T he sky was only a blaze of pink when Royce was roused by one of his men. There had been a disturbance among the prisoners. It had been brought under control, but Thorolf wanted to speak to him.
Royce sent the man away. If the disturbance was over, he did not need to rush down to the yard. But he could not dally, either. He sighed, glancing down at his bedmate. The dawn gave only a hazy light to the room, but he could see her clearly from where he sat next to her.
Kristen slept on, having been disturbed not at all by the sound of voices. Royce was not surprised. He had kept her awake most of the night—or, rather, she had kept him awake by her very presence. He simply could not leave her alone. He grinned in remembrance, a little amazed that he was not feeling exhausted himself this morn.
She lay curled on her side with her hands tucked between her legs as if she were cold, a habit no doubt acquired from the frigid winters she was used to. Her tawny hair was loose and tangled, spreading about her head like a pool of gold. The thin sheet that had covered them when they did finally sleep came no higher than her hips now, leaving the creamy-white expanse above her waist exposed to his view.
He felt a peculiar excitement in being able to look at her like this without her knowing. She was the first woman to ever share his bed for a whole night, the first he had ever watched sleeping. The serfs that he favored he usually took where he found them. The few he had brought to his bed left as soon as he was done with them. Corliss he left himself, having no desire to spend a whole night in her bed. It was the same with the ladies of the court whom he had known intimately.
Why didn't he mind sharing his bed with this Viking wench for other than making love to her? Mind? Nay, he liked having her next to him in sleep. But why her? He still despised her for who she was. Or did he? She and her kind had done him the worst wrong possible. She was a woman, but she had still been raised with the same beliefs as the men who had come here to rob and kill his people. She was a Viking, a heathen, an abomination to all God-fearing Christians.
If he did not still despise her, he should. He should also have resisted more successfully his attraction to her. He was disgusted with himself for this weakness she had made him see in himself, and more so now that she had proved her will was stronger than his. She wanted him still. Last eve in this room had proved that. Yet she denied him all week, and would have continued to do so if he had not forced her to submit.
Royce made a disgusted sound with his tongue. Castigating himself now served no purpose. The damage was done, and he was not ready to put it behind him. Giving in once to his desire for her had not been enough. He still wanted her. And to resist her now would be like cutting off the hand after the fingers had been severed, causing more pain for no good reason. Even at this moment he wanted her. The only reason he did not wake her was the knowledge that he would have her later.
It was a heady feeling knowing that this particular woman was in his power. A captured slave had even fewer rights than those Britons born to slavery, or than penal slaves, who were free men enslaved as punishment for certain crimes or because they could not pay the fines and compensations they had incurred. The church gave stiff penalties for the mistreatment of these Christian slaves. Those enslaved for crimes could even be redeemed by their kindred after a year. Those born to slavery could buy their freedom. They were also allowed to sell the products of their toil in their free time. But enemy slaves were a different matter. They could be ransomed or not, sold or not, killed or not. The decision belonged solely to their owners.
This made Kristen his for the taking, and only his, as surely as if she belonged to him as wife. He could have her anytime, anyplace, and she had not the right to deny him. But there was an added pleasure in knowing that she did not despise his desire, that she enjoyed his body as much as he did hers.
If he kept pursuing thoughts like these, he would be waking her after all. As it was, he could not resist touching her before he left the bed, inserting his hand between her breasts that were squeezed together to cup one gently in the palm of his hand. Kristen smiled in her sleep. Royce smiled seeing it.
Damned if she couldn't make him feel good inside in so many different ways. He wondered if she knew what a rare woman she was in her joy of the senses. He knew no other who could be aroused to such passion—and so easily, too.
It was going to be a wonderful day, he decided as he dressed and went below. Not even the prospect of trouble with the prisoners could daunt his good mood this morn.
He found them in the yard, herded together in front of the shelter that had been built for them, Waite having held them back from working until Royce came. He dismissed them into Lyman's charge, keeping only Thorolf back. The younger man was definitely disturbed about something, and Royce surmised from the look he received when he nodded Thorolf back into the hut where they could talk in private, that it had something to do with himself.
"I am told you fought amongst yourselves this morn, Thorolf. Do you wish to tell me why?"
Thorolf rattled his chain as he moved about in his agitation. "That?" He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. " 'Twas naught. Bjarni anger Ohthere with jesting." Here he became still and met Royce's eyes, his own narrowing. "Concern you and Kristen."
Royce digested that thoughtfully, doubting he would learn exactly what was said. "Do I take it you took exception to Bjarni's jest, too?"
"Aye. Too long Kristen leave us. I need speak to her . . . please."
Royce stiffened, knowing what it must have cost this brawny Viking to say that word. He became suspicious of his motive. This was the man he had watched so often protecting Kristen when she was still thought to be a lad. He claimed to be only a friend. But was that the truth?
"How long have you known Kristen, Thorolf?"
"Always. Neighbors at home. When children, swim, ride, hunt together. My sister Tyra and Kristen close, very close."
"So she is your sister's friend, yet you seem to have made yourself responsible for her. Why is that?" Thorolf remained mute to that question. Royce walked around him until he stood at the Viking's back. "Is it because her brother is dead, or does she mean more to you than just a friend?"
Thorolf turned around to face him. "Speak slower, Saxon. Or, better, bring Kristen speak for you."
"Oh, clever," Royce sneered, "but I think not. She is well settled in the hall and does not need to be reminded of your plight. She can tell you naught that I cannot tell you. She is well and not overburdened. So you see, you have no reason to worry about her."
"So you say. Need hear her say."
Royce shook his head to that. "If this is all you wanted to speak to me about . . ." He began to walk toward the door.
"Saxon!" Thorolf called angrily. "No touch Kristen."
Royce turned back incredulously. "Are you actually telling me to keep my hands off her?"
"Aye."
He began to laugh. "What arrogance! Mayhap you have not noticed, but you are in no position to make demands."
"Will you marry her?"
"Oh, enough, Viking," Royce said impatiently. "She has been enslaved, not made a guest. What happens to her depends on you and your comrades, as I said before. She has not been harmed, nor forced to do aught she is not willing to do."
"Then you no touch yet?"
This time Royce did not answer. Thorolf drew his own conclusions, which detonated his Norse temper. Royce was not prepared for the attack, but then, he had not thought a smaller, less muscular man would dare. Suddenly he found himself tackled to the floor, his throat enclosed by a pair of hands that were deadly serious. His breath was completely cut off until the point of his dagger slipped an inch into Thorolf's side.
"Ease off, slowly," Royce commanded him.
He did, then stood up and backed away, holding a hand to his bleeding side. He was still angry, more so now because he had failed. Royce was angry now as well.
"What did you hope to accomplish by that bit of foolishness?" he demanded.
"So you no touch Kristen again."
"By killing me? Aye, that would have done it, but then you would not be around to gloat over it."
"No kill," Thorolf insisted. "Other ways to make you no touch again, ever."
Royce frowned until Thorolf made a sharp twisting motion with his hand. Then he grunted. "Aye, so there are. I will have to remember to keep you at arm's length from now on, since I like all my parts just the way they are." And then he shook his head as he got to his feet. "Young fool. Did you disbelieve me when I said Kristen had not been forced? She has no complaints residing inside the hall, other than for the chains she wears."
Thorolf glared at him. "You lie! Many want Kristen. Many," he emphasized. "She refuse all."
"Truly? Then I suppose I should count myself lucky," Royce remarked dryly.
"If you say true, Saxon, then must marry."
Royce sighed at such doggedness. "I have a betrothed already, Thorolf, but even if I did not, I would not marry a heathen, nor a Viking, nor a slave, of which Kristen is all three. She already belongs to me. Give me one reason why I would want to marry the wench, and make it a reason that applies to me, not your impartiality."
"Bjarni no jest. Kristen like what see in you. So be it. But no marry, no like for long. She choose you, Saxon. Make right or lose."
"I cannot lose what I own," Royce said confidently and left before he became annoyed with the Viking's logic.
Thorolf moved to the doorway to watch the Saxon lord cross the yard back to the hall. Waite stepped up to escort him to the wall, but he didn't spare a glance for the guard. So Bjarni was right after all. He had said he had observed Kristen watching this lord when she was still with them, and had never seen a woman more entranced.
If she had indeed finally made her choice, it was the wrong choice. And kept apart from them as she was, she had no friend to tell her so. The Saxon would never honor her. He was a man of power, she a captured slave. As a free man with several slaves in his own household, Thorolf could understand the lord's reasoning. But then, Kristen was not a slave born. If and when she chose to resist her bondage, she would do so wholeheartedly.
He wondered why he had bothered to warn the Saxon how it would be with her. She was a Christian, though she obviously had not revealed that fact to these people. But she was a Norsewoman, too, with Norse pride and determination instilled in her. It might be better if she were more malleable instead, for Thorolf knew that it would not go easy for her if she did turn against her captor.