His Captive Bride (24 page)

“Careful,” he said.

She grabbed onto the tree limb, and he lifted her as she pulled herself up, managing a somewhat graceful jump back to the perch she had occupied earlier.

“Thank you.” She settled securely against the trunk, holding onto the branch with both hands. She glanced up at the sun, now directly overhead. “I suppose we will have to spend the afternoon up here.”

“Unfortunately, I do not think the wolves intend to offer us a choice. Just be certain that you stay on guard for stray birds this time,” he said sternly.

“I had planned on it.” She sighed. “Wherever would I be without a man to tell me what to do?”

“In endless trouble and danger, evidently.” He slanted her a glance. “You may not wish to believe it, milady, but you are a woman who needs a firm hand, someone to protect you. Watch over you.”

“Ha!” she scoffed. “I have managed quite well on my own for three years.”

“I am amazed you have
managed
to reach the age of three and twenty in one piece.”

“God’s breath, you sound almost like”—her words started out as an annoyed complaint, but ended on a note of soft surprise—”Gerard.”

Hauk looked away. He did not have to ask who Gerard was.

He remembered the name quite clearly, from his conversation with Josette, the night of the
althing
ceremony. When she had revealed that Avril was not a wife but a widow, that she had lost her husband three years ago.

“He did not approve of your habit of getting into trouble?”

Hauk had asked the question almost before he completed the thought.

To his surprise, she answered him—slowly, quietly, after a long pause filled only with the sound of the wind.

“He found it... difficult to accept my independent ways. At first. I was accustomed to doing as I pleased, and he was...” She hesitated, her voice almost a whisper. “He was a knight, accustomed to issuing orders and having them followed.”

Hauk still did not look at her, oddly found himself sympathizing with the man. He sounded like an entirely reasonable sort.

Hauk wondered how she had come to find this Gerard worthy of her love and devotion.

But he did not ask that. “I do not understand how you came to be accustomed to doing as you please—wielding a crossbow and sailing a ship and the rest. Your parents must have indulged you shamelessly.”

“I was an only child.”

So was he. That did not explain it. He glanced toward her curiously. “And your father wished you to be the son he did not have?”

“Nay.” A hint of a smile curved her mouth. “My parents wished me to be proper and ladylike, but
I
was always conscious that I needed to be both daughter and son to them. I was born late in their marriage, long after they thought they could not have children, and I always knew that one day the responsibility for our lands and people would fall to me.”

“Or rather, to your husband,” he corrected gently.

“Aye.” Her smile faded. “But I was so close to my parents, I was reluctant to marry and leave them and our home on the seashore in Brittany. Only when my mother became ill did my father decide he must give thought to my future, when I was eighteen. He was well along in years, and wanted to see me...” Her voice became a whisper again. “Settled. Happy.”

Hauk did not speak, his own throat burning at the sorrow and love and wistfulness in her voice, in her expression. Avril had lost much for one so young.

Too much.

“And for some reason,” she continued after a moment, with a trace of a frown, “my father also felt that I needed ‘a firm hand.’” She glanced up through the tree branches, at the bright sun. “So he chose for my husband a knight recently returned from the Crusades, the son of one of his closest friends.” She swallowed, blinking hard. “Sir Gerard de Varennes, of the Artois.”

The hurt in her voice struck such a chord inside Hauk, he almost reached out to her. They were close enough that if they both stretched out their hands—

Then he noticed the band of gold she still wore, the wedding ring gleaming dully in the shifting light.

And he remained still. Did not ask how she had lost her beloved knight, her first husband, the father of her child. This man who possessed her heart so completely, she still wore the ring he had given her.

“And what of your father?” he asked instead, fearing he already knew the answer. “Does he still live in your home on the seashore in Brittany?”

“Nay.” She dropped her gaze to her fingers, so pale clutched against the dark wood of the tree. “My father died earlier this year. I was planning to return home to Brittany after my visit to Antwerp.”

Home
. The word and the sadness in her expression tore at him.

She had lost them both, he thought, unable to tear his gaze from her face. Both of the men in her life. Strong men who protected her, cared for her... and then left her alone.

Little wonder she was loathe to surrender her independence, to let herself depend on a man again. To allow a man to hold her close and keep her safe.

She was afraid. His bold, daring little Valkyrie was afraid.

Hauk turned his head, not liking the thick, hot feeling that filled his throat. By all the gods, he had not wanted this. Had not wanted to set foot on this same, dangerous ground he had covered in the past. With Karolina. With Maeve.

He had been willing to give and receive pleasure, even to enjoy Avril’s company. That was simply a matter of two solitary people satisfying a need. A need for companionship and physical contact. Like hunger. Or thirst.

But he did not want to feel more. Because no matter what they shared between them, it would last but a brief wink of time. And it would not ease his pain.
Nei
, it would only bring him more when it ended.

But even as he reminded himself of that, he could not stop himself from trying to ease her pain.

He reached out with his right hand, his gaze still lowered.

And a moment later, he felt the touch of her fingertips against his.

Closing his eyes, he intertwined their fingers, felt the cool metal of her wedding band.

But for once, she did not pull away.

“Hauk?”

He heard an unexpected softness in her voice as she said his name.

“What?”

“Do you think Josette is safe yet?”

He turned his head to look toward the cove. “I can still see the ship.”

“I hope that means she is all right.”

“Aye,” he agreed. “And Keldan as well.”

~ ~ ~

The sky blazed with sunlight. Dazzling, blinding sunlight.

Josette blinked up into the brightness of midday, frightened and confused, her heart hammering. What had happened? It seemed like only an instant ago, she had been outside of Avril and Hauk’s
vaningshus
, in moonlit darkness.

But now she was lying on a beach, and there were treetops nearby. A monstrous headache pounded between her temples. And a strange, tingling sensation coursed through her limbs. The gag Thorolf had tied around her mouth still muffled any sound she might try to make. Her hands were still tied behind her back, her arms sore and cramped as if she had been lying there a long while.

Yet it seemed to her mind that no more than a second had passed—when obviously at least half a day had passed. It felt as if... as if she had somehow lost several hours of time.

The jarring sensation made her feel dizzy, sick. Her pulse racing, she tried to lift her head. She could not see Thorolf anywhere.

But she saw a boat. A large sailing vessel, with a curving prow and stern, moored a short distance out in a... an elongated bay or channel of some kind. She could see land on the far side, thick with evergreen trees. And on this side, cliffs sloping up from the sand toward the sky, a waterfall splashing down to meet the sea.

She was in a deserted cove, at the edge of a forest. Suddenly she remembered what Avril had told her: that Hauk had a boat hidden beyond the western woods.

But why had Thorolf brought her here only to leave her alone?

Josette let her head sink back onto the sand, felt tears threaten, tried to remember what had happened. She had gone to find Avril, only to have Thorolf seize her in the darkness. Her mind had gone blank with terror when he yanked back the hood of her cloak and snarled something at her with a furious, surprised expression.

Then he had forced a liquid of some kind down her throat. The strong-smelling, thick drink had almost choked her, it was so bitter and sweet and tangy. It seemed to be made of dozens of different tastes. And it had the most frightening effect on her.

She had thought he was poisoning her. Or trying to render her unconscious. But the drink had made her feel strangely hot—not as she would with a fever, but as if her very blood burned her veins. Then all at once every muscle in her body had cramped into knots. Her very bones seemed to hurt. The pain had made her cry.

All the while, Thorolf had watched her with cool detachment, a slow grin spreading across his blunt features. Then he had fastened a hand around her throat, squeezing off her breath until she lost consciousness...

Only to awaken here. Several hours later. Hours that felt to her like an instant.

It was all so strange. Confusing. Terrifying. She tried to sit up, pushing her numb, aching arms into the sand.

And then she saw Thorolf—in the water, striding toward her through the shallows, coming from the boat.

He stopped when he saw her. Froze in place, the waves lapping about his knees. Stared at her as she sat up.

Then he abruptly broke into laughter. Loud, overjoyed laughter. He looked up to the sky, raised both arms in the air, shook his fists as if he were laughing at the heavens, at God Himself.

Josette whimpered in fear, certain that Thorolf must be mad. He hurried through the water toward her.

She struggled against her bonds, kicked sand at him when he came to tower over her. He snarled something in Norse, raising his fist. Flinching, Josette cowered at his feet, the gag muffling her small sob of terror.

But he did not strike her. Instead he leaned down and grabbed her chin with one hand, squeezing her face between his fingers with bruising force. He turned her head left and right, studying her, and murmured something in a low voice.

Then he released her and stepped back, looking down at her with a strange, malevolent grin that sent a chill through her.

“Thorolf!”

The shout came from the forest. Even as Thorolf spun, Josette felt her hope and her heart soar at the sound of that deep, strong voice.

Keldan!

A half-dozen men came riding out of the woods, charging across the shore, Keldan in the lead.

Thorolf growled what sounded like a curse and hauled her to her feet, jerking her in front of him. Josette struggled and kicked, tried to twist from his hold. But he was too strong.

He shouted at the men, his tone sharp, and moved backward toward the surf. Toward the boat. Water splashed her gown as he reached the water’s edge.

Nay!
She kept fighting him, her gaze on Keldan’s dark, worried eyes—until the cold edge of a knife against her throat made her go still.

Thorolf backed farther into the water, away from the men, snarling at them in Norse.

Keldan and the others dismounted and removed their traveling cloaks—revealing that they all carried weapons. One even had a crossbow. But Thorolf kept her in front of him as a shield, moving toward the ship, carrying her deeper into the waves.

She could not fight him. Could not strike him with her hands tied. Could barely even breathe with the gag in her mouth and the knife at her throat.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

Pretending to faint, she went limp in his hold.

Her sudden lassitude startled him. Enough that the blade came away from her neck, just for an instant—and Josette lunged down with her bound hands and used another trick. One Avril had taught her when they were younger, in case a boy ever became overly friendly. She reached between his legs, grabbed, and twisted.

Thorolf howled in pain and Josette dove sideways, into the knee-deep water.

She went under, felt a moment of panic as the icy surface closed over her head. Then a pair of hands caught her, strong arms lifted her. She saw Keldan and the rest descending upon Thorolf, while one of the men carried her to safety.

Shouts and curses filled the air, Thorolf bellowing in fury. The man who had plucked her from the waves set her down in the sand, took the gag from her mouth, worked at the ropes around her wrists.

But Josette no longer cared about her bonds, her eyes on Keldan, her heart in her throat.

It was a brutal struggle. They were trying to subdue Thorolf, not to kill him. But he knew no such restraint, slashing and stabbing at them with the long knife, trying to break free.

Then it all became a tangle of arms and bronzed backs and splashing water. She heard a sharp cry, saw the battle end at last, and they were dragging Thorolf back to shore. One of the men ran to fetch ropes from his saddle.

Her hands freed, she rose and ran down the beach to throw herself into Keldan’s arms.

She melted into his strong embrace, sobbing. “Keldan! God’s mercy, I was so afraid! I was so afraid!”

“Josette...” He held her tight, breathing hard, his voice strained.

Then he began to sink to his knees.

“Keldan?” she cried, pulling back, falling with him as he went down. “What—” Only then did she notice the blood.

The deep wound in his back. Just above his waist. Thorolf had stabbed him.

Her heart seemed to stop. “Nay! Oh, sweet, holy Mary, nay!”

His eyes were bright with pain. Still holding her, he met her gaze for a long, silent moment, then looked toward the others.

And started giving what sounded like orders.

Thorolf was still bellowing in rage as they tied him securely and lifted him onto one of the horses. Keldan lay down on the sand, groaning in agony.

The sound struck at Josette, made her heart clench tight. She looked back at the men, stunned that they were getting on their horses. “What are you doing? Someone help him! He may be dying!”