The way he stood up and moved toward her made her think he hadn’t heard a word she said. His expression was still more surprised than anything, though there was something else there now that she couldn’t quite define. He didn’t stop until mere inches separated them, and then his fingers rose to trace the expanse of one creamy cheek.
“You hid it well, this beauty.”
Warily Kristen stepped back. “You said I was no temptation.”
“That was before.”
She groaned inwardly. Aye, that was desire lighting the green depths of his eyes as they moved over her face and then down the length of her. She didn’t fool herself that she might be able to match her strength to his. Not his. He wore a long-sleeved tunic today, and the muscles that she remembered bulged against the thin linen of it. He could crush her with his large hands. He could have her lying beneath him in a matter of moments. And there was no one in this whole land who could stop him from having her, for she was his enemy, defeated, and he could do what he wanted with her.
“You will not find it easy to rape me,” Kristen said in a soft, warning tone.
“Rape you?” He changed before her eyes, dark fury etching the lines of his face now. “I would not demean myself to rape a Viking whore!”
Kristen had never in her life been so insulted. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him so, but she stopped herself as logic began to analyze his words. He had spoken with such disgust. And it was not so farfetched that he should think her a whore. It could be one explanation for her sailing with an all-male crew.
He had returned to his seat and would not look at her again. He seemed to be grappling with his anger, to bring it under control. She wondered briefly what had caused him to hate Vikings so, for she did not think for a moment that it was herself in particular that he hated, but her people as a whole.
“Would you have such scruples if I were a Viking maid?” She had to know.
“’Twould be a fitting justice were I to have a Viking maid at my mercy. I would take pleasure in dealing with you as your men deal with Saxon women.”
“We have never been to your shores before.”
“Others like you have!” he bit out caustically.
So that was it. Vikings had raided this place before. Kristen wondered whom he had lost to make him so bitter that he would not touch a whore used first by those he hated, but would spend his own hate on an innocent virgin simply because she was a Viking woman. God’s teeth! That he thought her a whore was going to keep her a maiden!
Kristen nearly laughed aloud as that realization came to her. It was incredible. But if this was the only means she had to protect herself, then she would make use of it. Only how did a whore behave?
“You wanted to question me?” she reminded him, feeling much more herself now that her main worry was put to rest.
“Yea. What do you know of the Danes?”
“They like this land of yours?” she offered, then couldn’t help grinning when he frowned at her impertinence at forming the remark as a question.
“You think it amusing?” he demanded sharply.
“Nay, I am sorry,” she said contritely, although she was still grinning to belie the point. “It’s just that I do not see what you think I might know of them. We come from a different land. The only Danes I have ever met were merchants like—like many of my people are.”
She would have to be more careful. If she had told him her father was a merchant, then he would have wondered why she found it necessary to whore. Better he not know her parents lived, or that she had any family at all.
His thoughts were running along the same vein, making her aware that he was still thinking of her personally. “Why would a woman with your looks sell her favors so cheaply?”
“Does it really matter why?”
“I suppose not,” he replied rather curtly, then fell silent for the moment.
It was telling, what he thought of her, to keep her standing while he sat, with three empty chairs around him. She had worked all morning, been whipped in the afternoon, undergone a grueling bath that was very much like torture, and now was being made to stand here and go through this interrogation. Mischief-making Loki must be laughing at her troubles. Well, she could still laugh at them, too, and the devil could take standing any longer. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and watched his expression darken again.
“By God, wench, have you no manners at all?”
“Me?” she gasped. “And where are your manners to keep me standing while you sit?”
“Mayhap you do not realize it yet, but your status here is lower than the lowest serf.”
“So this lowest serf can sit, but I cannot? Is that what you want me to understand? I am so reviled that I cannot even expect the commonest courtesies?”
“Aye, you have it right!”
