That bath had been more embarrassing than relaxing. Bathing with two naked female servants was something she'd never before done.
Other than maid one and maid two, both of whom spoke no English, there was nobody to talk to. She couldn't take much more of this sitting in isolation, nor could she endure any more grieving for what would never again be.
Ronda was a realist. Common sense dictated that these underground dwellers had never been discovered in over a thousand years because they guarded their turf with an iron fist. Which didn't bode well for escape. Not now and not ever.
That left two choices: try to escape at every turn and grow more depressed, if not dead, from lack of success, or try to carve out some sort of meaningful life for herself down here. It had taken her a solid week to arrive at this conclusion, but she'd finally gotten to where she needed to be, mentally speaking.
In that way, she was glad Nikolas had left her alone these past seven days. It had given her time to cry over the freedom she'd lost, come to terms with the situation for what it was, and make a profound choice. Ronda had decided that she wanted to find some kind of happiness, even if that came at the price of living out the rest of her life in Lokitown.
But what about Nikolas? What had he given up to save her? For the first time, Ronda found her thoughts turning to his predicament rather than her own.
Did he have a love he'd wanted to marry, but had wedded Ronda out of some sense of duty to protect her? Had he given up someone special? Why had he claimed her for his own?
She could easily see any number of women falling for Nikolas. He was not only politically powerful in this underground world, but he was also handsome as sin. With the body of a well-honed warrior and the ruggedly masculine face of an avenging god, no woman from Ronda's world wouldn't worship at his feet.
So many questions. So few answers.
Ronda forced the heavy animal hides off her body. Taking a deep, cathartic breath, she decided it was time to rejoin the living.
Nikolas studied his logbook, his mind distracted. He needed to concentrate on determining how many bottles of oils were ready for bartering in New Norway, yet his thoughts kept returning to his wife.
He wondered if she'd ever remove herself from the guest bedchamber--now her bedchamber--and at least attempt to have peace between them. Nikolas had left her alone this past week when he'd wanted to do anything but that. Talk with her, eat with her, make love to her. Anything but leave her alone.
Still, he recognized that she needed time to settle into the way of things. He could well imagine the myriad emotions he'd be experiencing were their roles here reversed. 'Twould be difficult at best and mayhap impossible to accept that he'd never again lay eyes on all that was familiar to him.
He sighed, hoping such would not be the case with Ronda. He found himself praying to the gods more oft than usual, focusing on his wife. Prayers of a peace between them. And mayhap, if he was lucky, even an eventual love.
When Otrygg loudly barged into the den, Nikolas glanced up. The older, fuming warrior was accompanied by his thirty-three-year-old, equally irate nephew, Erikk.
"You will not believe this, milord," Otrygg bit out.
"He's a perverter of the law," Erikk chimed in.
Nikolas raised an eyebrow. "Toki? One of his regime?" He frowned. "And speak in English. Toki and his idiot imbeciles never learned it."
Otrygg's face was beet red with his fury. He was so worked up that it took him a moment to get his words out. He did, however, switch the conversation to the Outsider tongue. "Toki is forcing my sister, Froda, to the auction block."
Nikolas stilled. " 'Tis impossible. She--"
" 'Tis true, milord," Erikk said bitterly. "Toki's soldiers came to my mother's dwelling last eve. They gave her a fortnight to say good-bye to her old life and prepare for her new one."
"But she's a widow," Nikolas said, stunned. "And a widow beyond childbearing years, at that."
"Nothrum covets her," Otrygg informed him. "The sadistic little bastard always has. And what Nothrum wants, Toki gives him."
Nikolas stood up. For as long as the Underground had existed, widows of all clans in all three kingdoms--New Sweden, New Norway, and New Daneland--had enjoyed a protected, sacred status. 'Twas up to them if they wished to remarry or even dally with another warrior once their husbands left this realm to join the gods and goddesses in Valhalla.
"The time to take New Sweden is now," Nikolas said quietly but forcefully. The agreed-upon date for the coup was still a month off, but the seizing of power couldn't wait. "Already public opinion sways to our side. When word of this spreads throughout the colony, chaos might very well reign!"
"Agreed. This is about more than my mother, milord. This is about the stability and sanctity of our entire way of life. All families will fear that their matriarch will be taken from them." Erikk's nostrils flared. "If you are prepared to lead, then I am prepared to fight."
The two warriors locked eyes and Nikolas nodded. To save Erikk's mother from Nothrum's vile hands, the time to overthrow Toki's regime was coming upon them in a mere fourteen days. There was much preparation to do.
"Maintain control here whilst I voyage to New Norway with some of my men to barter for more weapons. Can you do that?" Nikolas waited for both uncle and nephew to nod their agreement before continuing. "Call upon the three elders we know to be loyal to Toki's dead sire and the impending coup. Round them up and tell them in secrecy what is to become of Froda. Tell them not to tell anyone in Lokitown yet."
Lord Ericsson continued to pace. "Instruct them to ready their nobles--all of them from all five of our clans. Lokitown is positioned at the middle of New Sweden, so besieging from without as well as from within is key."
" 'Tis also important that word of the coup not spread to the New Norwegians or the New Danes," Otrygg added. "They would seize the opportunity to envelop New Sweden while she's vulnerable."
Nikolas agreed. "Other than my first in command, I won't even tell my men why the urgency behind this voyage."
"You will win, milord," Erikk murmured. "And, at last, you will be our king."
"The balance of power has been shifting to your side in greater numbers these past several months. I stand behind your decision that this is the time," Otrygg affirmed. "I hereby pledge my life and loyalty to you and your house."
"As do I." Erikk inclined his head.
Nikolas had waited many moon-risings to hear those words from Otrygg's lips. The elder warrior was wise and experienced. He had known the time for the coup would be right when at last Otrygg had given him his oath.
"I thank you." Blinking, Nikolas cleared his throat. "And now I must ask you to leave me, that I might get the voyage to New Norway in progress with all speed."
Otrygg patted him on the back. "Who will you take with you, Niko?"
"I would like to go."
The men stilled. All gazes flew toward the entrance of the den.
Ronda?
Nikolas's heartbeat had picked up at the mere sound of her voice. Looking upon her, dressed in the nearly see-through silk tunic of their people's women, no less, damn near made his heart beat out of his chest.
She looked utterly breathtaking in a blue tunic that began just at the cleavage line and draped to her ankles. The gold rope that crisscrossed at her hips kept the hemline from falling to her toes. The elastic band that circled the entire upper portion kept her breasts from spilling out of the sleeveless, slinky slip of a dress. Her stiff nipples poked against the sheer material of the tunic.
Nikolas blew out a breath. The gown offered no protection from his lust, and he had the achingly swollen erection to prove it.
"I'm an excellent strategist."
Nikolas forced his gaze away from her body and up to her face. Not that it helped matters much. Her features were so strikingly exotic in their beauty that he stayed hard anyway. "I'm sorry?" he said, snapping out of the fantasy that involved riding her for about twenty-four solid hours.
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"Above the ground, that's part of what I did during times of war--strategize. I decided how many troops would go where and allocated the necessary funds to see it through."
She had been a warrior in her world. In his lust, such knowledge had temporarily been forgotten. "I see."
Ronda sighed. "I can take care of myself, if you're worried I'll get in the way."
Of that Nikolas held no doubts. Never had he seen a woman--or a man for that matter--break shackles made from iron with just the crossing and uncrossing of her legs. And the high jump in the air with the series of kicks? Any potential attackers would swoon. Verily, Nikolas was the only warrior he knew with a fearsome wife. 'Twas odd, but in a pleasant way that filled him with pride. "It isn't that, so much, as I'm certain you would not care to step foot in New Norway."
Otrygg chuckled. "Mayhap you should let her go, milord. Like as not, New Sweden will seem a paradise in contrast."
"What do you mean?" Ronda asked, glancing over to the older warrior.
"Let us just say," Erikk interjected, gaining him her attention, "that the lot in life for the wenches of New Norway is considered barbaric by our people."
Ronda's eyes widened. She couldn't imagine a place that treated women with even less respect than this one. She was currently dressed like a sex kitten, she held no true political rights, was supposed to call her husband "master," and was taken to task by the female servants at every meal for not sleeping with her master and seeing to his manly needs. They might not speak English, but she had no problem translating the irate lectures--mainly because a lot of it revolved around pointing toward Nikolas's bedroom and shaking their heads at her.
"Worse than this place?" Ronda shook her head. "What do they do to them? Put apples on their heads and use them for target practice with a bow and arrow?"
That got a laugh out of the three men. Ronda's heart stilled. She'd never seen Nikolas wear a genuine smile before, and it suited him...better than perfectly. He even had a hint of a dimple.
"Not so bad as that," Nikolas said, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Then I can handle it."
"I don't think it's a good idea." Nikolas's smile dissolved. "The Underground waterways are often treacherous. And when we arrive in New Norway, you will be expected to dress as their women do. And--"
Ronda held up a palm. "I'm not the type of woman who can just sit around all day and sew, okay?" And she highly doubted their manner of dress could be much worse than the ensemble she was currently wearing! She felt like the Queen of the Slut People. "If you want us to move forward together, then you've got to respect that."
Nikolas's heart thumped in his chest. She was hinting at a truce. Mayhap even more.
"I'd really like to go, Nikolas. Please."
He sighed, then said, "Have the servants prepare you a satchel of clothing." He really had to stop this business of acting the in-love milksop whenever she was near. Frowning, he began walking away. "We leave within the hour."
Chapter Nine
True to his word, they left within the hour. And Ronda got to see more of the underworld kingdom.
The longboat they boarded looked like classic Viking handiwork straight out of antiquity, but on a smaller scale. Nikolas had told her that they were preparing to travel through a man-made underground waterway that was only big enough for two boats to pass each other simultaneously.
The lower deck contained two sleeping chambers, a crude kitchen, and a common area. The upper deck featured six fixed oars that warriors manually maneuvered--three on each side--and two rows of chairs in the middle.
Nikolas put a cloak around Ronda's shoulders. "There's a chill in the air this far below, so I don't advise removing it."
She nodded, already feeling goose bumps. "Yes, I feel it."
He smiled, then helped her to her seat aboard the longboat.
Six imposing Viking warriors, each wearing a hooded black robe, were already in position at the oars. They reminded her of the boatman on the fabled river Styx. "The bottled oils are already loaded?" she quietly inquired, settling in next to Nikolas.
"Aye. My men move quickly."
"Huh. You sure don't. I-I mean..." Her eyes rounded. Ronda couldn't believe what she'd just said! The words had stumbled out of her mouth without her thinking about them; she just hoped he hadn't caught the double entendre.
"I had the boat ready within an hour. Why would you call me slow?"
She frowned. He hadn't caught the double entendre. She didn't know whether to be frustrated or relieved.
"I was joking. Where did you learn English?" Obviously your tutors neglected to teach the delicate art of reading between the lines!
Okay, she sniffed, so she was frustrated. She blamed her raging hormones on her not having had sex since bright pink lipstick and gaudy blue eye-shadow had been in vogue.
And on the way Nikolas had been staring at her through heavy eyelids in his den.
"Most men of the laboring class know how to speak it. A way to have one up on the overlords, I suppose." He shrugged. "My English is simply different from yours. Every people possess their own dialect."
"How did you learn it, if it's the second tongue of laborers? I thought you were an overlord."
Ronda could have sworn she felt him tense up beside her.
"I was not born within the class of nobles," Nikolas said softly. "I was born the second son of a fifth son. 'Tis a long, complicated, and boring tale. Suffice it to say I grew up amongst the laborers."
"You worked your way up in the ranks instead of inheriting it?"
Again, the tensing. "Aye."
Ronda smiled as she found his gaze. "That's very cool."
"Cool?"
"Yeah, cool. You know--umm...sort of a cross between admirable and desirable."
Silence. His eyelids grew heavy again as their gazes held. "I think you are cool too," he murmured.
She couldn't help it. She had to grin. The way he had said it was just too cute. Her eyes sparkled as she held his stare. Reaching up to his face, she tucked a lock of hair behind one of his ears. "Thank you," she whispered back.
They reverted to silence as the boat took off. Ten men at the rear who were standing on the dock gave it a push. Within seconds of hitting the water, the longboat neared a ramp. The oarsmen began rowing, heading toward a dark tunnel.
"Hold on!" one of the men called out. "Here we go!"
Ronda yelped as the longboat went racing downhill like a water ride in an amusement park. She instinctively reached for Nikolas's hand to steady herself. Laughing, she glanced up at her husband.
"This is cool?" He smiled.
"Yeah! But in a different way!"
The longboat raced downhill for thirty seconds more before the waterway evened out and turned flat. The oarsmen then returned to rowing and steering the vessel toward their destination.
An hour later, Ronda was yawning. Two hours later and she could barely keep her eyes open. "How much longer until we get there?" she asked Nikolas.
"Another ten hours or so."
"Ten hours? Good grief! I had no idea the Underground was so vast."
His blue gaze flicked over her features. "Why do you not go below and get some rest? There won't be much to see beyond tunnels for another seven hours or so."
Silence.
"What about you?" Ronda finally asked, her voice soft. "Don't you need some rest too?"
If he missed this double entendre, she'd have to write him a book called Reading Between the Lines 101.
"I'm not overly tired."
Somebody get me a typewriter!
"Nikolas," Ronda sighed. She ran a hand through her blond curls. "I really don't want to be alone down there."
Again, silence.
"Mayhap 'twould be, uh, cool...if I lie beside you?"
"Very cool." She smiled.
The lower deck was lit up by lightbulbs on wall sconces--something she'd noticed in their dwelling, as well. "I see you've discovered Thomas Edison in
New Sweden."
"Thomas Edison?" Nikolas inquired as he led her toward the bedchamber.
"Yes." Ronda pointed up at one of the lights as they passed by it. "The guy who invented lightbulbs in the year 1879."
Nikolas sniffed at that. "Our people have had the bulbs you speak of since 1622. 'Twas invented by Milo Torgysson."
"No kidding?"
He grunted his acknowledgment. "Aye."
The bedchamber turned out to be quite cramped and sparse. Then again, there wouldn't be much need for lavishness on a longboat. The warriors didn't spend months on them sailing the oceans, only a couple of days here and there on the underground waterways.
Taking a deep breath, Ronda removed her cloak and worked up her nerve. She had spent an entire week thinking and rethinking things, changing her opinions again and again, until she had at last made up her mind on how life would be from here on out. Once she made up her mind, she didn't change it. It was just the way she was and had always been: stubborn and steadfast to the bone.
She wanted to carve out a meaningful, happy life for herself. She didn't want to spend any more time brooding over what could have been. She realized that Nikolas would never let her go--he couldn't. And it was not as if her life had been all that exhilarating prior to her capture. She'd asked for some excitement in her life, and she'd gotten it. In spades. Whatever the circumstances leading up to her marriage, it was time to accept that she was indeed married.
"Soooo," Ronda said, her cheeks pinkening a little as she stood on one side of the bed, her husband on the other. "What do your people wear when they go to sleep?"
Nikolas stilled. "Nothing."
She blew out a breath. Finally they were getting somewhere. She'd never tried seducing a man before; usually it was the other way around. The role of seducer was difficult. You could never be totally sure if the other party wanted you or would reject you.
"But I understand if you wish to sleep in your tunic. 'Tis cold down here."
Ronda sighed. How was that to be interpreted? Either he didn't want her or he was letting her set the pace. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out the answer.
Slipping out of her sandals and undoing the gold rope at her waist, Ronda kept her eyes lowered to the ground. "In your world," she whispered, lifting the tunic dress over her head and tossing it aside, "what does a beautiful woman look like?" She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life, standing totally naked in front of a man, eyes downcast rather than courageous, and basically asking him if he liked what he saw.