“Ask her.”
Royce turned on Kristen. “Why?” he repeated. She crossed her arms over her chest, refusing to speak. Royce was fast losing patience and snapped at Alden, “What did she say to you?”
“That I killed someone she calls Selig. She said she would avenge him.”
“A lover, no doubt.”
“Not a lover!” Kristen spat now, her eyes dark with fury.
“Then who was he?”
“You will never know that, Saxon.”
“By God, youwilltell me!” he stormed, taking hold of her arm to jerk her back in front of him.
“Will I?” she taunted him with a sneer. “How will you make me? Will you beat me, torture me? You can do that, but I will still only tell you what I want to tell you and no more. Nor will I beg for mercy, Saxon, so you may as well kill me now and have done with it.”
“Get below!” Royce growled, shoving her away again.
She walked away slowly, yet her carriage was as erect and proud as a queen’s. Royce frowned at the empty doorway even after she was gone. And then he rounded on his cousin just as Alden was standing up.
“Nay, yell at me no more, Royce. God help me, I will hear enough screaming when Darrelle sees all this blood.”
“Then tend to your new wounds yourself, and say naught of this. You are not seriously hurt, are you?”
“I was beginning to wonder if you cared.” Alden grinned. “Nay, only a few pricks—though, God’s truth, I was this close to having my throat slit. She fights like a demon, and she gave me no warning she was about to attack me.”
“Go tend your cuts, Alden,” Royce said disgustedly.
“I intend to, before Darrelle has a chance to restrict me to my room again. For a loving sister, her concern is stifling.”
“Alden?”
“Yea.” He turned at the door.
“Stay away from her.”
Alden grinned. “That warning was unnecessary. I have had enough dealings with that wench to last me a lifetime.”
Chapter Sixteen
Royce leaned back in his chair, waiting for Alden to complete his turn at the dice game they were playing. It was the hottest day yet this summer, and although the small table they were using was drawn directly in front of an open window, little breeze was stirring outside or making its way into the hall.
Most of Royce’s men lounged about the large barrel of mead, even though it was only late afternoon. They had spent the morning training the less-skilled churls in the arts of warfare, but the heat had driven them back to the hall early. It was simply not a day for any but the most necessary tasks.
This was the first day Alden had ventured into the hall since the Vikings’ arrival. Two days had passed since the mishap that had sent him back to his bed. One of his new wounds was worse than he had at first suspected, and had refused to stop bleeding. He had lost more blood than necessary in waiting too long before he finally called Eartha to tend him. The loss had weakened him to the point where his bed again looked inviting. His only consolation was that Eartha had kept quiet and Darrelle still knew nothing of his second disastrous encounter with the Viking wench.
Royce had been anything but amused when he had seen the nasty chest wound later that same day. He had immediately ordered a new chain for Kristen, a long length that was secured to the wall in the cooking area and also to the chain between her feet, giving her room only to reach the long table there where she did most of her work.
He regretted that order after his anger wore off. He knew she hated her shackles. How much more must she despise this new chain that restricted her. He had not been able to look at her since. He did not want to see misery etched on her lovely face. He did not want to see the hate that she must surely feel for him now.
Royce didn’t know what to do about Kristen. He was in the midst of a dilemma that he had never faced before, and he had no one to discuss it with. He had always been able to talk over anything with Alden, but he was loath to let Alden or anyone else know how much the wench troubled him.
No matter how he sought to avoid it, she constantly preyed on his mind. He could not even escape her when he slept, for she invaded his dreams too. She was like no woman he had ever known. Not once had he seen her cry or bewail her plight. Not once had she cowered in fear before him. She hated her shackles, yet she had not begged to have them removed as other women would. She asked for no quarter, no mercy. She had asked for nothing, in fact, nothing except—him. She had said she wanted him.
God, how those words had torn at his vitals and nearly destroyed his resolve when she said them! He had told her he suspected she intentionally meant to bewitch him. Whether it was intentional or not, he was already bewitched, from the day she had been cleaned up to reveal the incredible beauty that had been hidden beneath the grime.
He had never felt such desire as this woman aroused in him. Not even Rhona, whom he had wanted above all women, had ever affected him this strongly. He had only to look at the wench and she destroyed his composure. His blood would run hot. His body would ache with need.
