R oyce leaned back in his chair, waiting for Alden to complete his turn at the dice game they were playing. It was the hottest day yet this summer, and although the small table they were using was drawn directly in front of an open window, little breeze was stirring outside or making its way into the hall.
Most of Royce's men lounged about the large barrel of mead, even though it was only late afternoon. They had spent the morning training the less-skilled churls in the arts of warfare, but the heat had driven them back to the hall early. It was simply not a day for any but the most necessary tasks.
This was the first day Alden had ventured into the hall since the Vikings' arrival. Two days had passed since the mishap that had sent him back to his bed. One of his new wounds was worse than he had at first suspected, and had refused to stop bleeding. He had lost more blood than necessary in waiting too long before he finally called Eartha to tend him. The loss had weakened him to the point where his bed again looked inviting. His only consolation was that Eartha had kept quiet and Darrelle still knew nothing of his second disastrous encounter with the Viking wench.
Royce had been anything but amused when he had seen the nasty chest wound later that same day. He had immediately ordered a new chain for Kristen, a long length that was secured to the wall in the cooking area and also to the chain between her feet, giving her room only to reach the long table there where she did most of her work.
He regretted that order after his anger wore off. He knew she hated her shackles. How much more must she despise this new chain that restricted her. He had not been able to look at her since. He did not want to see misery etched on her lovely face. He did not want to see the hate that she must surely feel for him now.
Royce didn't know what to do about Kristen. He was in the midst of a dilemma that he had never faced before, and he had no one to discuss it with. He had always been able to talk over anything with Alden, but he was loath to let Alden or anyone else know how much the wench troubled him.
No matter how he sought to avoid it, she constantly preyed on his mind. He could not even escape her when he slept, for she invaded his dreams too. She was like no woman he had ever known. Not once had he seen her cry or bewail her plight. Not once had she cowered in fear before him. She hated her shackles, yet she had not begged to have them removed as other women would. She asked for no quarter, no mercy. She had asked for nothing, in fact, nothing except—him. She had said she wanted him.
God, how those words had torn at his vitals and nearly destroyed his resolve when she said them! He had told her he suspected she intentionally meant to bewitch him. Whether it was intentional or not, he was already bewitched, from the day she had been cleaned up to reveal the incredible beauty that had been hidden beneath the grime.
He had never felt such desire as this woman aroused in him. Not even Rhona, whom he had wanted above all women, had ever affected him this strongly. He had only to look at the wench and she destroyed his composure. His blood would run hot. His body would ache with need.
She had driven him past his endurance the other night. He had returned to the hall to retire, but he should never have stopped to look at her, for he was caught, mesmerized by her slow, sensuous movements, watching her hand rise to her face to smooth back a tawny lock of hair, seeing her stretch, her back arch, her breasts thrust forward, more firmly outlined. It was as if an invisible line had been thrown out to lure him in, for he moved toward her without conscious thought, and nothing could have stopped him from tasting those enticing lips when he finally reached her.
He would like to think she was a witch, or mayhap a Viking priestess, with a special magic divined from her many gods. That would certainly explain his dilemma: how he could loathe her and want her at the same time. She stirred emotions in him that he did not understand. It should not bother him if she suffered, but it did. It should not matter to him that she was a whore, but it did. He even became irrational every time he thought of the many men she had lain with, possibly every man from the ship, so he tried not to think of it. But now to know that she had cared for one more than all the others, enough to want revenge for his death, inflamed him even more.
He had asked Thorolf who this Selig was. But the wily Viking had answered with another question, asking who Kristen had said he was. It was obvious he would get no confidences from her companions, so Royce had said no more. It was as Kristen said. He would learn only what she wanted him to know, and she was through telling him anything.
"If you do not want to finish the game, Royce, say so."
"What?"
"I finished my turn hours ago."
Royce sat forward, swiping up the dice. "Do not exaggerate, Cousin. And I have things on my mind."
"You have often of late been deeply thoughtful. Of course, 'tis no wonder with all that has happened this summer. And now we have word that the King is coming for a visit, but he does not say when he will arrive."
"He will come when he comes." Royce grunted. "That does not concern me."
"Nay? Then you must still be worried about the prisoners," Alden speculated. "Or is it only one prisoner who has been on your mind?"
"Who is that?"
"Who, indeed?" Alden laughed. "Come now, Royce. Why did you not tell me she was so incredibly lovely?"
"Tell me something, Alden. She has tried to kill you twice. How can you laugh about her?"
"She has her reasons, I imagine, but even so, who could despise such a beautiful woman?"
"I can."
"Can you? Why? Surely you do not blame her for what the Danes did? She is not a Dane."
"You forget her companions came here to raid and kill, too, and would have laid waste to Wyndhurst if you had not stopped them in the forest."
A small voice intruded on their conversation. "They would have passed by here."
Royce and Alden both glanced toward Meghan, who had come quietly to stand near their table to watch them play. Royce frowned, but quickly smoothed his features out when Meghan lowered her eyes from him.
Gently he asked, "Why do you say that, midget?"
She peeked up at him, then came closer when she saw he was not angry with her for interrupting them. "Kristen told me so. She said they were after Jurro monastery, and that only as a lark."
"When did you speak to her?"
"The day after she was brought in the hall."
"Did she tell you aught else, Meghan?"
"Many things. She talked about her family. She said her father is even taller than you and he has a terrible temper, too." Meghan stopped, realizing what she had unwittingly stated. "I did not mean to imply—"
"Of course you did," Alden teased her with a grin, pulling her onto his lap. "We all know what a terrible temper your brother has."
Royce smiled at her to show he was not angry. "Go on, midget. What else did the wench tell you?"
"You are not revealing secrets, are you, Meghan?" Alden continued to tease.
"Alden!" Royce snapped impatiently.
"Oh-ho, that interested, are you?"
Meghan surprised them both by asking then, "Why did you order her chained to the wall, Royce?"
He was just annoyed enough with Alden to answer with a sneer, "Because she wants to kill our cousin here, and he has not the strength to protect himself from her, so I must do it for him."
Meghan turned around in his lap to give Alden a wide-eyed look. "Why does she want to kill you?"
"Why, indeed?" he bemoaned mockingly. "I am such a nice fellow."
"Then you must be mistaken," Meghan said.
"Nay, little one, 'tis in fact true," Alden admitted. "I am supposed to have killed someone she calls Selig, and she says she wants revenge for his death."
"You killed Selig?" Meghan gasped. "Oh, Alden, why did you have to be the one? She must hate you terribly."
Royce leaned across the table and grasped his sister's chin to make her look at him. "Do you know who Selig was, Meghan?" he asked softly.
"Yea, she told me who he was. But she got so upset when she mentioned him. 'Twas after I told her Jurro was destroyed by the Danes. She said Selig and half the others died for naught. She frightened me then, for she pounded the table with her fists, then toppled it over. I have not talked to her since, but I suppose now she was only violent because of her grief. She was so friendly to me before that."
"Aye, she can be a very friendly wench when it suits her," Royce murmured to himself, but he was not forgetting what interested him most. "Who was Selig, Meghan?"
"Did Alden not ask her?"
"Meghan!"
She paled at his raised voice and answered quickly, "Her brother, Royce. She said he was her friend, and brother."
Even in his sudden confusion at her revelation, Royce noted her anxiety and cursed himself for causing it with his impatience. "Meghan, sweet, I am not angry with you."
"Not even for speaking to her?"
"Nay, not even for that," he assured her. "Now, why not go and see what treasures Darrelle has found? She has brought in some of the cargo that was taken from the Viking ship. She said something about finding fur trimmings for new gowns for you and her."
Meghan went off happily to the other side of the hall, where the women were gathered. Royce sat back, staring at Alden, seeing that his cousin was as surprised as he was.
"A brother!" Royce said incredulously. "How could she have a brother among those men? 'Twould mean he knew why she was there and countenanced it."
"Mayhap we were wrong in assuming she is a whore?" Alden suggested.
"Nay," Royce replied testily. "She has admitted what she is."
Alden shrugged. "Then they must have a different outlook on such things. What do you really know of their kind? Mayhap they find naught wrong with a woman who gives herself to many. Who is to say all their women are not whores?"
Royce frowned, for he was remembering Kristen telling him she knew no other whores. But he did not mention this to Alden, for he saw that Darrelle was about to interrupt them.
"Royce, look at this," Darrelle cried excitedly, showing him the gown she had found. "Have you ever seen such fine velvet? It must surely come from the Far East."
He merely glanced disinterestedly at the dark-green material she held, until she shook it out and held it up in front of her, so that it lay over her own clothes. The gown was sleeveless, and very rich indeed, with precious pearls forming a thick rope along the deep V of the neckline. Another rope of pearls was tied about the narrow waist, apparently to be used for a girdle. A solid-gold clasp was used for fastening the belt.
"There is another gown of the same design," Darrelle went on to say. "And shoes to match, with armbands of pure gold and a necklace of amber stones. They were all bundled together. Will you give them to Corliss, Royce? She will surely love such rich gifts. If not, I can make use of them myself. But whichever, the gowns will have to be altered. Sleeves have to be added, but the same material can be used, for much of it has to be cut off the bottom. The gowns are much too long, as you can see. I swear the women of Norway must all be giants. To wear such long gowns they would have to be."
Royce was staring at the extra material—a good half foot of it, at least—that lay on the floor at Darrelle's feet. "Have them taken to my chamber, Cousin."
"You do not want me to alter them?" she asked in disappointment.
"Nay, not just yet."
The moment Darrelle walked away, Royce's eyes flew to the cooking area at the far end of the hall, and lit on Kristen. She stood with her head bent over the task she was about, yet she still stood at least half a foot or more above the other women around her. Her long, graceful body was covered in the same clothes she had been given, clothes too tight and confining for her, and much too short.
"What are you thinking, Cousin?" Alden asked suspiciously, seeing where his attention had gone.
"That the clothes belong to my pretty new slave," Royce replied without taking his eyes from Kristen.
"Come now, you cannot really think so!" Alden scoffed. " 'Twould mean she is no common wench, to own such rich apparel. Not even Queen Ealhswith has aught so fine as that green velvet. And the pearls alone are worth a fortune."
Royce glanced back at Alden, his expression not as intense, but still thoughtful. "I suppose 'tis unlikely, but I will find out for certain before this day is through."
"How? Asking if the clothes are hers will not suffice. She will tell you aye, whether 'tis true or not, for what woman would not claim such fine garb, when there is no one to deny the claim?"
"We shall see."
Royce said this so ominously that Alden spared a moment's pity for the Viking wench, wondering in what dire manner his cousin was planning to get at the truth. He did not care to know himself.