Chapter Twenty

"W hat 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 in 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.

She put enough anger into her voice to make him think she was unaware of what she had done. "I happen to love my mother very much, and she is most certainly alive, and no doubt worried sick about me. You think because I am a woman that I am without honor? Or is it because I am a Viking woman that you will not trust my word?"

He had taken a step toward her, but he stopped now. "Words, wench, easily said. Actions speak plainer, and yours do not say much for you."

"Why? Because I want to kill your cousin?" she asked, then taunted, "Or because I do not jump when you call?"

His fist slammed into his palm, telling her that her barb had struck home. At least she was inflaming his passion, even if it was the wrong kind of passion.

"God's breath!" he swore in exasperation. "You are the most audacious woman! I see I waste my time here again. You simply refuse to understand."

"I understand, Royce," Kristen replied levelly. "And I was willing to meet you halfway."

"Nay, you want it all your way!"

"Not so," she insisted. "I offered my word, which cost me much, for half of me still wants to leave here and go home."

"And I cannot trust the word of anyone, woman or man, whom I have known so short a time. Nor do I believe part of you can truly want to stay here as you are: without rights, without hope of ever being more than a slave."

"Aye, how right you are, milord," Kristen agreed ironically. "Why indeed would I want to stay here? Surely not because of you."

"Me?" he scoffed. "You want me to believe now that I am the reason, when you turn me away each night? Or do you come with me tonight, Kristen?"

"Do you unchain me for good, milord?" she countered pleasantly.

"By the saints—"

He did not finish, but turned on his heel with a low growl and left the room. Kristen felt like screaming with the closing of the door.

"You accept defeat too easily, Saxon!" she spat in frustration, a little too loudly, for the door reopened, making her gasp with the suddenness of it.

"Did I hear you right, wench?" Royce demanded in a voice too calm for the slamming back of that door.

He left the door open for what light it provided and walked toward her slowly, purposefully. Kristen yanked the blanket back up to her neck. She would have liked to leap to her feet, for she felt vulnerable lying there on the floor with him now standing so far above her, next to her, but she wasn't going to show him that she was concerned at all by his nearness. She turned on her back instead, so she could look up at him.

"What do you think you heard?" she ventured warily.

"A challenge." His voice was still calm, but there was a definite menacing quality in that answer. "And when you issue a challenge, you must abide by the results."

"What results?"

He bent down and swiped her blanket away in answer. In a moment his body lay atop hers, both hands holding her head still so his mouth could descend. But before their lips met, Kristen gave a mighty heave that tossed him off her to the side. She knew it was only the unexpectedness that had allowed her to do that, but she took quick advantage, scrambling over him and to her feet. But his hand caught one foot, tripping her as she took her first step toward the door.

Kristen fell to the floor, twisted over, and kicked at Royce with her other foot, gaining her freedom again. But he was sitting up now, and though she snatched her feet back so he couldn't try to grab them again, she knew she would never make the door in time.

She stood up with him, backing away slowly, her arms out to ward him off. He moved to the side, forcing her to give up the path to the door. He stopped when he effectively blocked that only exit.

"Get back on your pallet, Kristen."

There was ominous warning in that cold order, but she stubbornly shook her head, backing away from him to the side of the room, coming up short against the wall. There was no escape, but she didn't really want to escape. He was finally going to force his will on her, and though she would not give him this victory easily, she wanted the victory to be his—or at least to have him think it was his. Pride would not let her give in, but brute strength would.

Her heart was racing as she watched him strip off his belt and tunic and angrily throw them aside. And he was angry. There was danger in that, for he could very well hurt her. He was such a terribly big man, with immense power in his arms and hands. And he might be feeling at this moment that he needed to beat her into submission. It was what most men would do. But she had known the risk when she goaded him into this.

He did not move until his remaining clothes lay scattered about the floor. He had stood facing her, staring at her the whole while, the light illuminating only one side of him, leaving the other in darkest shadow. If she had not been standing there naked herself, he might have calmed down, or at least reconsidered what he was going to do. But he was too aroused from the sight of her for that.

She did not think he would leave the room to get a candle. She was going to elude him as soon as he closed the door, cutting off the light. That was her plan, as far as it went. Only Royce gave no thought to closing the door, mayhap for the very reason that the dark would hinder him until he laid hands on her. Kristen had to quickly rework her strategy when he started toward her.

She pushed away from the wall, keeping away from the corners of the room that would trap her. She could stay out of his reach only so long, which would not be long at all if he moved more quickly. But he was stalking her now, maneuvering her closer to her pallet, staying in a position where she could not dash around him to run for the door.

Kristen decided on the unexpected again, and with her hands clasped tightly together, she stopped retreating and turned on Royce to swing at him as she had done to Alden. The blow had staggered the slimmer man. But Royce did not have his back to her, and it was Kristen who was taken by surprise when he caught her locked fists in one hand. And he did not stop the blow, but added his own pull to it so that she was swung nearly full circle, making it possible for his other arm to slip about her waist and heft her off her feet.

He had only two steps to take to reach her pallet, and he tossed her down there. As thin as her pallet was, it was like being dropped on the hard floor.

Kristen was stunned for a moment, the breath knocked out of her. It was all the time Royce needed to position himself between her sprawled legs and enter her before she had a chance to use those strong legs to ward him off.

He heard her gasp of outrage now that she had her breath back, and he chuckled as her hands slipped between them to try to push him back. It was a useless effort. He was firmly planted and prepared for anything she might try.

"Give it up, vixen." He leaned into her to whisper by her ear. "You have lost what you are fighting to deny me."

In answer she bucked her hips to try to unseat him. That was useless, too, and only served to send him deeper into her. She gasped again, but because of the exquisite feeling of capturing all of him. He gasped, too, at the delicious thrill such deep penetration sent through him.

"Ah, woman, I take it back," he breathed huskily. "Fight me all you like."

Kristen very nearly giggled at his impassioned plea, which would have destroyed the impression that she was being forced to submit to his greater strength. But his mouth prevented her, closing over hers in a fervent kiss. She showed him one last bit of resistance by trying to turn her head away, but his mouth only followed hers back and forth and she finally gave up the pretense, accepting his kiss, returning it wholeheartedly.

His humor, although no doubt stemming from his feeling of conquest, had warmed her. She didn't care about its source. As long as he was no longer angry, he would not be brutal—though at the moment she thought she could have withstood that, too, so inflamed were her senses.

Her hands slipped out from between them and gripped his head, keeping his mouth melded to hers as he began to undulate his torso in a most delightful way, not withdrawing completely, but grinding his hips against her instead, his belly, his chest, all combining in an erotic caress.

Kristen reached her climax almost immediately, and unknowingly lifted his entire weight as her pelvis rose off the pallet to beg for all of him. His own thrust as he attained that bit of heaven too, slammed her back down and increased her pleasure, bringing a moan from deep within her throat. She could feel the pulsing of his climax inside her, and this kept her own sweet throbbing alive and lasting much longer than she could have believed possible.

It was with regret that she returned to reality. He was like a dead weight on her, but she did not mind. His head was turned to the side, his breathing still heavy. Her fingers moved dreamily through his hair. She felt she could stay just like this forever. That was too much to hope for, however.

What he thought of her complete submission she couldn't guess. Considering the way a man prided himself on his prowess, he might simply attribute her capitulation to his skill as a lover. Whatever he thought was fine with her, as long as he didn't guess she had maneuvered him into making love to her. She imagined he would be furious if he realized that.

Her hands fell to his shoulders, then on to his chest when he leaned up to gaze down at her. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her palm, steady now, but with a strong beat. She stared at him, trying to divine from his expression what he was thinking, but he revealed nothing. In fact he seemed to be studying her features for the same reason, to see what she was thinking. If only he knew. She smiled at the thought.

"So you are not angry with me?" he said.

"Of course I am."

Royce chuckled delightedly. "Do you always smile when you are angry?"

"Not always, but sometimes."

She said that so seriously. Royce shook his head. To accept everything she said as truth was to be constantly amazed by her. He would rather think she jested.

"I suppose I should apologize," he offered.

"Aye, you should."

He snorted at her ready agreement. He would say no more about it. She had challenged him. Mayhap she did not deserve such a harsh response from him, but she had certainly accepted him in the end and reached her own pleasure too. Why she had stubbornly refused him to begin with . . . He knew why, and there was naught he could do to change it.

He leaned up further to move off her, but for a moment their hips were more tightly pressed together. He was still inside her, and Kristen closed her eyes, savoring the feel of him before he withdrew. Watching her, Royce sucked in his breath.

"God's mercy, wench, do you do it apurpose?"

Her eyes flew open wide. "What?" She truly didn't know what she had done this time.

"When you look like that . . . 'tis how you look when we—"

"How do you know? Do you watch me?"

"Aye."

She was intrigued. "I had not thought of that. I will have to try it when next I make love."

"To stare into those lovely eyes of yours at such a time would drive a man wild," he predicted.

Deliberately, she smiled. "You need not worry, milord. I was not thinking 'twould be you I would watch."

"I hope you jest, wench," he said sternly as he stood, pulling her up with him. "You would not like the consequences if you do not. I will not allow you other lovers. As long as I want you for myself, you will be faithful."

She cocked a brow, feeling a certain satisfaction in being able to tease him. "Will I?"

He did not answer, but pulled her along with him as he swiped up his clothes, her clothes as well, and headed for the door. Kristen felt her cheeks flush with heat as she realized the door had been open all this time, that anyone could have passed by and seen them. Someone could have stood right in the door and watched them the whole time for all she knew, so involved had she been with this lover of hers.

Her lover. How she liked the sound of that. There would be changes now. There had to be. And he would not regret giving in. She would prove to him that he was indeed her heartmate.

As soon as he reached his room and closed the door, Royce dropped the bundle of clothes to the floor and gathered Kristen into his arms. "Now you pay the forfeit for denying me for so long. You will get no sleep tonight."

"Is that a challenge, milord?" Kristen purred, hoping more that it was a promise.