound, yet I fear I must disappoint you,” he replied, trying for an apologetic tone, though he couldn’t quite manage it. “I simply preferred to spend the time…with you.”
“The feeling is, of course, not mutual.”
He laughed. He was in splendid good cheer and brimming with anticipation. And she knew just what he anticipated. He would not even care which answer she gave him. Either one would suit his purpose.
“You have had ample time to dwell on my ultimatum—”
“I have not thought of it at all,” she cut in quickly with the lie.
But procrastination was not going to work. “How unfortunate, yet not really necessary,” he took pleasure in telling her. “Little thought is required to decide if you will call me master—or not. Wear no more than your chains—or not. Which do you choose, Erika No Heart?”
“Neither.”
“You think to feed from my hand, at my feet? I no longer offer you that choice now. Mayhap some other time, but not right now.”
“And I accept none of what you do offer.”
“On the contrary. I would say you have made your choice quite clearly.”
Erika took a step back from him in denial, but the chain wouldn’t let her go very far, and he simply used it to pull her close again.
Her voice rose, measured by her alarm. “I said I do not accept your ridiculous choices.”
He replied in a tone one might reserve for slow-witted children. “But you were not given that option. You must abide those you were given, and as you have already decided the matter—”
“I did not!”
“Then I beg your pardon. I could have sworn I did not hear the name ‘master’ come from your lips. I will allow I was mistaken, if you will but repeat it now.”
In answer, her lips compressed so tightly they whitened. He wasn’t displeased to see that, though. Quite the contrary. He laughed.
“Nay?” He said it for her. “Then it seems I was correct the first time. You have decided to flaunt what meager charms you have for all to see. I am sure those left in the hall will find the spectacle most amusing. You may remove your clothing now.”
If he was trying to make her “supposed” choice sound the worst of two evils, he was succeeding admirably. She detested the way he toyed with her, and that he took such pleasure in it. But Erika was not going to concede graciously or otherwise this time.
“I have no intention of amusing anyone,” she said stonily, “least of all you. If you have not noticed, lackwit, I am not cooperating.”
He seemed surprised, as if he really hadn’t anticipated refusal. Certainly he was not amused. His sudden frown might be feigned, but she doubted it.
“Flagrant defiance?”
She nodded. “This is your idea, not mine. You want my clothes off, you must take them yourself. But do not expect me to stand here meekly the while you do.”
The frown only lasted a few moments more, before it was erased with the rumble of a deep chuckle. “I am likely more adept at it than you anyway. But come, you are at a disadvantage, all enchained. Give me your wrists and I will release you.”
Fairness? From him? She should have been immediately suspicious, was suspicious, but the lure of freedom was too great a temptation to ignore. And he had already produced a key, which he held out toward her. Mayhap he really did want more of a challenge, now that his damned game was to become physical. Either way, it would indeed be to her advantage not to be so encumbered.
She thrust her wrists out. Too late did she realize that her gowns would not come off without being cut off unless at least one of her wrists was freed. But before she jerked her hands back, one shackle was off and dangling from the other. And his expression said exactly what she now surmised. His trick had worked, and it had indeed been a trick.
To show her appreciation, she swung the loose shackle at his head. As a weapon, it was more than adequate. Her skill in using it, however, was not. Selig ducked right handily and caught the wrist that was still chained, bringing it up behind her back.
This, unfortunately, put her within easy reach of him, and while she was trying to push him away with her freed hand, to no avail, he was working the knot on her rope girdle loose with his own free hand. He succeeded where she did not, and before he let go of her, he caught a fistful of her outer gown and yanked upward. As loose as that gown was, the material rose without a hitch—until it encountered Erika’s arms, which refused to rise with it.
For a moment she thought she might have defeated him, but he didn’t force the matter, content to leave her buried and helpless beneath the outer gown that now hung over her head, while he went after the laces on the tighter chainse beneath. With her arms now trapped, her face covered by material, she shrieked in rage, and tried to twist away from him. An arm around her waist prevented that. So she fought to at least get her arms loose in order to do some damage. But she no sooner got the material back down from her face than the other gown started to rise.
It was infuriating that she was getting nowhere, even with her hands freed of restraint. She tried locking her arms against her sides again, but he merely reached in to grab one wrist, then the other, pulling them both over her head where he could hold them together long enough for the gowns to follow, and follow they did. There was a moment when the loose shackle got caught in the sleeve of her chainse, but one last yank saw to its release.
She had been given no shift to wear with her slave’s clothes, no braies or stockings. That easily was she left naked. But embarrassment didn’t touch her yet. Her anger was still too high, and since her chained feet made it impossible for her to run, she attacked again instead.
It was, of course, a useless endeavor against a man his size. He didn’t feel her punches, merely stood there and raised a brow at her when she tried it twice. She began to wonder how a blow to his head had ever caused him pain. But when she made to swing the shackle at him again, he stopped toying with her and ended her efforts right quickly.
Again her arm was twisted up behind her back, though this time he had no girdle to free. This time she was pressed tight to the front of him. And with her being so close, it was a simple matter for his other hand to follow her free arm down from the shoulder to her wrist, no matter her effort to shake it loose. That arm, too, ended up behind her back.
But when his other hand lef
t her wrist to slide slowly down the chain still attached to it, her eyes widened, for she realized what he meant to do. And he did it, the shackle closing around her free wrist again, the sound of it locking bringing a shudder to her.
He let go of her then, but the length of the chain behind her wouldn’t let her arms come forward farther than her sides. She was exposed, completely, helpless even to shield her breasts with her hands. This was how he meant to parade her before a hall filled with women who would take pleasure in seeing a Dane brought so low?
Her pride was momentarily in shock, long enough for him to lead her by her “leash” from the room without any protest from her. Not that protest would have done her any good, and she didn’t even consider trying it when the horror of this latest humiliation at his hands subsided somewhat. What was left was anger worse than any she had so far felt.
They had not yet reached the stairs when she acquainted him with it. “Cowardly knave. Swinish oaf. Diseased scum of a trickster!”
He had already swung around, towered over her before the last word was out, and his face was flushed with some anger of his own. “On your knees when you call me names,” he ordered in a growl.
Without the least hesitation, she dropped to her knees, leaned forward, and sank her teeth into his right thigh. Selig howled. Bending over her was his first reflex, but before the second took hold, he lost his balance. He grabbed her shoulders to keep from falling, but that only shoved her back and he ended up sprawling on top of her.
The breath was knocked from her for a moment. When she had it back, she made to shove him off her, only to have it recalled that her hands were no longer available for such use, were locked to the floor by her hips. She used was what left to her, her shoulders, her hips. That was a mistake.
She finally noticed that he was making no effort to move, was simply staring down at her. Lying on top of a naked woman might not have stoked his fires, but her own movements to dislodge him had done so. It was there in the intense smoldering of his gray eyes, and in what she could feel hardening near the apex of her thighs.
In a panic, she got out, “Recall that you hate me!” just before his mouth closed on hers.
His hate, apparently, didn’t come into this. This was elemental, arousal overruling other emotions. She was made to understand that more clearly when some of that same desire clouded her own thinking.
The man simply surpassed proficiency when it came to kissing. He licked, he nibbled, he sucked, and his tongue plunged. And for a girl who knew next to nothing about it, Erika was overwhelmed by such expertise. Nor did he just kiss her. Mayhap she could have come to her senses otherwise—nay, she was beyond denial, and what else he did merely made it worse.
He had total access to the parts most intimate on her body, and as if they had a will of their own, his hands were drawn to some of them. Both hands slid between their bodies to flatten over her breasts. Both squeezed, both plumped, both found the nipples and plucked them to hardness. The shock was felt clear to her toes. She moaned into his mouth. His own groan was louder.
Neither heard the approaching footsteps, but the dry tone was quite clear. “I suppose you will tell me that the time you have spent in your bed these last weeks has given you an aversion to it.”
Selig’s new groan was unrelated to passion. “Mother, go…away.”
Even more dryness. “You mean you did not want an audience? You could have fooled me.”
“Mother!”
A sound of disgust greeted that entreaty, then footsteps again, now receding.
Selig sighed and dropped his forehead to Erika’s. It took a moment for him to realize that he had relaxed against her; then he stiffened and leaned back. She was already as rigid as the floor beneath her. Ironically, his face was as hot as hers with embarrassment right now. She couldn’t quite find any justice or humor in that.
“She did not see you,” he offered for some reason she could not fathom.
“What matter if she did?” Erika replied bitterly. “You are the one who would find shame in that. Mine was there before her appearance.”
He glowered at her for a moment before he shoved himself to his feet, drawing her up with him by her collar ring. He didn’t take the chain that hung down between her breasts, other than to drape it once around her neck so she wouldn’t trip on it.
“To bite a man’s leg is to invite what you got,” he said stiffly.
“Put me to my knees again, and I will see if I can aim for a different part of you.”
His face got a little hotter, as did his anger. “You were like a bitch in heat,” he reminded her.
“And you desired a woman you profess to hate!” she shot back.
It wasn’t the wisest thing to do, to taunt him with his own shame. His finger went back through her collar ring to lift her until their noses almost touched.
In a low, menacing voice he said, “I do despise you, wench, never doubt it. I despise you and the ice that runs through your veins.” And then he smiled nastily. “Except it runs hot when a man touches you, does it not?”
She should be grateful he had merely thrown the same taunt back at her. She was still too angry for gratitude—or to retreat.
“At least I do not make excuses, or place the blame elsewhere.”
He let go of her with a slight shove, saying in a barely controlled hiss, “Return to my chamber, wench. I will send Eda to assist you. Your excursion below can wait for another day.”
“When your mother will not be certain it was I you were rutting with?”
She didn’t wait to see if that barb drew blood. And in fact, she did leave him there seething—and still so aroused he ached with it. He stayed there for several minutes, trying to gather some calm. It wouldn’t come. And it wasn’t toward the stairs that he finally headed.
He came to the open doorway—she had been unable to close it herself when she entered—to see her sitting in her corner, her head bent to her upraised knees so that her hair cloaked most of her nakedness. The sight of her dejected pose so affected him, he kicked the doorframe, then swore viciously because he was wearing his soft-skinned boots today. How did she dare make him feel sorry for her at the same time that his passions were aroused?
He had drawn her attention. There weren’t tears in the powder-blue eyes that looked toward him, but the fire of her anger was no longer there to sustain his. Misery was what he saw, or thought he saw, and he had never been able to witness it in women without wanting to rid them of it. He left before he did something stupid, like comfort this one.
Chapter 26
IT HAD BEEN too much to hope that his mother would keep to herself what she had seen in the upstairs hall. Not long after the men returned from the hunt, Selig’s father was lifting his brow at him and shaking his head, and Royce laughed outright when their eyes met.
At least he was certain they didn’t know whom he had lost his head over, which would have made his embarrassment much worse. But he was sure his own body had blocked Erika from his mother’s sight.
It was time he moved into his own home, and not because he required more privacy. Wyndhurst was simply too crowded right now, and he had recovered enough that he was definitely in need of a woman. What had happened with the Dane was proof of that. But with the rest of his family visiting, there wasn’t an empty room to be found in which a man might dally undisturbed—even his own.
He could, of course, move his captive elsewhere for the time being. There was no specific purpose why she must be kept in his own chamber, except that that was where he wanted her to be—and for some reason, he slept peacefully with her near. Even the return of his carnal appetites didn’t take precedence over that.
He could blame that return on what had happened with the Dane, however, and on the fact that he hadn’t had a woman since he had left for East Anglia. But what could explain his insistence on stripping her bare, when the last time he had seen her thusly had warned him not to do so again? He had known it would come to tha
t.
He had known her pride wouldn’t let her utter the word “master.” And he had known what it would do to him to see her like that again. Certainly it would have been a fine revenge—if it wouldn’t have affected him personally.
So why had he done it, looked forward to it, enjoyed it more than warranted? For that matter, with so many lovely ladies in the king’s party to draw his interest, why had it been so difficult for him to stay away from his own chamber these past days?
Obviously, this revenge business was consuming too much of his energy. He was becoming obsessive about it—and her. But he derived such pleasure from having Erika of Gronwood in his power, having her at hand to bedevil, seeing her eyes flash with impotent fury. What had happened in the hall with her was unrelated to that. What had happened in the hall shouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t happen again.
He needed to return to his own home, where he had other things to occupy his mind—the new slaves to train, defenses to begin building now that the house was complete. He would make the announcement on the morrow, and withstand all objections from the females in his family—somehow.
Which was what he would have done if Ragnar Haraldsson had not arrived late that afternoon.
Word was brought immediately to Royce of the Danish army amassing before his gates. Unfortunately, the man who brought the information was in something of a panic and simply blurted it out, where those closest could hear. Only Kristen was at Royce’s table at the moment—along with the king.
Alfred rose abruptly at the news. Royce had to quickly assure him, “They are not here for you, my lord. This was anticipated. They are here for the lady my wife captured for her brother.”