“I never had a chance to put them on. I was rather preoccupied with getting out of the castle, because you set it on fire.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm. “Am I not suitably dressed?”
Randvior actually preferred his women naked. But this point might not foster feelings of cooperation.
“Under the circumstances, I cannot fault your state of dress. Come with me, you need to change into something warm before you catch your death.”
She ran her fingers up the side of a crate, avoiding his stare. “I want to stay
here
. I need to oversee the preparations of my sister’s body—plan her burial.”
“Impossible.” Although he deeply sympathized with her loss, nothing could extend their stay. “My men are expecting us. There is much to do before we depart.”
She inclined her head. “I cannot say I’ll be sorry to see you go.”
He had been awake for two days straight, and if she didn’t hurry up and cooperate, there was going to be a price to pay. “Surely you understand what your brother meant by this arrangement—we bartered for more than just gold.
You
are a large part of my takings.”
He turned and searched for an empty floor stand, found one, and placed his torch in it.
He lacked what most educated men considered
virtues
, or the moral ingredients that truly made any nobleman noble. These traits were loosely based on the Greek
Pillars of Wisdom
.
Humanism.
Rationalism.
Love of Freedom.
Moderation.
Patience was the hardest, of which he usually possessed none.
“Enough.” He waved a hand and swore silently at the unnecessary gruffness in his voice. “You
will
accompany me back to the hall.”
Her eyes fluttered erratically. “But I don’t want to go with you! You’ve no claim on me—no right to make any demands.”
He drew a sharp breath.
Be patient, her world is crumbling before her very eyes.
“I know you need time to mourn your sister, time to digest everything your brother—”
“Stop talking,” she said shakily. “My brother will pay for his sins one way or another. He is a subject of the English crown, not you. And a subject of Christ’s vengeance—an eye for an eye . . . As for anything else, I’ve nothing to say about it.” She looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but with him.
She flapped her arms and barely managed to finish. “All of this is beyond my capacity to work through. I hate you—you destroyed my home and it might as well have been your hand on the knife that slit my sister’s throat, it’s your fault!”
She started to shake uncontrollably, gulping for air between hiccupping sobs. Randvior wanted to snatch her up and hug her close. Show her how he could ease her pain.
Between breaths, she found the strength to explain. “I’m sure you overheard my brother blame me for my mother’s death . . .”
Randvior nodded.
“She died from birthing fever. And I’ve lived with the guilt of it since I was old enough to speak. My brother, even my sisters at times, harbor ill feelings for me. All I have left of my mother is right here in this castle. Her books, collection of tapestries, and trunks of clothes. Her scent still lingers on some of her gowns.”
“You can choose anything to take along,” he said. This simple gesture seemed to soften her a bit.
“It’s not the same. Her spirit roams freely here and if I am gone, who will look after her?”
He believed her. Who was he to deny the existence of a loved one’s ghost? Norse believed in many things they couldn’t see or explain.
“And to hell with you, or whatever the equivalent is in your religion if you don’t like it!”
He looked at her.
“Please,” she begged. “Just leave me alone.”
Randvior shook his head.
Impossible.
By Odin, there were instances when a man could easily lose control. This might prove such a circumstance if he didn’t get her out of the cellar. The flickering light reflected hauntingly in her cloudy eyes. Tempted him . . . Made him burn insatiably for just a brief taste of those sweet lips.
“We’ve tarried long enough.”
He had fulfilled his obligations, spent enough time in this wasteland. The gods increased his wealth. The only thing left was to go home—back to the Trondelag before ice prevented him from crossing the North Sea.
As if reconciled to her fate, she offered her hands. He reached, but was rewarded with an unforeseen punch to the chest and a kick to the shin. She jumped back and grimaced. Shook her hand out in obvious pain, cursed the chain mail . . . He eyed the scrapes on her knuckles and drew her in, wrapped his arms around her little frame. Her body fit so nicely against his.
“Let go!” She tried to wiggle free.
No woman had ever resisted his charms before. He held her close, hoping she’d quit struggling. Randvior supported her body with one arm and let his other hand roam freely across her back. She made some funny noises at first, then exhaled, shifted on her feet, and surprisingly laid her head against his chest.
Breathe.
She gazed up at him. Those dark eyes warned him not to push her any further, but she felt so alive in his hands. He tipped her chin and her eyes fluttered closed. He smiled and slowly touched his lips to hers, then dipped his tongue inside her mouth. He teased her at first, allowing her to make the next move. Then her tongue moved with his, swirling and exploring the depths of his mouth. A branding heat suffused his whole body until his ears burned. But as quickly as she started, she stopped, pushed him away, and stared up at him. Whatever thoughts played in that feminine mind he’d have to worry about later. Willing or not, she was accompanying him, and
right now
.
He pulled her hard against him again. His hand followed the curve of her spine and cupped her arse. She sputtered and slapped him. Randvior withdrew his hands. And for a brief moment, his rage surged dangerously close to the surface.
“If you were a man . . .” he growled.
“If I were a man,” she said. “Your hands would have never strayed to my arse, you rutting beast.” She clutched at her breast. “You’d use a woman’s grief as an opportunity to seduce her?”
He laughed. “
Min lille dukke
, enough nonsense, I’ve no time to play these childish games with you—after we are on my ship, we can play whatever you like.”
Much to his pleasure, she stomped a foot obstinately and made her own growling sound. “My brother told me you intended to make me your
thrall
or
concubine
.”
Randvior choked back another laugh.
A slave—never. His concubine, close enough.
“Do you even know what a concubine is?”
“No,” she answered stiffly. “But I know what a thrall is, and I won’t be anyone’s slave!”
Her eyes darted wildly around the room, possibly searching for an escape. He’d better say something to calm her down. “In my homeland there are laws that protect nobles from being enslaved. I would never expose you to such humiliation, even if you were a conquest of war. If it eases your conscience, you have my solemn oath. You will never become a slave.”
Her eyes shot daggers as he finished pledging his oath, his hand placed dramatically over his heart.
“And your word is to be trusted? I think not.” She whirled and sprinted for the door.
Before her foot touched the landing, he grabbed a handful of her cloak and pulled her toward him. He was delighted, always enthralled by the prospect of a good chase. But there was no time for that kind of sport right now. Of course, it deserved some consideration later. All patience lost, he spun her around like a child’s top and flung her over his shoulder. She yelled and kicked, cursed as well as any seaman he’d ever met.
Light as a feather
, he smiled,
with lungs as powerful as a screeching banshee’s.
Randvior chose to take the longest route back to the great hall to give Noelle a chance to recover her dignity. As they exited the cellar, the bitter cold overpowered them. She shivered and squeaked hoarsely. If she persisted in screaming, she might lose her voice altogether. Not a bad thing. But if she sucked in too much cold air, she risked catching her death.
He spanked her bottom and gave her a firm shake. “Enough!”
In turn, she slapped at his arms.
“Didn’t you learn the first time that armor scars hands?”
“I’ll risk it again if it means you’ll put me down instead of carrying me around like a sack of turnips!”
He rewarded her with another deep-throated chuckle, which seemed to irritate her even more. Her flailing feet made contact with his chest. Like a fish on a hook, she flopped around until he stopped abruptly.
“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, and she went stiff. “Your sister or yourself—fate rests in your hands.”
“Violence
and
trickery,” she said. “Not as stupid as you look.”
“Bite your tongue, woman,” he warned, thrashing her backside, reminding her of her rightful place. He did have limits. If he were any other man, she would have been spread across a bed hours ago, feeling his manhood deeply rooted inside her, no regard for her feelings at all.
He tossed her into a snowdrift. “Perception is everything.” He grinned.
When he saw the rage in her eyes, he regretted not doing it sooner.
She stood and dusted snow off her front and backside. “Yes,” she agreed. “And shall I tell you my first impression?”
“I think you made that clear—never call me that again.”
She pointed angrily at him. “Never put your oversized paws on me again!”
Randvior wished he had a muzzle—she had a wicked tongue as fiery hot as a branding iron.
Blood stirring, he stepped closer. “Make your choice,
now
.”
“Did you ever really give me one? Are you teasing or simply testing my allegiance? I’m not the kind of woman to push my misery onto someone else, especially my sister. Don’t underestimate me, Norseman. I may be younger and weaker, but I’ll fight you every chance I get. This is my home. No matter how flawed it seems to you, it’s all I have.”
She held her ground as he came even closer. Nearly on top of her, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We’ve reached an understanding. If I must tie you up and carry you away for all of England to see, so be it.”
She opened and closed her mouth, wet her lips, and stared hard and long before she spoke again. “Try me . . .”
Mediocrity never graced Noelle’s life, always feast or famine. The Viking, whose name she didn’t even know yet, manipulated her into agreeing to go with him. Oh, that she had a blade to run him straight through! Trailing slowly behind, she imagined a hundred different ways to overpower the libertine. But a girl’s fantasies and stone cold reality were anything but the same. The form walking in front of her couldn’t be taken down by ordinary measures.
There were ways though, big men required plenty of rest, and unless he slept with his eyes open, a moment of opportunity would eventually present itself. She’d already challenged him. And what did he do? Laughed in her face and embarrassed her beyond comprehension.
It struck her that she might never see Durham again, her sister, or her father. She twirled slowly and absorbed the open countryside covered in snow. The forest and ocean, the open meadows and sandy beaches. This land had something to please anyone.
This is my playground, not some frozen tundra where men live lecherously beyond the grace of God
. If Brian’s babbling nonsense about her father going to Ireland to finalize a marriage contract for
her
was true, she’d be forever bound to some faceless groom and still forced from her homeland. Why must she be the one to rescue her family from the brink of poverty, when she had an elder sister more than willing to marry?
They reached the courtyard and he introduced her to one of his captains guarding the doors, Harud Ostberg. The man towered a full head taller than him, if that was even possible. She offered no salutation, but didn’t resist as the man took her by the arm and led her inside, leaving the Viking lord to his business.
“A moment with your sister,” Harud said, pointing to a tiny closet by the stairs. He paused in front of the archway and flashed his weapon. “No games,” he said, patting the blade like a dog.
She nodded.
Margaret was waiting, and flung herself into her arms. Touching Noelle’s face tenderly, she began to weep. “Everything is falling apart at the seams. Brian is completely unrepentant, claims his actions were justified because Ophelia posed a threat. Father is overdue and you are leaving me forever.”
Noelle wrinkled her forehead and sucked back her own grief, again. Margaret’s body quivered in her arms like a terrorized child. After a long time, they broke apart and she brushed strands of falling bangs aside so she could see her sister’s eyes.
“Don’t let these heathens have the satisfaction of seeing you shed tears.”
Margaret’s body jerked one last time. “Your clothes . . .” She pointed to a chair.
An overdress, chemise, and pair of wool stockings were neatly folded and waiting. She looked around the small space as she kicked off her ruined shoes. Her leather boots were on the floor. Margaret stepped aside, picked up a sheet, and spread it wide for privacy while Noelle stripped out of her damp garments.
Modesty forced Noelle to keep her face to the hall while she changed, just in case roving eyes tried to peek inside. Harud was only a stone’s throw away, which did little to settle her nerves.
This is the most shameful thing I’ve ever experienced
. Resentment grew as she tied the silver ribbon at her neckline. Margaret balled the sheet up, threw it aside, and laced the back of her gown.
“There’s little time, Noelle. Have faith and remember I love you.”
“Come.” Harud’s voice sounded.
“Beast.” Noelle whispered in her sister’s ear, swallowing the lump in her throat. She was also afraid to let go of the only person left to love.
This seemed a defining moment; how she reacted might shape her future amongst these men. Give in too easily and they’d consider her no more than a twit. If she resisted too much, punishment was sure to follow. Noelle chose to disregard him completely and gripped her sister harder. She might have to go with them, but not so willingly.