That night Kristen waited anxiously for Royce to come to her room again, but he did not. She thought of him seeking his pleasure elsewhere and tried to convince herself that she didn’t care. She would have been less irritable the next morning had she known where he did spend the night.
As it was, the day proved a long one and she was feeling like the cat that bit off its nose to spite its face. Much of her misery was of her own making. She was sure now that Royce would not come to her chamber again, that he was done with her. Not seeing him the whole day strengthened this conclusion.
Still, Kristen waited a while after Eda removed her shackles and locked the door this night, sitting on her pallet in the dark, plucking at the already frayed ends of her rope girdle, and hoping. She didn’t want Royce to just give up on her. She wanted him to force her to give in. Her pride wouldn’t let her, so he had to overcome that. Why didn’t he?
After waiting more than long enough, Kristen finally sighed and removed her clothes to sleep. That was one thing she had not done this last week, until after Royce had come and gone. Last night she had slept in her clothes, as uncomfortable as they were. But tonight—he wasn’t coming.
She was still awake when the door opened. A torch in the hall behind him made his huge frame a black silhouette in the doorway. Her body came instantly alive with tremors of excitement. She was filled with joy that he had come, that he hadn’t given up yet. But none of this showed in her expression as she looked toward him, unable to see his own features with the light behind him.
When he just stood there without speaking, she realized he wasn’t going to. Well, she supposed he had his pride, too. And words were unnecessary to know why he was here.
She conceded enough to break the silence. “Do you take the chains away for good, milord?”
“Nay.”
“Not even if I swear on my mother’s life that I will not leave this place?”
“Nay, because for all I know, you could hate your mother, or she could be dead, which would make your vow worthless.”
Kristen controlled the pique that pricked her because of that. She rose up on her elbow, letting the thin blanket fall beneath her breasts. This was an unfair tactic on her part, but she was tired of this stalemate.
She put enough anger into her voice to make him think she was unaware of what she had done. “I happen to love my mother very much, and she is most certainly alive, and no doubt worried sick about me. You think because I am a woman that I am without honor? Or is it because I am a Viking woman that you will not trust my word?”
He had taken a step toward her, but he stopped now. “Words, wench, easily said. Actions speak plainer, and yours do not say much for you.”
“Why? Because I want to kill your cousin?” she asked, then taunted, “Or because I do not jump when you call?”
His fist slammed into his palm, telling her that her barb had struck home. At least she was inflaming his passion, even if it was the wrong kind of passion.
“God’s breath!” he swore in exasperation. “You are the most audacious woman! I see I waste my time here again. You simply refuse to understand.”
“I understand, Royce,” Kristen replied levelly. “And I was willing to meet you halfway.”
“Nay, you want it all your way!”
“Not so,” she insisted. “I offered my word, which cost me much, for half of me still wants to leave here and go home.”
“And I cannot trust the word of anyone, woman or man, whom I have known so short a time. Nor do I believe part of you can truly want to stay here as you are: without rights, without hope of ever being more than a slave.”
“Aye, how right you are, milord,” Kristen agreed ironically. “Why indeed would I want to stay here? Surely not because of you.”
“Me?” he scoffed. “You want me to believe now that I am the reason, when you turn me away each night? Or do you come with me tonight, Kristen?”
“Do you unchain me for good, milord?” she countered pleasantly.
“By the saints—”
He did not finish, but turned on his heel with a low growl and left the room. Kristen felt like screaming with the closing of the door.
“You accept defeat too easily, Saxon!” she spat in frustration, a little too loudly, for the door reopened, making her gasp with the suddenness of it.
“Did I hear you right, wench?” Royce demanded in a voice too calm for the slamming back of that door.
He left the door open for what light it provided and walked toward her slowly, purposefully. Kristen yanked the blanket back up to her neck. She would have liked to leap to her feet, for she felt vulnerable lying there on the floor with him now standing so far above her, next to her, but she wasn’t going to show him that she was concerned at all by his nearness. She turned on her back instead, so she could look up at him.
“What do you think you heard?” she ventured warily.
“A challenge.” His voice was still calm, but there was a definite menacing quality in that answer. “And when you issue a challenge, you must abide by the results.”
