His Captive Bride (13 page)

Avril folded her arms. “Three and twenty.”

“Three and twenty!” Nina laughed—a deep, throaty laugh that had poor Floyel burrowing for cover—as if this were the most amusing jest she had heard in a long time. “Oh, the way you say it! As if you are far too sophisticated and mature to be mistaken for eighteen.” Her shoulders shook. “My dear, you are barely out of swaddling clothes.”

“But you cannot be more than... five or six years older than I,” Avril replied, not understanding the woman’s amusement.

Nina kept chuckling. “You flatter me, silly child. But then, I do adore flattery. And I
have
aged well, haven’t I?”

Avril sighed, gesturing toward the door. “You have also worn out your welcome. It has been a
pleasure
making your acquaintance, milady, but now you must allow me to bid you—”

“Oh, by Frigga’s mother.” Nina waved a hand dismissively and made no move to rise. “Your kind are always so sensitive, so delicate, so fragile.” Her voice was laced with disdain, and her eyes as she regarded Avril suddenly burned with resentment. “But the men seem to find that attractive for some reason. When Hauk and I last parted, I assumed he would return to
me
anon. I never suspected he was secretly longing for one of your kind.”

“My kind?” Avril demanded. “What do you mean, my kind? Captives? Women who have been forced here against their will?”

“
Utlending,
” Nina spat. “You are
utlending
. A foreigner. I am
innfodt
,” she informed her loftily, rising gracefully from the chair, crossing to a mirror that hung over the washbasin. “A native-born woman of Asgard.” She studied her reflection, running her fingertips over her flawless ivory skin.

“I see. Well, mayhap I should correct a mistaken impression you seem to have—it was not
my
idea to come here. I would like naught better than to leave this island and let you claim Hauk and his clifftop dwelling and whatever
gifts
you say he has.”

Nina turned to stare at her, eyes wide with surprise. “He has not bedded you yet, has he?”

Startled by such a question, Avril opened her mouth but no sound came out.

“Nay, clearly he has not.” Nina brightened, looking even more pleased than before. “If he had, you would not be so eager to leave.”

“Hauk Valbrand is a... a brigand. A rogue. He is keeping me here against my will. I would never let him take me to his bed!”

Nina laughed, softly this time, glancing down at the toes of her embroidered slippers. “Oh, I do not think that is true. But if you are indeed unhappy here, if you truly wish to leave Asgard—”

“I
must
leave Asgard. I have a three-year-old daughter awaiting my return home.”

Nina’s head came up. “A daughter?” She paused, something shifting in that icy, gray gaze. “You are a mother?”

Avril could not reply, astonished by the change in Nina’s tone and expression. For once, the woman was not mocking her.

“Aye, and I am... I am all my little Giselle has left. I was widowed three years ago.”

Nina’s long lashes swept downward, concealing her eyes, and she turned away. “Then of course you must return home.” After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder. “And I am willing to offer my help,” she said, her voice cool and regal once more.

Avril regarded her warily, still trying to puzzle out what emotion she had seen in Nina’s eyes for that brief instant. Whatever it had been, it was gone, replaced by that remote, faintly superior air.

Which made Avril reluctant to trust Nina’s offer of help. The woman clearly viewed her—however mistakenly—as a rival for Hauk’s affections. Avril could too well imagine what kind of help Nina might offer.

She might happily help her fall off a cliff.

“Would you not be breaking the laws?”

“It
would
involve a certain amount of risk,” Nina admitted. “But we cannot think of that, with our happiness at stake—both yours and mine.”

“Hauk told me no one ever leaves Asgard.”

“Did he?” Nina shook her head, smiling ruefully. “That is not entirely true. Hauk himself leaves, now and then. It is part of his duty as
vokter
.”

Avril turned away, biting back an oath.
He had lied to her. That son of a cur
—

“He keeps a
knorr
—a small sailing ship—in a sheltered cove on the western side of the island. It is only a few hours’ journey through the western part of the forest.”

“I see.” Avril felt angry enough to spit. No wonder he had told her to avoid that part of the woods.

Unless...

She turned again, studying Nina, cautious. “I thought the western part of the forest was dangerous. Someone mentioned there were wolves there.”

“Aye, there are. But there is a safe way to reach the cove. How do you think Hauk goes there and returns safely?” Nina rested her hands on her slender waist. “I would be happy to show you where to find it, little
utlending
. I will escort you myself.”

She looked sincere.

Or was
trying
to look sincere.

Avril held her tongue and listened to the rain, uncertain what to do or whom to believe.

Which one had lied to her? Was there in truth a boat in a sheltered cove—or was Nina making up the tale, thinking to lure her into danger? Finding a boat
would
be faster, and safer, than attempting to build a seaworthy craft of her own.

Avril glanced away, and the glitter of steel above the hearth caught her eye.

Which gave her an idea. “Thank you for the offer,” she said lightly, picking up Nina’s wet cloak from the chair, “but I am afraid I must decline.” She went to the entrance and opened the door, holding it for her guest.

Nina sighed. “As you wish.” She walked over and plucked the cloak from Avril’s hands. “But if you change your mind, you will find me in town. And it might be best if you did not tell Hauk we have met—else he will suspect that you now know about his ship.” She donned the cloak, lifting the hood as she stepped past Avril, into the rain.

Then she paused and turned, her expression concealed within the depths of the hood as the storm spattered them both with wind-driven water. “I truly
am
willing to help you, little
utlending
, in any way I can.”

Before Avril could respond, Nina turned and walked away into the storm.

Watching her go, Avril wondered again if she should accept the woman’s offer. But with so much at stake, she dared not take the risk. And she did not need to: She had more trustworthy allies in her fellow captives.

And a wall full of weapons at her disposal.

In the morn, she and her sisters-in-arms could go and search for the boat on their own.

H
e tenderly kissed her tears away, whispering words she had not heard in such a long time. Words of love. His strong hands touched her intimately, each caress slower than the last as he gently aroused her.

Moaning softly, she lifted her hips, wanting to take him inside her. Please, mon coeur, it has been so long, I need... I need...

He nudged her thighs apart, positioning himself there at the silky core of her body. Then he raised his head, and in the firelight she could see the passion in his eyes—those pale-blue eyes, like the sky lit by the sun’s hottest rays, his hair like strands of gold between her fingers.

Avril jerked awake with a sharp cry, eyes wide, heart thundering.

The night sky tilted dizzily in her vision. She thrust out a hand to steady herself. Felt the sand beneath her, a warm sea wind blowing through her hair. Waves swept rhythmically onto the shore a few paces away. The torch she had staked into the sand flickered beside her. She had been dreaming. Only dreaming. She had come down to sleep on the beach after the storm abated. Hauk was not here. He was...

God’s mercy, he was the man in her dream.

“Nay.” She stumbled to her feet. “Nay!” The ocean breeze billowed her emerald cloak out behind her and cut through her linen shift, cooling the perspiration from her body, her breasts. Her limbs still tingled with arousal.

Hauk Valbrand could
not
be the man in the sensual dream that had tormented her for months. How could he be? She had not even met him until a few days—

The roar of the surf seemed deafening as she remembered their first meeting in Antwerp. That jarring moment of time when he had seemed familiar. His face. His eyes. His voice. So hauntingly familiar.

Only now did she understand why.

Because he was the man she had been making love to in her dreams.

Stunned, breathless, she touched her mouth, aware of the lingering heat of a kiss there.
Nay, it was impossible!
She was confused. Tired. Overwrought by Nina’s visit and her talk of Hauk’s “gifts.”

That was the reason Avril had fled his
vaningshus
. But it was not enough that she had avoided sleeping in his bed. Not enough to banish him from her thoughts.

From her dreams.

With a wordless sound of confusion and denial, she grabbed the torch and hurried blindly down the shore, gulping mouthfuls of air that still held the lingering scent of rain. The damp sand gave way softly beneath her bare feet. The storm had ended hours ago, yet the moon barely glimmered through the clouds hanging overhead.

Waves rushed up to bubble around her ankles and dampen the hem of her shift and the embroidered cloak, one of the wedding gifts she had received from the kind people of Asgard. Her steps gradually slowed but she kept walking, too restless, too agitated to stop.

Oddly, the water felt cold. Icy cold—in stark contrast to the island’s summery weather and lush greenery and air that, even down here, was warm and scented with the fragrance of exotic blooms.

Avril tucked the water’s temperature away in her mind with all the other troublesome, conflicting bits of information she had been gathering about Asgard Island.

And the man who had brought her here.

Even now she could not chase him from her thoughts. Could not keep herself from wondering where he was. If he had found shelter in the storm. Had he been gone two days now? Or was it longer?

She halted, chastising herself. It was ridiculous to feel worried about her captor. And if she found it difficult to count the days since she had seen him last, mayhap it was because the pace of life seemed so slow on Asgard.

Almost as if time itself moved more slowly here.

Frowning, she continued down the shore, wondering if God had purposely designed this place to confuse and confound any poor mortal who set foot here.

She would try to make sense of it all tomorrow. Tomorrow, when she had the chance to meet with her fellow captives and discuss whatever answers they had found. Tonight, she was too exhausted to think anymore.

A short distance down the beach, looming out of the darkness, she noticed a massive tangle of broken trees, lodged among rocks at the base of the cliff. Driftwood, washed ashore by some long-ago storm. The jagged trunks created a sheltered place away from the wind and waves.

She walked over and staked her torch into the sand, then took off her cloak, spreading the garment out. Sinking down onto the silk-lined fabric, she lay on her back within the driftwood’s shadow and gazed up at the gray clouds high overhead.

The clouds concealed the stars as well as the moon, but one silvery glimmer managed to pierce the murk, just for an instant, winking at her. Avril’s heart pulled tight.

Whenever Giselle saw a star wink like that, she said it was her father, smiling down on her from Heaven—watching over her and winking at her. Though Giselle had never known him, she stated with a three-year-old’s certainty that she felt him close to her sometimes, especially when she was afraid. That she could reach up to the stars and he would hold her hand.

Avril closed her eyes against the hot dampness that filled them. “Stay close to her, Gerard,” she whispered. “Watch over her, until I can return.” She lifted her lashes, searching the sky for another star. “Hold her hand.”

Just as she said that, another star winked through the clouds. And though it was ridiculous, utterly nonsensical and ridiculous, a sense of peace stole over her.

A feeling that, here in this sanctuary of driftwood and sand, she was a little closer to the daughter she loved.

She rolled onto her side, drawing the cloak with her, resting her cheek on her bent arm. Blinking drowsily, she tried to stay awake, for she was reluctant to let herself drift off, to let herself dream...

It was a shout that awoke her—a high-pitched, feminine cry. Startled, Avril pushed herself up on one hand, not certain how long she had been asleep. The torch had almost burned out, offering naught but a dull glow that did little to help her see into the darkness.

The shout came again, a squeal that rose and just as quickly tumbled an octave or two, dissolving into a laugh. Sitting up, Avril saw the source a moment later: two dark silhouettes near the water. A man and woman, playfully splashing each other as they wandered down the beach.

The woman gave her companion a thorough dousing, laughing and running from him. He gave chase and caught her by the edge of her cloak, and the two wrapped around each other in a heated embrace, filling the night air with sighs and hungry moans.

Cheeks flaming, Avril grabbed her torch and scooted back into the shadows beneath the driftwood trees, embarrassed at being privy to such intimacy. But she need not have bothered, for the pair had eyes only for each other. Untangling themselves at last, they strolled past her hiding place, hand in hand, oblivious to her presence.

Avril’s jaw dropped when she recognized them.

It was the Italian girl!

And her companion was the very man who had hoisted the poor
signorina
over his shoulder and carried her kicking and screaming from the
althing
two nights ago.

But the poor
signorina
had clearly not spent the past days suffering the sort of torments Avril had imagined. Peeking over the tree trunk, Avril caught them in another kiss, heard the woman whisper an endearment in Italian when they finally came up for breath.

As they walked on, the
signorina
rested her head on his shoulder, and he draped an arm gently around her waist.

Avril clutched the tree trunk, fighting the urge to chase the pair down the beach and slap some sense into the woman.

“He is your
captor
,” she whispered, half tempted to shout it. “Have you taken leave of your reason?”

When they were a few yards farther away, she stood up, gripping her torch and watching in amazement as the couple continued down the beach, looking for all the world like a happy, newly wed husband and wife. Avril shook her head.

How could this have happened? How could the man have so changed the Italian’s feelings toward him? What sorcery had he used? What potion? What...

Nina’s voice suddenly flitted through her head, sighing dreamily that the men of Asgard were exceptionally gifted at lovemaking.

And Hauk the most gifted of all.

“Not possible,” Avril said aloud. No man could be
that
skilled. “Not possible.”

“What is not possible?”

Gasping, Avril whirled at the soft question—to find another brawny male silhouette looming out of the darkness behind her.

For a moment, she had the dizzying sensation that she must still be asleep.

That she was dreaming.

It was Hauk.

Her heart filled her throat as he appeared out of the night shadows, as silently as if he were made of fog and sea air. He carried no torch; not until he drew near could she see him by the sputtering glow of the one in her hand.

He looked tired and worn from his journey, a stubbly beard of burnished gold darkening his jaw, not thick enough to obscure the hard angles of his face. He still wore his pack and a traveling cloak tossed back over his broad, tanned shoulders, fluttering in the wind, held in place by a thick chain across his muscled neck.

His gaze met and held hers with an intensity that stole her breath. She lowered her lashes, trying not to notice the way her heart skipped a beat. “You... you are back.”

“Are you all right?”

She looked up, curious at the unexpected question and the edge of tension in his voice. “Aye, I am well enough—”

“What are you doing down here?”

“You said I was free to go wherever I wished,” she said defensively.

“I also warned you to stay away from the cliffs. Yet I return home past midnight to find my
vaningshus
unoccupied and the bed not slept in. Until I saw your torch, I thought you—” He cut himself off, glanced away. “Never mind. It matters not.” He dropped his heavy pack, running one hand over his grizzled face. “Why is there a reindeer calf in my home?”

“He was a gift.”

“That gift relieved himself all over several other gifts.”

Avril suppressed a grin at that news. “Do not blame me. The fault is entirely yours.”

“I do not remember asking anyone to give me a reindeer.” He released a low sound that might have been a sigh. “Any more than I remember asking the gods to give me a wife.”

“I am not your wife,” she said lightly. “And if you had left well enough alone in Antwerp, you would not now be in possession of me
or
a reindeer.”

He looked at her with a dour expression, started to say something in reply, then apparently changed his mind. For a moment, the noise of the surf rushing ashore and the faint crackling of the torch in her hand made the only sound.

At that very instant, Avril abruptly remembered what she was wearing.

Or rather, what she was not.

She was standing there garbed only in a thin linen shift, holding a torch that no doubt cast enough light for him to see through the fabric.

As if he had read her thoughts, those pale-blue eyes left hers to trace downward, slowly. Avril felt her cheeks flush with warmth. Her pulse quickened, her body tingling in response to the hungry, possessive way he looked at her. Her breasts drew taut.

By the time his gaze reached her bare feet, she could hear his breathing, deep and unsteady—matching hers. That familiar, dazzling heat that always seemed to shimmer between them unfurled within her, flowing to the very core of her being.

Shocked at her body’s response, she could not move. Could not understand this unsettling bond they seemed to share. Could not fathom how, without even touching her, this quiet, enigmatic Norseman could rouse her in such a way.

She forced her limbs to move, reaching down with all the grace she could muster—when she wanted to make a mad dive—to pick up the cloak she had left on the ground. But she could not don the cloak and hold the torch at the same time.

“Allow me, milady.” His voice sounded deep, husky.

She felt the torch plucked from her grasp before she could decline his assistance. His other hand felt warm and strong on her shoulders as he helped settle the heavy cloak around her. A little frisson of awareness and anxiety tingled down her back.

But his touch was surprisingly gentle, and as soon as she covered herself, he gave her back the torch and moved away a few paces.

She wrapped the garment snugly around her, surprised once again at his gallantry. “Thank you.”

“Are you certain you are well, Avril? You seem pale.” His eyes searched her face once more. “And tired.”

The concern in his gaze, in his voice, brought an uncomfortable, ticklish sensation to her stomach. “Not all women thrive in captivity,” she said quietly. “You need not trouble yourself over my well-being.”

“I am bound by my word of honor to trouble myself over your well-being.”

She looked away. “If I am tired, it is because the hour is late and I have had bad—” She caught herself. “Trouble sleeping,” she finished awkwardly.

He did not reply.