His Captive Bride (8 page)

Hauk did not reveal the surprise he felt at his uncle’s good wishes. Nor did he correct his error.

Hauk did not want this defiant
demoiselle
to bring him happiness. Or any other emotion.

And she would bear him neither sons nor daughters—for he had no intention of bedding her.

“Let it be known to all that this is Avril.” He pinned the brooch to her gown as she glared up at him with green eyes full of fury. “Wife of Hauk.”

A
vril stood in the entrance of Valbrand’s darkened keep, her blood seething with outrage, her rapid breaths unnaturally loud in the silence. Flickering points of fire began to illuminate the long chamber, one by one. Her captor was slowly lighting candles, his boot steps echoing on the stone floor.

The cloth gag in her mouth prevented her from voicing any more of the choice words she had shouted when he carried her away from the
althing
. By nails and blood, if this arrogant Norseman thought he was actually her
husband
now, if he was under the delusion that he was about to enjoy a wedding night...

She twisted her hands, trying to loosen the leather thongs that bound her. He only bothered to light a few candles before returning to her side—the silver flash of a dagger in his hand.

The gag muffled her cry. But she stood her ground, summoned all her courage, and glared up at him. Curling her fingers into fists, she prepared to defend her virtue to her last breath.

His jaw was clenched, his pale-blue eyes unreadable. And he towered over her at a height that suddenly seemed as great as the cliffs above the ocean.

Yet when he lifted the knife toward her, he only sliced through the bindings that tied her hands, setting her free.

Avril choked out a muted exclamation of disbelief.

When he raised the blade again, her gaze snapped up to meet his.

But he merely reached for the gag—then paused, as if reconsidering.

“Milady,” he said, his voice low and rough, “let us strike a bargain. I am damnably tired and I would prefer not to spend any more time arguing this night. I want naught but to go to bed—”

With a muffled squeak of fear, she kicked him in the shin.

He dropped the knife, hobbling back a step. “Alone,” he added with an annoyed scowl, scooping up the dagger before she could grab for it. “I meant alone. I want only
sleep
. In truth, you may take the bed. I will make a place on the floor.”

Avril could not believe her ears. She flinched away when he reached for her again. Inhaled sharply when the cold edge of the blade pressed against her cheek.

Yet he surprised her a second time, cutting through the cloth that had rendered her mute. Before she could even exhale, he returned the dagger to its sheath on his belt and walked away from her.

“What I am asking is that we declare a truce between us,” he said in that same gruff voice. “At least for the rest of the night.”

Avril blinked at him, reaching up with tingling fingers to remove the bits of cloth from her mouth. She spat out a mouthful of fuzz, not taking her eyes from his broad, muscled back as he strode toward the bed.

He took a pillow and blanket and returned to this side of the chamber, dropping them in the far corner. Avril felt so confused she could not coax her tongue to form words.

Gallantry was the last thing she had expected from him.

“In the morn,” he continued, opening a nearby trunk and taking out another pillow, “I will explain more to you about the island and our ways. You will fare well here, Avril. Now that you have been recognized as my wife, everyone will—”

“Norseman,” she choked out, finally gathering her wits enough to interrupt him. “Allow me to make something clear to you. I am
not
your wife and I am
not
staying here.”

He sighed, letting the chest’s lid fall with a solid
thwack
. “Aye, unfortunately for me,” he said, “you are, and you will be.”

Avril glared at him across the firelit darkness. She could throttle the man. Happily. Surely God would forgive her.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to make him see reason. “Listen to me, Hauk Valbrand,” she said as politely as she could manage. “It is obvious that you do not want me here. And we both know that
I
do not want to be here. There is a simple solution to our problems. Let me go home.”

With an oath, he tossed the pillow into the corner, hanging his head. He raked one hand through his hair, the strands pale gold against the dark skin of his tanned shoulders in the candlelight. For a moment, despite all his size and sinew, he looked...

Worn out. Weary. Spent.

“I cannot.”

“Why not?” she demanded in frustration. “It should be a simple enough matter to return me to Antwerp the way we came—”

“The matter is out of my hands.” He shook his head.

“Are you afraid I will reveal your secret? Is that why you refuse to let me leave?” She moved toward him. “I swear to you I will not tell anyone.”

He glanced at her over one brawny shoulder. “Our secret?”

“That you are Vikings. Hidden away here all these years from a world that hates you. I will not tell anyone about this island. You have my word.”

He turned to face her. “And I am to trust your word? I am to trust that you would not have a change of heart once you were free? That you would not return here with men-at-arms to take vengeance and ensure we never go raiding again?”

She lifted her hands helplessly. “All I can give you is my word of honor.”

He shook his head. “That is why we have the laws. Once a woman is brought to Asgard, she may never leave. Regardless of how convincingly she promises to keep our secret.”

“And the woman has no choice in the matter?” Her temper flared. “That is barbaric! It is unspeakably cruel—”

“It may seem cruel, but it is the only way to ensure the safety and peace of this island and its people. There is naught to be done, Avril. Least of all by me. I am the
vokter
here. The peace-keeper. The man charged with
enforcing
our laws—”

“Well, you will not force me to obey them!” She stalked closer until they were almost face to face. “You had no right to bring me here and you have no right to keep me against my will! The devil take you and your laws! I will not sit tamely by while you destroy my life—”

He touched her cheek and her breath caught.

It was a gentle, startling contact of his palm, his fingertips, barely grazing her skin. The unexpected sensation of his hand—so strong, so warm—lightly stroking her face rendered her mute and held her still far more effectively than any force could have.

He touched her as if she were the most fragile, delicate woman he had ever met.

“I was trying to
save
your life,” he said roughly, his eyes dark, his voice somehow both quiet and forceful at the same time. “If I had not stopped Thorolf...”

He left the sentence unfinished. His words held an edge of tension, yet Avril also heard genuine concern, for her safety. For her. Which only confused her even more.

All at once, she was aware of how their breathing sounded together, rapid and shallow. How dark the room was. How his gaze traced over her features, the color of his eyes deepening to a midnight blue.

His attention settled on her mouth. Her heart fluttered, then began pounding hard. A muscle flexed in his tanned, beard-stubbled cheek.

Abruptly he withdrew his hand and turned away from her. “There is no point in discussing this further.” He stalked over to the cold hearth on the opposite side of the chamber. “You will not be leaving Asgard. You should not torment yourself by holding out hope of rescue, and you cannot escape. There is no way off this island.”

“I-I will
make
a way,” she insisted, wishing her legs would stop trembling.

“You misunderstand, wife. What I am telling you is that
no one
leaves Asgard Island.”

She spun toward him. “That is a lie! You left. You and the others who came to Antwerp—”

“Such voyages are rare. We do not even keep boats. The longship we used to sail to Antwerp has already been destroyed. Unless you are skilled at shipbuilding, you will not be leaving.” He braced one arm against the hearth. “Neither of us may like it, but this is your home now. And we are husband and wife—”

“We are
not
husband and wife! There was no church, no priest.
I
spoke no vows—”

“You will adjust. All the women do. It is but a matter of time.” He glanced up at the wall, at the display of weapons and artifacts. “And time is something we have in abundance here.”

Those words—or mayhap his hollow tone as he said them—sent a chill down her back.

“If I were here a hundred years, I would never stop trying to gain my freedom,” she replied hotly. “You do not understand. I have a
daughter
at home in France. A three-year-old daughter. She needs me. I must return to her!”

For a moment, he did not reply, remained utterly still.

Then he gave her a heated glance over his shoulder. “And to your husband as well? Does he not need you?”

“Aye,” she amended quickly. “I must return to my daughter and to my husband.”

She cursed herself for forgetting. He would never believe her word of honor if he caught her in a lie.

He turned around, leaning back against the hearth, his eyes narrowed. “Why did you not mention him before?”

“Because...”
Because I had no idea you meant to keep me here forever. Because he has been dead for more than three years. Because
... “Why would I disclose anything to the brigand who abducted me? I told you I come from a powerful and influential family. And I wear a wedding band. You must have noticed it.”

“Aye, I did.” His gaze dropped to her hand and his voice dropped to a deep, almost predatory tone. “This morn when I undressed you.”

She gasped, partly from the bold way he said it—and partly from the heat that curled through her midsection as a shocking, unbidden image filled her mind.

Valbrand’s dark, strong hands on her body... sliding cloth downward to reveal bare flesh... gently lowering her to the sheets...

She clenched her left hand, as if the ring Gerard had given her were a talisman that could right her wayward thoughts and ward off this daring Norseman.

But the wedding band felt cold against her damp palm. Powerless.

And strangely, she swore she could feel heat radiating from the silver brooch that rested above her heart, where Hauk had pinned it to her bodice.

His gaze lifted to hers, slowly. “Odd that I noticed no husband with you in Antwerp,” he said when she did not speak. “What kind of husband allows his wife to go running about the streets unescorted?”

“He...” She fervently bade her jumbled thoughts to untangle themselves. When she fixed her mind on Gerard, the words came. “He is generous and kind and loving and the best sort of man.” Her voice strengthened. She added a bit more for good measure. “And I am his wife and I belong to him body and heart and soul.”

Hauk did not move. Not one muscle.

But the look in his eyes became hot. Intimate. Challenging.

“I am not interested in your heart or your soul,” he said in that quiet, predatory voice, pausing before he added, “or your body.”

Trembling, Avril wrapped her arms around her middle, caught in a storm of conflicting emotions that drenched her like hot rain. The silver brooch almost seemed to burn her skin. She tried to unfasten it, but could not work the clasp.

Frustrated, she ripped it from her gown and threw it aside. “Then you have no reason to keep me here!”

His attention suddenly fastened on her bodice.

Avril looked down and gasped. In tearing off the symbol of his claim over her, she had ripped her linen gown. The violet fabric gaped at the top, revealing the pale upper curve of her breast. She grabbed the torn material, covering herself.

And glanced up to find Hauk watching her with potent male hunger etched on his chiseled features. He straightened away from the hearth, took one step toward her. Then he started to advance slowly.

Avril felt that unnerving, unwelcome heat spilling through her. She stumbled backward a pace. Struggled to find her voice. “
Nay
.”

She did not know which she was denying: his intentions or her own bewildering feelings. But he halted. For a moment he remained frozen, his hands clenching and unclenching.

Then he turned sharply and stalked to a chest beneath one of the shuttered windows. “All that you have need of, you will find in the town.” He opened the trunk, took out a leather sack, and began stuffing clothes into it. “Food. Drink. New garments, if you do not like the ones I chose for you. Ask the shopkeepers for whatever you wish and it will be given you. We use barter rather than coin here.”

Avril could only stare at him, trembling, her thoughts tangled like a dozen strands of yarn all knotted together.

He let the chest’s lid fall and moved on to another. “A few people in the village speak French. If you cannot make yourself understood, one of them can translate for you. I will leave Ildfast, my horse, here for you. He can be unmanageable at times”—he slanted her a quick glance—”but I do not think you will have any trouble with him.”

She shook her head, surprise and disbelief battering her senses. “You... you are leaving?”

“One of my duties is to patrol the shoreline and see that our border remains secure. I am often away.” He took a pair of gloves and a length of rope from the next trunk and added them to his pack. “While I am gone, you are free to go where you wish—”