W hen Royce unlocked the door, Kristen was sitting with her back against the far wall, her knees bent before her to help her to rise quickly if necessary. She saw that he was not angry, yet. But he was certainly not pleased.
Coming straight from his bath, he wore only a long-sleeved white tunic and, over it, the type of robe that was given Kristen when she bathed, though his was of a fine quality, even to having an inch-deep border of green silk along every edge of the white linen that fell to his feet. The white became him with his dark hair and summer-tanned skin.
If she were not furious with him, she knew she would be waiting breathlessly to see a bare leg when the robe parted as he walked. But she stared only at his face, lit by the tallow candle he held aloft so the light reached across to her.
"Eda has confessed to me why you are here once again instead of where you should be. I want to know why you thought you had gained freedom of the hall, when I said naught of that to you."
Kristen was proud of the way her voice did not falter, sounding calm even to her ears. " 'Tis simple, Saxon. You knew why I refused to share your bed this week past. Yet you took me to your bed yestereve. I was fool enough to assume that if you would do that, then you must have relented concerning my restraints."
"You are correct," he replied curtly. " 'Twas a fool assumption indeed. I told you why you must be fettered. I also told you the alternatives."
Kristen was no longer so calm, hearing him actually confirm what she had concluded. "I spit on your alternatives! I will wear your cursed fetters, but I want no more of you. I cannot bear your tender care and the chains too."
He walked slowly toward her. Warily she rose to her feet, but he stopped short of her, two arms' lengths away.
"I thought you stronger than this, wench."
She gasped at the deliberate slur. "I am not without mettle, milord. My father was captured and imprisoned in his youth. My mother endured enslavement for a time as well. I am what my parents have made me, and I would not be a credit to them if I could not endure enslavement myself. For me 'tis a fit punishment for defying my parents to sail with my brother. I can endure, Royce. But there is a limit to what I will endure without a fight. Leave me be from now on and you will have no problem with me."
"I cannot," he replied simply. "And you do not really want me to ignore you, Kristen."
"I do. I want you no more."
He did not like what he was hearing at all, and it showed in the tight slant of his lips, the turbulent green of his eyes. "You can say that after last eve?"
"Aye."
"Liar. You want me still and I will prove it."
She snorted contemptuously at the challenge. "Stubbornness is one of my faults, inherited from my mother. She once refused to speak to my father because of an argument they had, and did not say one word to him for an entire month. And they are two people who love each other passionately. Mayhap I do still want you, Royce, because I am attracted to you and that cannot be helped. But you will never hear me admit it, nor will I accept you willingly again, because when you chain me, you show me that I am nothing to you, that you bear me no feelings at all. I need more than that from the man I give myself to. I need more than just passion."
"So you will deny us both?"
Kristen closed her eyes for a moment as bitter disappointment washed over her. What had she expected him to reply? I care for you, Kristen. Of course I have feelings for you, strong feelings. How could you doubt it? Fool! She would never hear such things from him.
She opened her eyes to see that his expression was still tight-lipped. But now a muscle ticked along his jaw. The hand at his hip was clenched into a fist. The dark eyebrows had moved closer together and the eyes were mere slashes of green. He was angry at last. Good. At least he shared something with her.
"Answer me, wench!"
"Aye, milord. I will deny us both."
"The devil you will! You have had your say. Now hear me. Whether I have you or not is my choice, not yours. I let the decision rest with you for a while, but 'twas a mistake, and I learn from my mistakes. Giving you the choice only served to make you think you had a right to choose. You do not, Kristen. I own you. Your life, your body, your mind, all belong to me."
The callousness of that statement enraged her. "Never! You own me, true, for you can kill me, sell me, rape me, whatever pleases you. But 'twill not always be so, for if I am sold, or escape, or am taken from you, then you own me no more. And belong to you! Think it if you will, but unless I want it to be so, then the word has no meaning. I would have to love you to truly belong to you. I would have to want to never leave you, to want to return to you if I do."
"I do not ask for your love," he said harshly.
"Good!" she retorted in kind. "Because I will not give it. You speak of choices. Aye, whether you have me or not is your choice. Whether I am willing to have you is my choice. I am not willing, Saxon."
"So you will fight me?"
"Aye."
"You have already learned 'tis pointless."
"Nay, what I have learned is how easily you can be manipulated by a mere challenge," she was angry enough to admit now. With a derisive laugh, she went on to taunt: "You have yet to taste the full measure of my resistance, Saxon. You did naught yestereve that I did not want you to do, for I wanted you then. But if you force me now and I fight you true, I promise you will get no pleasure from it."
Her taunting worked to fire his rage. He swore harshly, throwing the candle to the floor in his anger. It seemed his hands were on her even before the flame was extinguished, though she did not see him leap at her.
One hand slid down her arm to fasten on her wrist, and she was pulled after him toward the door. Kristen waited until they were in the narrow corridor to yank her hand away. She succeeded, and had the pleasure of hearing Royce swear again as she ran toward the stairs. He knocked her to the floor before she reached them, his body falling heavily on top of hers.
As soon as he lifted some of his weight to rise, allowing her to do the same, Kristen jabbed backward with her elbow. She connected with his belly and heard him grunt. With enough room between them now, she rolled to the side and would have kicked him even farther away if he hadn't thrown an arm over her legs. In the next moment he caught her hand and she found herself hefted over his shoulder.
Royce had trouble rising with her squirming weight, but rise he did and start toward his room. Kristen, however, was nowise done with him. Hanging halfway down his back, she reached up behind her to grab a handful of his hair. She jerked so hard she would have broken the neck of a less powerful man. As it was, Royce lost his balance and slammed into the wall.
Kristen gasped, feeling herself falling, and landed on her backside this time. But she did not let go of Royce's hair, which brought him to his knees beside her.
Royce growled furiously and knocked her hand away, leaving her with a fistful of his hair. This time when he caught her wrist, he twisted it around behind her back and up, until she thought he meant to break the arm. His intention, however, was to force her to rise—which she did, quickly.
He kept her in front of him now, and if she did not walk forward, the arm bent higher. He got her into his room this way, and once there, he shoved her forcefully away from him.
Kristen stumbled only slightly, but caught herself and swung around to face him. Calmly he locked the door. Just as calmly, he walked over and tossed the key out the open window, the gesture more than intimidating.
She felt a shiver rush down her back. But he did not approach her yet. The room was well lit, and she could see a cold look of determination on his face as he glanced at her. But he did not approach her. Instead he went to the bed. There, taking the cover in hand, he used his dagger to cut thin strips from it.
Kristen's eyes widened on seeing this. It didn't dawn on her yet what he meant to do with those thin strips of cloth. She simply thought him insane, for the cover was a work of beauty, made of soft sheepskin and finely embroidered with half a dozen different colored threads.
Royce stopped when he had four long pieces cut. He moved to tie a strip to one of the low posts on the bed, then moved to the next post. Watching him, Kristen was stunned, but only for a moment. She felt as if her heart had dropped into her belly, for there was only one reason she could think of for what he was doing.
A half yell, half groan ripped from her throat and she ran to the wall of weapons, yanking down a hefty broadsword. He was crazy!
"Put it back, Kristen."
His voice sounded so reasonable. How could he sound so reasonable when he meant to torture her?
"Nay!" She turned to glare at him. "You will have to kill me afore I let you practice your cruelties on me!"
He shook his head at her and continued tying a cloth to the third post, then went on to the fourth. He was watching not her, but what he was doing. She did not take her eyes from him, though, and saw a slight smile curling his lips. It turned her blood cold, for there was nothing of humor in it.
The sword was heavy, much heavier than anything she had ever practiced with. But standing there watching him until he was done had cost her the chance to pick another. She was not thinking clearly at all. She realized now, too late, that she should have attacked him instead of waiting until he gave her his full attention.
The small dagger Royce put back in the sheath at his belt. With no weapon in his hand, he walked toward Kristen. There were any number of weapons that he could choose from on the wall, but he would have to get around her first. She was not going to let him.
She hardened her heart to all that she felt for him. Her expression mirrored her deadly intent. She held the sword low, ready to twist sharply up and forward to find target. But Royce stopped just short enough so she would have to step to reach him. His own expression was inscrutable now.
"Tell me something, Kristen. Are all Norsewomen trained so ably to defend themselves?"
"Nay," she replied warily.
"But I know you have been, for you have twice demonstrated your skill for my cousin's benefit. Your father taught you, I suppose? Or was it your brother Selig? Of course, his skill was not as good—"
She cried furiously and swung the sword back to come down in an arc that would have neatly cleaved his shoulder if he had not moved aside. But instead of backing away to escape the blade's next descent, Royce had stepped closer. His fist came down on Kristen's wrist before she could maneuver the heavy sword to attack again.
The sword clattered loudly to the floor, and Kristen was spun about so that her back would face him when his arms circled round her waist. Both of her own arms were captured in the hold. Try as she might, she couldn't pull them loose.
"Foolish girl. Did no one ever teach you to ignore the comments of your adversary?"
She kicked a heel back in answer and struck his shin, but the soft-soled shoe did little damage and she was sure she hurt her foot more than she did him. The blow did succeed in making him hurry with her to the bed. He dropped her there and then fell on her back before she could get both arms out from under her. The one arm she did manage to release he quickly grabbed, and she groaned, feeling the cloth wrapped swiftly about her wrist.
It was the left wrist he had tied to the right post, so she was ready for him, thinking he would have to turn her over now. But her fist struck only air when he rose and she rolled over, for he was after her feet next, instead of her free hand. And he was easily able to secure one leg with his weight while he concentrated on tying the other foot to the post. And her hand stretched just short of him.
Kristen felt like crying, she was so frustrated, but she would not. "You had best kill me when you are done, Saxon, for I will see you in hell for this!"
Royce did not speak. Her legs were spread wide on the bed, her feet tightly secured to the posts. He got up and came to stand near the last post yet to be used.
Kristen glared at him, holding her right arm away from him. When he leaned forward to reach for it, her fist flew at his face, and he did not duck back quick enough this time.
She felt a surge of satisfaction, even though her knuckles throbbed where they scraped against his teeth. But his lip was smeared with blood, and his features were no longer inscrutable. Angrily he caught her last free limb and wrapped the cloth around it, tying an extra-tight knot on this hand. Then he stood back, and those eyes she had thought so beautifully green seemed filled with menace now as they locked with hers. Slowly he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
She closed her eyes against his triumph. It had been too easy for him. And now he would whip her, or whatever it was he had planned, to punish her for resisting his will. What he did next, however, was to strip away her clothes with his dagger.
Kristen groaned inwardly, but kept her features carefully blank and her eyes tightly closed. She was not going to scream when the pain began, nor cry, nor beg for mercy, for if he could do this to her, then he had none.
"Open your eyes, Kristen."
She refused. She felt the bed sag and knew he had sat down beside her. Finally, when he didn't say anything else, or move at all, she became too unnerved not to look. She found his eyes gazing into hers, then deliberately they moved down the length of her. She followed his gaze and felt a swift rush of heat.
Seeing herself like this brought home more clearly her helplessness. She could bend her knees slightly, but not much. Her arms were not stretched out tightly, but were bent at the elbows. They were useless to her, as were her legs, yet surprisingly, she was not uncomfortable in this position. The strips of cloth did not cut into her skin unless she tugged on them. It was her inability to continue fighting that made her miserable, and not knowing the manner of her punishment.
"Your promise held true, until now."
His voice drew her eyes back to his. "What promise?" she demanded.
"That I would get no pleasure from you if you fought me. I assure you 'tis a pleasure seeing you like this."
God help her, he was going to gloat now. "Bring out your whip and have done with it, Saxon!" she hissed.
He smiled. "Ah, you did mention my practicing cruelties on you. Good of you to remind me."
He eased her long braid out from under her as he said this, and devoted entirely too much attention to it. "You mean to whip me with that?" she asked incredulously.
"An interesting idea." He laughed, letting the braid slip through his hand until the tail end was caught by his fingers. "Mayhap—like this?"
The ends of her hair spread out like a fan between his fingers and flicked at the point of one breast. Blood rushed to that area, firming the mound, and turning the tip into a hard little nub.
Goose bumps spread over different parts of Kristen's body. Noticing her body's unwilling response, Royce continued to smile as he trailed the fan down the valley of her breasts to whip with feather softness at the other peak.
Her body told its own story to him, but he could not know what was happening inside her. What had been a very real, though unacknowledged fear in the pit of her belly, had now burgeoned into excitement. To be completely helpless in the power of a man who knew well how to please her. . . She had not considered that.
"You—you do not mean to beat me?"
"Why do you sound so surprised?" he asked softly, trailing the fan of hair down and across her stomach, making the muscles jerk and contract. "I like your skin as is. Did you truly think I would mar it?"
"You were angry enough—"
"With reason. You made a liar of me this day. I swore to your friend Thorolf that I did not have to force you to my bed, yet here I have had to do just that."
"You told him . . . oh!"
Royce shrugged negligently. "He was concerned and needed reassurance that I was not taking undue advantage of my power over you."
"Are you not?" she snapped, looking meaningfully down at herself.
He chuckled. "Aye, mayhap I am now. But you will agree, by your own admittance, vixen, that yestereve I did not take advantage of you."
"Did you have to tell Thorolf that?"
"You would rather he worry about you?"
"I would rather he not think what he must think now!" she cried furiously.
"That you like me?"
"The devil take you, Saxon, I do not—not anymore," she amended, but then gasped as he leaned over to place a tickling kiss on her belly. "Nay, cease!"
His tongue snaked out to trace a circle round her navel. "Still resisting, vixen? Since you cannot stop me yourself, will you beg me to leave off?"
"Nay!"
He sat up and spread his hands over her stomach, beginning a slow ascent toward her breasts. "I did not think you would, because you do not really want me to leave off."
His fingers had curled around her breasts. She heard her voice waver as she insisted, "Not so. I—I simply will not beg—for aught."
"Such a proud wench you are."
Between his thumbs and forefingers, he pinched her hardened nipples until she stiffened, then treated them with tender care. He continued applying pleasure-pain to this most sensitive area until she thought she would indeed beg for mercy. She could no longer remain still. She could no longer keep her expression impassive, even though she knew he was watching for her every reaction. Her heart was pounding wildly, her pulses gone mad. Heat seemed to be pouring out of her, though her brow remained dry.
Royce was mesmerized by the seductive slant of those aqua eyes, and the way her teeth kept gnawing on her lower lip. He would not kiss her lips, not yet, for he had little doubt she would sink those teeth into him. But his hands finally moved on, up to cup her face and hold it still while he kissed her everywhere but on her mouth.
At her ear, he beseeched her: "Tell me you want me, Kristen."
"You will never hear me say it."
He leaned back to look at her. A fire seemed to smolder in her eyes. He had never seen a woman more ready to be loved.
He smiled, shaking his head at her. "You are as stubborn as you predicted. But so am I, sweet vixen. And I will hear you say it."
He stood up and moved to the end of the bed. There he stopped, and slowly, with his eyes on the whole length of her, he began to remove his robe and tunic. Watching him gaze at her was nearly the same as feeling his hands on her. It did crazy things to her insides.
Kristen closed her eyes against him. She willed her body to relax, to calm itself. It did no good. The anticipation, the wondering what he would do next kept the excitement building rather than dissipating.
She did not have to wait long. The bed sagged by her feet, then she felt a hand on each ankle. She would not look at him. Slowly the hands moved up the inside of her legs—she was not going to look—past her knees, slower as they inched up her thighs—she wouldn't look —higher, closer. . .
He stopped, hesitating, while Kristen held her breath, sure her heart was going to explode, it was beating so violently. Then his fingers changed directions, running over the tops of her thighs, then down the outside—but only as far as her knees. Just as she managed to expel her breath in a quiet manner, she caught it again as he started upward once more with those wide-spread fingers.
Again and again he worked his way up her thighs, each time coming closer to the core of her womanhood, but never touching her there, just making her think that he would, hope that he would. She was being flayed with erotic sensations. She was being primed to beg.
"Look at me, Kristen."
She shook her head wildly.
"Kristen."
She tilted her head back, so that if she did open her eyes, she couldn't see him crouched there between her legs. She heard him chuckle at this, and felt the bed move as he lay down at the bottom of it. And then he slipped his arms under her thighs, nearly up to his shoulders. His hands came around to spread over on her stomach, his chin resting on the triangle of curls.
"Do you want me now, Kristen?"
She would not answer. His hands moved up to cup her breasts. He lifted his chin and she could feel his warm breath . . . God help her—oh God!
His tongue touched the tiny muscle that controlled her passion, and that was all it took. Kristen exploded with such a violent shock of pleasure that his name burst from her lips. Her pelvis lifted to him, demanding the pressure of his tongue. She would have held him to her if she could have. But he did not deny her. She experienced her bliss in full measure.
But Royce was not done with her. Reality barely returned before he began a new assault on her senses. And she no longer had the will to resist. She was too sated, and too amazed by what he had done. Just thinking about it sent new excitement pulsing through her.
He lay atop her now, his lips forging paths of heat along her skin. But he would not enter her, would not slake his own raging passion. He was in position to do so, torturing her with anticipation again, but he would not.
He leaned up, and fancifully, she thought of glowing emeralds as she looked into his eyes. "You want me," he breathed against her lips. "Say it."
"I will not say it."
His teeth nibbled at her lips. "You would have me leave you now?"
God help her, she felt she would die if he did. But how could he? Could he? Nay, he could not.
She remained silent, her eyes filling with a mixture of stubborn pride and desire. He groaned, seeing his defeat. But it was only a minor thing in comparison to what he felt as he plunged into her, taking her with him on another wild crescendo of bliss.
When Kristen returned to reality this time, Royce was cutting her loose from her bonds. He wrapped his arms around her when he finished, and lay back with her nestled against his chest. She was done with fighting for now and he knew it, and took advantage of it.
"You knew I would not leave you." There was an accusatory note in his voice.
"Aye, I knew."
He grunted. "Stubborn wench."
Kristen grinned sleepily.