She finally chided them all for letting their food get cold, and they went for the poorly carved wooden bowls they had for their use, bowls that gave up as much splinters as food—except Thorolf. He pulled Kristen down beside him to sit against the wall, twining his fingers with hers, which he rested on his bent knee.
He did not look at her, but out at the room. Ohthere had made a point of not asking her how she fared, for he could see with his eyes that she was well in mind and body. Thorolf had no such reluctance in addressing a delicate subject.
He came right to the point. “It is true, then, what the Saxon told me? You like him?”
Royce was their enemy. He had enslaved them all. She knew what Thorolf was thinking. How could he understand, when she did not?
Kristen did not hedge words either, saying plainly, “When I look at him, I feel wonderful inside. That has never happened to me before, Thorolf.”
“You would have him for your husband?”
She grinned ruefully, though he did not see it. “I would, but he would not.”
His fingers gently squeezed hers. “I feared you did not know it, that you expected him to honor you.”
“I did not lose my mind or reason along with my…I know exactly what to expect. He likes me well enough now, but—”
“Now?”
“He thought I was a whore at first. Nay, Thorolf.” She smiled as his eyes swung to her angrily. “You are supposed to laugh. I did. And I let him think it. He was disgusted and it kept him from me for a while. But I came to regret that he did leave me alone. I was most willing when he finally…As I said, he likes me well enough now, but he will not trust me farther than he can see me. And yet he keeps other men from me. He even had my chains removed while these young lordlings are staying here at Wyndhurst, so I could protect myself when he is not near.”
“So you have him, or half of him?”
“Aye, half of him, and I will lose that half when he weds. And yet…”
She sighed instead of finishing. Thorolf squeezed her fingers again to let her know he understood. He would not be a hypocrite and tell her she was wrong to want the Saxon. He knew he would do exactly as she if their positions were reversed and he found himself desiring his foe. He would take his pleasure, too, while he could, even of an enemy. That she was a woman and not expected to feel that way about it would make little difference to her. She was her mother’s daughter, and Brenna Haardrad was a bold one who thought of herself before she thought of what was proper for a woman.
“Do not fret over it, Kristen.”
“Not fret?” Her tone was soft, traced with bewilderment. “Logic tells me I should hate him already. I did have hope,” she admitted grudgingly. “But that has been crushed now that I have seen his betrothed. And yet, God help me, Thorolf, he took me swimming after he caught me attempting to escape. Why would he do that?”
“I suppose he had no pleasure in it?”
“He could have had his pleasure anywhere. He did not have to take me to the lake.”
“Well, there you are. The man is bewitched by you, and that is not likely to change.”
“Bewitched? Nay, I am the one who is bewitched. I know I will hate him eventually, but I would rather it be now than later. I wish he would marry soon and have done with me.”
Thorolf grinned at the sullen tone, then burst into laughter when she scowled at him for it. “I pity your Saxon, wench, I really do. Done with you? Odin be praised, it is the other way around. When you are done with him, let us hope he is not too heart-stricken.”
Kristen giggled at the unlikely notion of Royce being heart-stricken, and then she laughed heartily too. It was too absurd, really, but she appreciated Thorolf's trying to bolster her self-esteem.
That was how Royce saw her when he stepped into the open doorway: sitting practically in the Viking’s lap, their hands entwined and laughing together. His first urge was to tear them apart and thrash the young Viking to a pulp, but he tamped it down. He had forgotten how these Vikings felt about her.
The room grown quiet made Kristen look to see why, and then she groaned inwardly. “I think I have stayed too long.”
Thorolf’s hand tightened on hers when she started to rise. “Will he come in here and get you, Kristen?”
His question appalled her. “Look at him. That is not his pleasant look, I can assure you. You want him to drag me out of here?”
“I wonder what would happen if he tried.”
In that moment her thoughts apprehended his and she cried, “Thorolf!”
“We can take him, Kristen,” he said quietly, his eyes locked with those of the Saxon as he spoke. “He will do as well as his King as a hostage. In here they cannot fire arrows at us from afar to force us to release him.”
Her mind and body screamed nay, but her voice spoke reason. “I know him, Thorolf. Listen to me well. His people and his duty come first with him. He has it set in his mind that slaughter will be done if you are freed. He cannot be convinced otherwise. He will sacrifice himself before he will give the order for your release.”
