Surrender My Love by Johanna Lindsey
A curt shake of her head and a grimace. He would have laughed if he didn’t think she would hit him despite her resolve not to. It was not the first time Royce had taken a hand to Kristen’s backside. And she always made him suffer for it for weeks after.
“You should forgive him,” he suggested. “Father would have done the same thing to you.”
“Oh, shut up.” Her voice was rising again. “I rescue you, and even you take their side.”
“Truth be known, Kris, you were not necessary to my release. I will forever be grateful that you came when I needed you, but Royce could have managed it just as easily.”
“Did I know that?” She was back to yelling, and he was back to wincing from it. “But I will tell you what I do know. If you had not got it into your head to go off on a lark, helping a king you are not even sworn to, none of this would have happened.”
“Now, that is unfair, damn it. You were in agreement on my going.”
“More fool I—”
“Your shouting is causing him pain, Lady Kristen.”
They both looked toward Erika with varying degrees of disbelief. Theirs could not equal her own, though. She turned toward the wall to hide a face that must be cherry-red. How had those words escaped her mouth? She had only been thinking them. And besides, it was nothing to her if he was in pain again.
Kristen cleared her throat, glancing guiltily at Selig. “How bad is it?”
He did not answer for a moment. He was still staring in bemusement at Erika’s stiff back. Loki take her, how did she dare to speak on his behalf?
“Selig?”
“’Tis always worse in the morn,” he said absently.
“Is it getting no better?”
“It is—nay, I swear it is,” he added when he saw her doubting expression. “’Tis just sudden movements and loud noises make it seem otherwise—sometimes. Not always. But maybe some quiet would be in order.”
“Certainly.” Kristen was nothing but solicitous now, straightening his pillows, smoothing his brow. “Rest until your meal is prepared. I will have Edith bring—”
“Nay, not her. In fact, if you would do me a service, keep her busy with other tasks. I needs must expend myself too much when she is about.”
Kristen chuckled. “Poor Selig. Not feeling up to your usual seductions?”
“Teasing does not come under the heading of quiet,” he grumbled.
“I suppose not.” She sighed. “Very well, I will keep the wench away until you want her back. Will Eda do?”
“Your Eda will be most welcome.”
The door closed a moment later. Erika did not turn around. She hoped he meant to sleep off his present pain. She hoped he would not ask why she had said what she did, because she had no answer for herself, much less for him. Most of all, she hoped he would simply ignore her today. He was good at ignoring her—when he wasn’t giving her his undivided attention.
“Are you married, Erika No Heart?”
So much for hoping.
“That is not my name, and nay, I am not—though I will be soon.”
Her tone dared him to deny it. For the moment he didn’t bother. “Who is your betrothed?”
“I know not. My brother is arranging it. ’Tis where he went.”
“You did not want to do the choosing yourself?” he asked with a degree of surprise.
“It mattered not to me. My brother loves me. He will choose well for a strong alliance. I do not expect to be disappointed.”
“Yet disappointed you will be, for there will be no marriage now, will there?”
“Because you think I will never have my freedom back?” she asked.
“Even should you have it, who would believe you leave here untouched?”
“I am not known to be a liar,” she said stiffly.
There was a shrug in his voice as he answered, “So say most ruined virgins who claim to be otherwise.”
She sat up to glare at him. “And I will wager you have ruined your share.”
“Actually, wench, virgins do not appeal to me in the least. They are tedious in their fears, clumsy in their lack of experience, and hysterical in their pain. Altogether, quite unsatisfying.”
“To know that, you have had your share,” she said, her tone indicating her point had just been proved.
“To know that, I have heard the complaints of many a bridegroom.”
“So you say.”
Who better to spy for a Saxon than a Celt, who would be less suspect if found?
I do not even speak their tongue.
So you say.
Her scoffing remark had caused him to remember those other words, and his helplessness when they had been spoken. She realized it by the sudden change in his expression, from impassive to menacing.
“That is exactly what I say.” Each word came out precisely, coated in ice. “Do you dare to call me a liar—again?”
She decided on prudence, saying only, “My nature is skeptical.”
He was not appeased in the least. “Your nature had best include subservience. If ’tis not ingrained, it can and will be taught.”
Every instinct demanded she argue that. Self-preservation cautioned a retreat—halfway.
“The body can, of course, be forced to bend.”
“You think the mind cannot? How long will the mind remain detached when the body can do naught but crawl?”
A very good point, one that had her retreating the rest of the way. Crawl? She shivered with distaste.
Selig smiled to himself when she swung around to give him her back again. She was too easy to defeat. She had pride, but it wasn’t stubborn like what the women in his family possessed. He’d been wrong to think she had Kristen’s spirit. Too bad. He would have liked to see her on her hands and knees, with that glorious mane of hair falling all around her.
Her hair was utterly magnificent unbound, fire-topped gold, abundantly thick, covering every inch of her back just now, and pooling on the floor at her hips. He had been mesmerized by it yesterday, when she had combed it into such luxuriant waves—just as he had been mesmerized by her body when she had stood naked in that tub.
He stiffened with the memory of that. He had assumed, mistakenly, that his hate would make him indifferent to her charms. Mayhap it would have if she didn’t possess so much. Lush, plump breasts thrust high with coral nipples, a narrow, firm waist, slender arms and neck, hips perfect for grasping, and long, long legs.
She was so much taller than the Saxon wenches he had grown accustomed to. He had missed women who weren’t so fragile, women with whom a man didn’t have to be careful of his every caress. She had not Kristen’s large-boned, sturdy strength, yet was there a compact firmness to her body that made the word “delicate” inaccurate.
Even her face, cleaned of its smudges, was more lovely than he had remembered. Gently curved brows, high cheekbones, a short, straight nose, and lips full and inviting. The chin kept her face from being too beautiful, with its strong, arrogant thrust, but the soft azure eyes could make you forget that.
He had been prepared to withstand all temptation. He had not been prepared for sultry eyes, creamy skin glistening with water and soap, and hands moving so sensually over her own curves and hollows.
The vixen. She had stirred his blood apurpose. But even knowing that, he had burned with a need to have her that was stronger than any lust he could remember. Had he been himself, in full strength, he would have acted on that need, and it infuriated him to know that. He had told himself and her that he would never touch her in that way, but he had counted on revulsion to see it so. Never would he have expected desire to come along instead.
Chapter 23
DAYS PASSED, ROLLING one into another without incident. Erika’s nervousness and Selig’s constant presence made the time pass swiftly, at least for her. A routine quickly developed. Ivarr would come each morn and again each night to see to her chain. He would unlatch it from the wall, but not from her neck. During the day, it had been
Kristen seemed to hate those chains more than she did. Twice more she came to argue with Selig about getting rid of them, but he could not be budged.
They are never coming off.
He did not tell his sister that, but Erika could not forget those words and how dejected they made her feel. His mother had also made comment on the chains, not with Kristen’s passion, merely with curiosity. Selig had told her the same thing.
Erika could not accept his edict, not without making an effort to change it. Her fingertips were constantly sore in her attempt to at least get rid of the chain that locked her to the wall each night. No sooner would the tenderness leave than she would try again, but she never accomplished anything except more soreness.
Even the relief she had felt at being released from the wall during the day did not last long, for as freedom went, she still had none. Eda or Kristen would come by throughout the day to take her to the jakes if needed, but that was the only time she was ever allowed out of Selig’s chamber—and away from his presence. That he was given even less freedom than that by his mother was not the same thing. His confinement to his bed would end just as soon as his strength returned. Hers, if Selig had his way, would not.
She didn’t ask again what was going to be done with her once he had recovered. On the one hand, she welcomed the delay. On the other, she wanted it over so she would have time to recover from whatever tortures he had planned for her before her brother arrived. That was assuming, of course, that a specified amount of pain given her would be enough to satisfy Selig. There was always the possibility that he had infinite pain in mind instead.
She worried about that. She worried over Thurston and his broken arm, wondering who would coddle and love him with her not there to do it. She worried about Turgeis trying something drastic to rescue her and getting captured himself. And she worried that she could be here for months before Ragnar even learned that she had been taken.
Men would have been sent out to find him, but he had not been going to only one particular place in his search for a wife for himself and a husband for Erika. Guthrum’s court would, of course, be visited. But there had also been mention of the Norwegians in the far north, and the Mercians who still retained some power in the east. Ragnar could indeed be away for several more months.
Conversing with Selig was not her idea of fun. She usually ended up angry, or more frightened. So she never started conversations with him. But at times he spoke to her out of sheer boredom, and a few of those times, he showed her that other side of him, the side all those women who adored him knew quite well.
The man could indeed be charming. He could be entertaining. He could make a woman feel special. And he could catch Erika off guard with a certain tone or look that made her heart beat faster. Fantasies are what a man like him inspired, and when she caught herself having one about him, she almost cried, but not before she imagined what it would feel like to have such powerful arms holding her with infinite care, to know the taste of that sensual mouth, to have those silver eyes tender and filled with desire for her and her alone.
Fortunately, he didn’t show her enough of that other side of him to make her forget the cruel side he seemed to reserve just for her.
After a full sennight had passed, Selig began leaving his bed without his mother’s knowledge. He didn’t go so far as to leave the chamber, but he moved about it to work his muscles. And he would pick up Erika’s chain and lead her around the room with him, using it like a leash.
“Get used to it,” was all he had said to her questioning look the first time he had done it.
“To what?”
He hadn’t answered, even when she had asked again. She supposed he had thought she needed the exercise as much as he. Which was in fact true. All she did was sit in her corner, hour after hour, afraid to make free use of his room without his permission, and loath to ask him for anything.
That day was the first she had ever stood next to him, to experience his full six and a half feet. She had seen him standing before, of course, but she had never been near him those times. And knowing he was tall was not the same as finding out just how tall. She was not a short woman herself, at least not in comparison to Saxon women, all of whom she stood well above. Here, only Kristen was taller than she was by a few inches, yet Selig was nearly a foot taller. And now that he was getting his strength back, that height was quite intimidating.
But the day she wasn’t going to forget was when he slept, late in the afternoon, with no one there to hear his nightmare begin but her. She had been about to doze herself, the weather was so hot and muggy, with no breeze coming in through the window to relieve it.
The pain-filled moan brought her eyes wide open. She had heard nothing like it since the journey south. Often she knew when Selig’s head ached, though he never made a sound. That he did now caused a certain alarm that brought her to the bed before she realized what she was doing. When it did occur to her, she turned on her heel to head back to her corner. Loki could spirit him away for all she cared. She would not lift a single finger to…
The low mumble halted her and brought her back to the bed. It took her but a second to see that he was not speaking to her, was sleeping and in the throes of an unpleasant dream that turned his head from side to side in some kind of denial. She started when his fist slammed against the bed. He would be thrashing about next.
She decided to wake him then, before he caused himself an injury. It wasn’t that it was the decent thing to do. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to see anyone suffer, even him. It was that another injury would confine her still longer in this room with him. No other reason bent her over the bed to shake his shoulder.
But closer to him, she could make out the mumbling. “No more…no more laughter. Stop it…have to.”
Erika stiffened with the realization that he was dreaming about her. He had promised she would never laugh again. That was his goal, to cause her such misery that she would never find joy again of any kind. But in his dream, he must not be succeeding, or he wouldn’t be so distressed.
Her urge now was to let him dream on. But that wouldn’t aid her if he did in fact hurt himself. So, grudgingly, with less care than before, due to the vast amount of vexation she was feeling, she shook him again and got results—of the unexpected kind.
His eyes opened, unfocused. His hand lifted to the back of her head. And before she could even gasp, she was being drawn to him and kissed.
It was like nothing she had ever experienced or ever dreamed of experiencing, the wonder of it felt clear to her toes. Gone was her vexation. There was no room for it with so many new emotions clamoring for attention. His lips brushed back and forth across hers, nudging, pulling, pressing, then opening a pathway for his tongue to enter.
Moist heat, silken-smooth, and a new swirl of sensations. Erika forgot to breathe. She also forgot about bracing herself and caved in against his chest.
That was probably what brought him to full wakefulness, because suddenly he was thrusting her away from him, and rolling back, she rolled right off the bed.
He sat up to glare down at her where she sat stunned on the floor. “By Thor’s sacred hammer, what in the name of creation were you doing?”
“Me?” She scrambled to her feet, so indignant she could barely speak. “All I did was try to wake you. You were having a bad dream—actually, it was probably a good dream that you just did not like.”
He drew the back of his hand across his mouth to add further insult to injury. “I recall no dream.”
Erika didn’t answer until she had likewise wiped her mouth clean of the taste of him. Then, scathingly: “Too bad.”
“I warn you, wench—”
“Do not bother,” she snapped. “You are at fault here, not I. And the next time you force a kiss on me, be warned—I will use my teeth.??
Hot color flooded his face, he was so angry—and affronted. “You may be assured there will be no next time. I would rather kiss a pig’s ass.”
That turned Erika’s face the same shade as his. “You remark my sentiments exactly.”
He threw back his blanket to leave the bed. Erika was too furious to retreat this time. Her hands went to her hips. Her chin jutted forward. That he was wearing his braies, as he had been ever since he had begun his daily exercising earlier in the week, was a blessing, but she would not have backed down had it been otherwise.
“What occurs here?”
Erika was never to learn what might have happened. After she calmed down later, she was to be grateful for that. Just now, she and Selig both turned to find his mother standing in the open doorway. She looked none too pleased.
Selig lay back against his pillows again. “A small difference of opinion, Mother,” he said on a sigh.
“Small?” She snorted. “More like loud. But I am glad to see you are able to extend yourself.”
He turned onto his elbow. His hopeful look was almost comical. “My confinement is at an end, then?”
“I suppose it must be.” She did not sound too pleased about that either. “Though I will allow a good deal of your weight has returned. You even look normal.”
Selig grinned. “What has granted me this reprieve that you are less than happy about?”
“Word has come that the king arrives within the hour. Royce feels he will wish to speak with you about the attack on your party that lost him one of his bishops. So if you feel well enough to come down to the hall—”
“I was well enough for that last week.”
“It has not been quite a fortnight, Selig. If I had my way—”
“I know, Mother,” he interrupted again. He was still grinning. “And I will take an undue amount of time to dress so I do not wear myself out. Mayhap you should leave so I can begin. I am sure it will take the whole of the hour before Alfred arrives.”
Her look was skeptical, but she left just the same. And Selig practically flew across the chamber to his coffer.