“I do not see what difference—” she said defensively.
“Do you not? Women dote on him. They adore him. They do not abuse him.”
Nor would she have, Erika realized, if circumstances hadn’t interfered. It began to annoy her considerably, that Selig the Blessed could likely get away with just about anything—if a woman was to judge him. These people thought so. His sister thought so. And remembering his insult to her, she knewheundoubtedly thought so.
“So you wanted a confession?”
“What?” She glanced at him again, bemused,until she recalled he had asked of the lashing. “Nay—I—he insulted me and I lost my temper.”
Royce threw back his head and laughed. Erika gritted her teeth. She never should have owned up to that truth.
“’Tis not funny,” she said.
“God’s truth, it is just that. Your temper? Now does this absurdity make sense.”
He was implying that no less could be expected of a woman, and Erika resented that. Hers had been only a momentary loss, her control returned right quickly. If she hadn’t been distracted by Thurston’s accident…
Selig watched them through narrowed eyes. He didn’t like it that Royce was showing an interest in his prisoner, particularly since he couldn’t hear what was being said between them. He liked it even less that Royce could, if he chose, release the woman, and there was nothing Selig could do about it in his present condition, short of starting a war between their two groups, which he would not do.
But it would be a close thing, something he did not want to put to the test. She wasnotgoing to be released, not by him, not until he had exacted a full measure of revenge against her, and that could take years, considering the way he was feeling.
He watched them, and knew to the second when she became angry and thereafter ignored Royce until he rode off. Selig had an uncanny ability for reading women’s emotions—even those women he hated. Nay, not those, just thisone, for he had never hated a woman before, and was in fact having difficulty adjusting to it. Especially one as shapely as this Dane. As when his sister had come by just a few hours after they had set off that morn, to casually suggest that Erika had been walking long enough.
His first reaction had been concern, and he had been immediately appalled by it. He still could not believe he had felt it. He had had to remind himself that this was no ordinary woman to him, that he was nowise going to treat her as he would any other woman. It would help if he could forget shewasa woman, but that was not possible.
He had refused Kristen’s suggestion, though typically, she had thought to argue with him. “Do you mean her to drop and be dragged? It makes no difference to me, but she may break something—” his sister added.
He had been unwilling to argue about it. “She is stronger than that. Leave her. When she is near exhaustion will be soon enough to let her ride.”
He was still annoyed with himself for those few seconds of concern. It might have been a natural reaction for him, but it was one he meant to ignore henceforth. In fact, he now hoped she would fall. He decided he would not have her put into the wagon until she did.
And it shouldn’t be much longer. Where before the rope had been lax and she had found it necessary to carry it to keep from tripping on it, it now dragged her. He felt exhausted justwatching her. But he didn’t stop. Not once had he stopped watching since she had fallen back to where he could see her.
He lay on his pallet, slowly going through the mountainous pile of food Kristen had left for him, enjoying every moment of the Danish woman’s difficulty. His own pain was ignored by dent of will, aided by having Erika No Heart to concentrate on. In return, she was ignoring him completely, had not returned his gaze even once, which was no easy feat, considering she was facing him.
When she did trip, her eyes came immediately to him, telling him that she was not so unaware of his perusal as she would have him think. She didn’t fall, caught herself in time, but it was a near thing, close enough for Selig.
He beckoned her toward the wagon. Her chin went up, giving him her refusal. He stiffened, which set off a number of twinges and aches throughout his body. It absolutely infuriated him that he couldn’t immediately get to her, pick her up, and toss her into the wagon. She knew he couldn’t, which was why she had the nerve to defy him. But he had other options available to him, not as satisfying as seeing to the matter himself, but adequate to see his will met.
He sat up to catch Ivarr’s attention—Ivarr was riding to the rear of the wagon—and called him forward to say simply, “Bring her.”
Ivarr did, without comment, but Erika shrieked at his method. Without dismounting, he picked her up by a fistful of her gown at theback of her neck and literally dropped her into the wagon. She landed on her knees first, but her hands, tied wrist to wrist, were useless to prevent her full collapse forward.
Belly-down, she lay there for a moment, thankful that her face hadn’t scraped the wood, but not the least bit thankful to be back in the wagon with her nemesis again. She had endured enough this morning. She would prefer the physical discomforts to the mental ones he could inflict, and determined to have her own choice in at least that.
Fully intent on resuming her walking, she rolled to sit up, but got no farther than that when she heard his curt order. “Stay, or I will have you bound tight again.”
Had he read her mind? He did sound angry. Because she had ignored his summons? Too bad for him. She was not here willingly, was not going to obey his every command. And if he wanted to make an issue of it, wanted to get the tortures started sooner because of it, well, he could do that very thing and be damned to him.
But Erika didn’t act on her rebellious thoughts except to turn around and give him her back. She washisprisoner. That had been well established. To defy him further would only assuage her pride. It wouldn’t help her predicament. But that was not the only reason she stayed in the wagon.
Even as weak and incapacitated as he was, she was frightened of him on some deep, primitive level that she didn’t begin to understand. Itwasn’t even the mental tortures he could inflict, it was him, being near him like this, so aware, so close she could touch…and wanting to touch. Sweet Freya, what an insane thought.
The sudden yank on her left braid brought her prone again, and the steady tugging that followed forced her to scoot back with elbows and feet. Her heart had picked up its beat by the time the pulling ended, and not from the exertion. She was now lying right next to him, though several inches lower, since the pallet he was on was only wide enough to accommodate him. Because of that, she didn’t have to turn her head very far to see that he had wrapped her braid around his fist, and didn’t unwrap it now that she was where he wanted her.
He could have just asked, or ordered. Either way, she would probably have complied, knowing he could force the matter—as he had just done. She thought to tell him so, but didn’t, caught once more by that face of his that was so mesmerizing. He had sounded angry, but he didn’t look it. Satisfied was how he looked.
“Not so pretty now, are you, wench?” he said in his low voice, though it was a lie. Somehow, her bedraggled state gave her an earthy quality that he found incredibly sexy. And a little dirt couldn’t detract from her lush beauty, which was becoming more and more difficult for him to ignore. But she wasn’t going to know that, so for good measure, he added, “Nor so high and mighty.”
