T wo weeks had come and gone since Kristen was moved into the hall. Thorolf and the others had apparently had no opportunity to escape in this time, for they still labored on the wall. She had not been able to speak to them or even let them see her to know she was faring well. If she got near an open window or door, someone always shouted at her to get back. She seemed to be watched constantly, either by the servants or by Royce's armed retainers, who were often in the hall.
She had made use of her time to learn all she could of the Saxons. She was treated with an unusual combination of fear and contempt by the servants, except for Eda, who offered a grudging sort of respect now, and what might even pass for liking, though this was hard to discern, for the woman had a natural gruffness about her. But Eda was easily maneuvered to volunteer information without being aware that she was being subtly plied for it.
Kristen now knew a good deal about Wyndhurst and its lord. The manor was self-sufficient, a necessity with the nearest town far away. Royce was a thane, one of the king's great nobles, and Wyndhurst comprised miles of land. As in Norway, there were freemen, called churls here, who worked the soil and worked also in the manor, many with specific trades. They could own land, but owed dues to crown and church, as well as military service. Royce trained those in his area for the coming war with the Danes. Many were already his personal retainers. He also trained some of his more able serfs, those people not free but bound to the land, supplying them with arms and the opportunity to buy their freedom. He would have a small army ready to join King Alfred's defense when the time came.
Of Royce in particular, Kristen had learned he was not married yet, but would be later this year. Eda could tell her little about his betrothed, who lived farther north, except that her name was Corliss and she was supposed to be very beautiful. Eda had much more to say about Lord Royce's first betrothed, the Lady Rhona, and Kristen surprised herself by actually feeling sympathy for the Saxon when she learned he had lost more in that other Viking raid than she had first thought. He had loved the Lady Rhona. No one knew what he felt for the Lady Corliss.
Royce's cousin, Darrelle, who ran the domestic side of his household, had ignored Kristen since that first day, leaving her in Eda's charge. She was a fascinating woman to watch, for she was contrary in her behavior, haughty and condescending at one moment, needing praise and reassurance in the next. She was also an emotional woman. Kristen had once seen her complain shrilly to Royce, only to burst into tears when he lost patience with her and replied sharply. She could also cry over something so minor as a few misplaced stitches on the tapestry she was working.
Darrelle was not a problem for Kristen, since she treated the prisoner as if she were not even there. Meghan was no problem, either, though Kristen had worried for a while that she might be. The child's natural curiosity had prompted Kristen to tell her much more about herself than she should have that day they met, things she did not want to reach Royce's ears. If he knew she had a loving family and that her brother was one of those who died in the forest, then he might reevaluate his opinion that she was a whore. But Meghan had obviously not repeated anything she had learned from Kristen, and it was as Eda had guessed: The child did not come near Kristen again.
Royce ignored her also, or pretended to. She saw him every day, for he could not pass through the hall without her seeing him. But he did not look at her at these times. It was when he was at his leisure in the hall that she would find him watching her.
Kristen was amused by his attitude toward her. She knew he held her in contempt for what he thought she was, and also despised her because of her people. Yet aside from that, he was still attracted to her. That he fought so determinedly against the attraction was what was so amusing. She could feel his eyes following her movements, but when she would look up, he would quickly look away.
Once, though, he did not look away. In fact, Royce stared so hard at her that night, the man beside him had to call his name three times before gaining his attention. Kristen had laughed aloud at that, the deep, rich tones carrying across the hall to Royce, infuriating him. He had slammed his tankard of mead down on the table and departed the hall in angry strides, bemusing his men, and delighting Kristen that she had the power to affect him so strongly.
Kristen thought often about that night. In truth, she thought often about Royce. Knowing that he wanted her gave her a heady feeling of pleasure. And, thanks to her mother, she knew why.
Brenna had told her once, "You will know the man for you when you meet him. I knew it and suffered long because I would not admit it, even to myself. Do not be like me, daughter. When you find the man who gives you pleasure in sight, joy of your senses, who makes you feel strange and wonderful inside when he comes near you, this is the man you will be happy with, the one you can love, as I love your father."
Kristen had been fascinated by Royce the first time she saw him. To look at him was immensely pleasurable. And when he was near she did feel different, more alive, more aware of herself. Her humor she attributed to him, for she only felt like laughing when he was around. She was not fool enough to think she loved him, for she would leave this place in a minute if she could. But she was enough in tune with her feelings to realize she wanted Royce of Wyndhurst: to touch him, to feel his arms around her, to know him as a woman knows a man. Love could grow from these feelings, and surely would, if she was here long enough.
It was ironic that the first man she should desire herself, after being desired by so many, should be the one man who resisted her. She was sure she could have him if she set her mind to it. But would he be honorable enough to marry her afterward? There was his betrothed to consider. There was her own position as his prisoner, which in fact made her a slave, as Eda had sharply pointed out one day. There was the hate he harbored for her people, too. Could all of that be overcome with what would begin simply as passion?
The Vikings did not believe in leaving their futures to the fates, but in carving their own fates. It was believed the gods would reward those who went forth valiantly to conquer and to gain. Vikings gave no account to meekness, or suffering patience. They fought for what they wanted. Defeat held no honor.
These sentiments were instilled in Kristen even though she was a Christian. As a Christian she knew she should leave her future in the hands of God, to have patience and depend on him to reward her if it was His will. But as the daughter of a Viking she knew that if she wanted Royce of Wyndhurst for her husband, then she would have to win him, to conquer the fates that opposed them, to fight for what she wanted, in whatever way she could.
Did she want him for her husband? Aye, she did. She had finally found the man she could be happy with. Her enemy. It would be laughable if it weren't so disheartening. Yet she did have faith in her abilities. And the outcome could be more than worth the challenge.
The hour was late. Two of the five women who prepared the meals and served the tables were sick today, leaving more for the remaining three to do, which kept them busy much longer than usual. Since Kristen was one of the three, the other servants who might have helped scorned to do so, the feeling being that if anyone should work longer, she should.
She did not mind. Royce had stayed in the hall longer than usual tonight, and she had enjoyed watching him dice with his men. In fact, she spent more time watching him than she did cleaning up after the final meal. She had missed seeing him leave the hall, though, while Eda was chastising her for not paying attention to what she was doing.
It was quiet now, and dark in the hall except for the two torches still burning by the great hearth. The servants had all spread their pallets about the floor and were quiet for the night. Only Eda and Kristen remained, Eda putting everything in readiness for the morn.
Kristen was not tired, but her feet were sore because she had been standing for most of the day. So it was every day, from the moment she was wakened at first light until she was locked away in her chamber after the last meal of the day. Only today was different.
Kristen had been stretching when she heard the steps crossing the floor, coming from the entrance. She glanced up curiously, her heartbeat quickening when she saw Royce coming out of the shadows, his direction not the stairs, but toward her, straight to her.
She did not move, waiting for him to reach her. His expression was intense, harsh, and her heart beat even faster, not in fear but in expectation. When he stopped, she felt only a moment's surprise when his hand went to the back of her neck, his fingers gripping her hair to yank her head back. She held her breath as his eyes moved angrily over her face.
"Why do you tempt me so?" He asked this not of her, but to himself.
"Do I, milord?"
"You do it apurpose," he accused her. "You knew I stood by the entrance watching you."
"Nay, I thought you had retired."
"Liar!" he hissed before his mouth slashed down over hers.
Kristen had waited for this, to know the feel of his lips, to be able to touch him. She had wanted this to happen, but she had not guessed how devastating the actuality would be. Nothing could have prepared her for such a violent jolt of desire, when she had never felt desire before.
His mouth moved over hers brutally in his anger. He gripped her hair, holding her still for this ravishment, yet he did not touch her otherwise. Kristen was the one to lean into him, until she could feel the full length of his body and know the extent of his desire. This inflamed her more. She didn't care that this was not what he wanted, that he was kissing her against his own will, and probably hating her more because of it. She wrapped her arms around his back, moving her hands up over the hard muscle there until she gripped his shoulders, holding him tight to her.
She heard him groan at her complete acceptance of him, and his other arm slipped about her waist, crushing her tighter to him. His tongue plunged into her mouth and she drew on it, capturing it like a prize, refusing to let go. God in heaven, this was wonderful, more thrilling than anything she had ever felt before. She would have let him take her there, in the hall, on the table, the floor—she didn't care. She wanted to make love with him now, before he came to his senses and stopped.
He did stop, and Kristen sighed miserably when his lips left hers. He looked down at her, his eyes fierce, filled half with passion, half with fury. She met his look boldly, but this served only to anger him more.
With a snarl, he shoved her away from him. "Bitch! My God, you have no shame, do you?"
Kristen would have laughed at that if she were not so disappointed. He was placing the blame on her, as if she had come to him, not he to her. She did not so much mind that, for she had hoped he would come to her. But how could he now deny them what they both wanted? Where did he get the strength to do so, when she was standing there aching to be back in his arms?
He might not be willing to be honest in what he was feeling now, but she had no such qualms. "I feel no shame in wanting you," she told him softly.
"Or any man!" he sneered cruelly.
"Nay, only you." She smiled then at his snort of disbelief. Deliberately, she added in a teasing tone, "You are my heartmate, Royce. Begin to accept it. You will eventually."
"You will never count me as one of your lovers, wench," he stated emphatically.
She shrugged, the sigh she gave louder than necessary. "Very well, milord, if that is your wish."
"Not my wish, the truth," he insisted. "And you will cease to use your whore's tricks on me."
Kristen could not help but laugh at this order. "What tricks are those, milord? I am only guilty of looking at you, mayhap more than I should, but I cannot seem to help myself. You are, after all, the most splendid man here."
He drew in his breath sharply. "God's mercy, are all Viking whores as brazen as you?"
She had been called whore once too often. She knew she dared not deny it, for she wanted him in passion, not revenge, as he would surely take her if he knew she was a virgin. But his calling her whore now, after he had just ravaged her senses, grated harshly.
Irritation was ripe in her voice. "I know no whores, so I cannot answer that. What you call brazen, I call honesty. Would you rather I lie and say I hate you, that I despise the sight of you?"
"How can you not hate me? I have enslaved you. I keep you shackled and I know you hate the chain."
"Is that why I wear it still, because you know I hate it?" she asked suspiciously.
He didn't bother to answer that. "I think you do hate me, that you tempt me apurpose, hoping to have revenge by bewitching me."
"If you believe that, then you will never accept what I am willing to give, Saxon, and I am sorry for that. I do hate these shackles, but not you. And being enslaved is not new to my family," she added cryptically. "If I thought that I would always be enslaved and shackled, then aye, mayhap I would hate you."
"So you hope to escape?"
Her eyes narrowed at him. "I am through telling you what I hope for, through speaking the truth to you when you will not believe it. Think whatever you like."
She turned her back on him, but was tense, waiting for him to walk away. He did not do so immediately. She imagined he was fighting to control a new fury that she would dare dismiss him like that. She would have been much appeased if she had seen that his eyes had simply moved over her, revealing for one unguarded moment the yearning in his soul.