Surrender My Love (11 page)

Their voices had stirred Selig, and his waking groan had them each wincing. But it also disturbed Kristen that Erika had heard it, too. Selig wouldn’t like it that the woman he despised should see him like this, and knowing that, Kristen liked it even less.

So she said, a bit more irritably than intended, “Take her out of here, Thorolf. See to her needs or whatever, but keep her away from here. And you may untie her, but do not let her out of your sight for a second if you do. I will fetch her back after I have tended Selig.”

Erika gasped as Thorolf’s long arm simply reached in and yanked her out of the wagon. He did indeed untie her, so he would not have to carry her, telling her plainly, “I would as soon not touch you, so do not give me a reason to.”

But he would not leave her side either, not for a second, so she declined his surly offer to escort her into the bushes, even though she had need to go there. For the moment, her mortification was worse than her need, because she knew he would give her no privacy. But she had no idea what she would do when her need became the greater.

And that was her only need he was willing to see to. She realized that when he shoved her down next to him in front of a fire that had been lit for their camp and began to partake of the food that had been obtained from the village nearby, without offering her a single morsel.

She was not surprised. The hostility radiating from him was so powerful she could feel it even when she was not looking at him. And the same came from every other man she happened to notice, Saxon and Viking alike.

But she had seen Thorolf’s expression when he had stared at Selig’s sunken belly. The blame for his deterioration was being given to her personally, rather than to the fever he had had, so she was going to be dealt with in kind. To be denied food was actually the least of her fears, for she had the sinking suspicion that Lady Kristen had not even noticed the
condition of her brother’s back yet, and there was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she imagined what was going to happen when she did.

Chapter 13

K
RISTEN WAS SHOVELING
the thick stew down Selig’s throat with such speed, she was not giving him a chance to chew it, much less swallow it. When he had trouble breathing as well, he finally had to turn his head aside to say around a mouthful, “Blast it, Kris, I swear to you, how fast you feed me will have no effect on how quickly I recover.”

He was surprised he would say that, as ravenous as he was, with his urge to wolf the food down the same as hers, to get it into him the soonest. Yet
he
would rather be doing it, had tried doing it, but his arm had grown tired and trembling after only a few attempts.

The weakness was making him testy, of course. It absolutely infuriated him that he could not do for himself. And he could only hope that it
was
from lack of nourishment, rather than from some strange malady related to his head injury that might not go away, just as the pain refused to go away. The thought that he might never be the same again was not so terrifying as it
was simply unacceptable. And that he was even weaker than before was not encouraging.

He could not believe how much that earlier short trip from his prison to the wagon, even with the giant Turgeis’s support, had drained what little strength he had gained from his one night of undisturbed sleep. But the sleep he had just wakened from had restored him somewhat, at least enough so that when he spoke, he did not sound like he was dying.

Kristen was waiting patiently for his mouth to open again, no apology forthcoming for her overeagerness, none expected. But he asked, before he accepted the next bite, “Where is Royce?”

“Still in Wessex, I would imagine.”

Selig stopped chewing in his surprise. He had assumed his brother-in-law was merely busy somewhere in the camp, not that he was not in the camp at all.

“He actually let you come for me without him?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “He was not there for me to tell him my intentions.”

Selig digested that for a moment, then said simply, “He will be angry.”

She tried to appear unconcerned, shrugging. “I suppose he will.”

“
Very
angry.”

She glared at him now. “I
know
, brother, so belabor the point no further. ’Tis my worry, not yours. Now tell me all that ails you so I can apprise the healer—”

“Nay—if you love me, no more healers,” he cut in and actually shuddered. “The one just done with me called herself such, but all she did was force poison on me that let no food reach my belly.”

“Then you
were
given food?”

“Aye, but none that would stay down me long enough to do any good, thanks to that old witch.”

Kristen nodded thoughtfully. “The Dane said you were purged to rid you of the fever, and it must have worked, for you are cool to the touch now.”

“My fever was not so great—” He paused, those long hours of confusion and pain such a muddle in his mind. The delirium, the poison, the laughter. “At least not the last I recall of it,” he amended.

“You had it the whole three days you were at Gronwood?” she asked.

“Three?”

He choked on the spoonful she had managed to get by him while asking her questions. His movements were so slow that, if he did not know her so well to anticipate her reactions, he would not have had the time to put up a hand to stop her when she thoughtlessly leaned forward to pound on him. Now he simply scowled at her for the pain she would have inflicted by trying to help.

Defensively, Kristen scowled right back and said huffily, “I have never pretended to a great skill in tending the ill or wounded, Brother.”

“Or even a small skill,” he agreed. “You
are more apt at inflicting wounds than fixing them.”

She ignored that, continuing. “But you are stuck with me for the nonce, so you will just have to bear with me.”

He was grinning at her after that, and willing to accept another mouthful of food, saying around it, “Somehow I will manage—to survive your tender—nay, you cannot box my ears just now.”

She sat back, smiling. “A shame. They need it.”

He was no longer grinning, but was eyeing her with chagrin. “I suppose the very day I am recovered—?”

“Aye.”

“Verily do I wish your memory were not so long.” He sighed. “Actually, I could wish mine were not so lacking now. Explain to me that ‘three’ days.”

“’Tis how long you were imprisoned.”

“I do not remember it being so long.”

“What do you remember?”

His expression altered drastically, became fraught with deep anger. “The pain…and her laughter. Always her laughter. I never knew a woman could find pleasure in another’s suffering.”

Kristen gritted her teeth upon hearing that. “I was not going to tax you, but mayhap you had better tell me all of it.”

That brought a sigh from him, draining some of the anger. “It will not tax me, Kris, there is so little to tell. We were attacked whilst still in
Wessex; thieves, I suppose. They fell from the trees, and so many of them.”

“Aye, the rumor finally reached us that you might all be dead. ’Twas where Royce went, to investigate. And you took a blow to your head?”

“From behind. Clubbed, likely, since there was no blood that I could find. It felled me instantly. When I woke, I was alone, in clothes not mine, and with such pain in my head I could barely move. Also, I was puking for no reason, and seeing two of single things, and as weak as a babe. Thor! I have never felt so wretched.”

She cringed, feeling wretched for him. “The blow had to have been severe,” she speculated. “I have felt the small lump you still bear. Likely ’twas thrice that size or more, if received so long ago.”

“Likely,” he agreed. “But when I woke, I thought myself still in Wessex, that only a day or so had passed, since I had no beard to account for longer. Yet I was in East Anglia, as I learned that very day to my regret, and have no memory of how I came to be there.”

“Nigh a fortnight with no memory?”

“Aye.”

“And no beard?”

“Aye.”

She was thoughtful for only a moment. “’Tis obvious someone took you with them to East Anglia and cared for you the while, though you slept through the whole of it. I wonder why they then abandoned you.”

“I merely wonder who they were and why they bothered with me at all. I cannot imagine Saxon thieves hiding out in East Anglia.”

“Nay, so mayhap they were East Anglian thieves come down to Wessex.”

“And decided I was worth ransoming?”

She nodded. “But they gave up waiting for you to wake up and tell them who to send their demands to.”

“Possibly,” he allowed.

Kristen sighed. “Most like we will never know. But if you never woke during that time, ’tis doubtful they got much food into you, if they even bothered to try. That at least explains the lack of flesh on your bones. And I take it your head still pains you?”

“Aye, but not as constant, and not as severe. If I am completely still, it even goes away for a short time. But now I have that other ache to contend with.”

“Where?”

“My back.”

She had not seen his back. He was without a tunic, but he had been placed on his back in the wagon and hadn’t stirred from that position. Even now, to feed him, she had merely called for her sack of extra clothes to place under his head so he was lifted enough to swallow more easily.

“Another wound?”

Again his expression altered to a mask of pure rage. “Ask that Danish bitch.”

Kristen didn’t wait that long. She pushed his shoulder until he slowly turned for her onto
his stomach. She heard his hiss of pain and saw why. What scabs had formed had stuck to the pallet and just been ripped off. And that solid mass of blue and blister-puffed skin, now oozing blood…

It was too much for Kristen to grasp. Falsely accused of spying and then tortured for a confession? And a woman had ordered it? A
woman
?

Selig couldn’t see the wound, could only feel it, so she made light of it, though she was seething. “’Tis not as bad as it looks.”

“It feels worse.”

“Most like because you are so weak.” She tried to make him forget it, though she could not. “Have you had any sustenance at all in all this time?”

“The day I awoke, before I reached Gronwood.”

Briskly now, she said, “Well, you are going to finish this stew—and more, I hope. I want you eating constantly, as often as you can, as much as you can.” She set the bowl down on the pallet, next to his face. “You can manage the rest of this yourself, I think, with not so far to reach it. I am going to go and fetch that healer now, and not a word against it. She will have salves to apply, and something to ease your pain, and no purges, I swear it.”

She gave him no opportunity to argue, not that it would have done him any good. She left the wagon, careful not to jar it and so jar him. But it was not the healer she was seeking—not yet. She looked for and found
the Dane, sitting with Thorolf not so many feet away.

Erika had been watching the wagon for Kristen’s appearance. She jumped to her feet, causing Thorolf to scramble hastily to his, thinking she was bolting, until he, too, saw Kristen approaching.

Erika didn’t run, stood her ground, though she was trembling.
She has seen his back, seen what I did in anger, no excuse, no excuse, no matter the provocation…

“I asked you before,” Kristen said, reaching them, her voice calm, surprising Erika with that calmness. “I will have an answer this time. If Selig came to Gronwood injured, as Turgeis Ten Feet claimed, then he was seeking help. How did you aid him?”

“I had him lashed.”

It was the worst time for Erika’s guilt to make such a vocal appearance, but then, she had been wallowing in it all day. Kristen heard not the guilt, though, merely the words confirming the conclusions she had reached, and she released her rage with a backhanded fist.

It was a powerful blow, coming from a woman her size, a woman no longer holding her anger in check. It knocked Erika to the ground, where she sprawled at Thorolf’s feet, her golden hair puddled in the dirt. He didn’t try to stop her fall. He could have, but he merely moved aside.

Erika’s cheek felt afire. It had been smashed against the edges of her teeth, slicing the inside open. Blood pooled in the bottom of
her mouth, so much that some trickled out of the corners, and she was forced to spit it out or choke on it.

Kristen stood over her, both fists clenched, arms rigid, shouting at her to get up, that she was not done with her. She was going to beat her senseless, Erika was sure of it, and there wasn’t a single man there who would stop her—Turgeis. Ah, sweet Freya, nay. If he was near, if he was somehow watching, he would abandon all caution and come forward to help her. Nothing would stop him from trying, and he would die in the attempt. And Kristen was still shouting at her to get up.

“Lady, please, not where he can see.”

If pleas had been anticipated, that was not one of them. Kristen scoffed. “Do you delude yourself into thinking someone here cares what happens to you?”

“Turgeis does.” The blue eyes were deep with meaning.

The mere mention of the name caused a half-dozen swords to be drawn by those near enough to have heard her. But Kristen was not daunted by the prospect of that hulking giant’s possible appearance. She was too angry.

“Then let him come. I doubt me you and I will even notice. Now get up—”

She was cut off, and by a voice that was least expected. “Nay, Kris. Feed her. Keep her well. What she suffers is to come from me.”

Kristen made a furious sound of frustration and marched back to the wagon. Selig had actually pulled himself to a sitting position
and now clung to the side of the wagon to remain that way.

“Let me—” she began.

“Nay. She owes me, not you.”

His voice was not as strong now, but no less stubborn. It had cost him to make the effort to stop her, and he would argue further if she insisted. She could see that plainly, which was why she conceded, though with ill grace.