Surrender My Love by Johanna Lindsey
Erika clucked her tongue. “You should be ashamed of yourself, lying to your mother.”
“Why?” he shot back, and he was still grinning, their own argument forgotten. “When she knows very well I will be downstairs within ten minutes. Contrary to what you think, ’tis almost impossible to fool that sweet lady.”
Chapter 24
SELIG HAD JUDGED correctly the short time it would take for him to adorn himself, yet when he was finished, he looked as if it should have taken him hours. He was, without question, utterly magnificent. Tanned deerskin leggings were cross-gartered with black leather; the white, sleeveless tunic was cinched tight at his waist by a wide leather belt with a Norse, dragon’s head buckle.
His black, soft-skinned boots were trimmed with white fur, as was the short black mantle that was pinned to his shoulders with golden clasps. His matching arm rings coiled around thick biceps with, again, dragon’s heads on each end, these flashing with small ruby eyes. They fit snugly, proving solid flesh had returned to his thick arms as well as filled out his sunken belly.
Etched on the solid gold disk around his neck were three wolves progressing in size, each with rubies for eyes. The gold chain that held it was much thicker than Erika’s chains, and probably twice as heavy.
His black hair, thickened and shining from a recent washing—she had had to endure yet another of his baths just that morn, though she had kept her eyes on the wall as usual—floated over his shoulders with his movements. The contrast with the white tunic was stunning.
Erika could not help staring, and forgot her resolve to avoid conversations not forced on her. “Do the wolves bear some significance to your family?” she asked him.
He didn’t even glance at her as he slid a ring on his finger. Another snug fit attesting to his recovery, at least in strength.
“Nay. I merely had two as pets when I was a child,” he replied.
She didn’t find that so strange. She had brought a wolf cub home herself when she was eight years. Her father had forbidden her to keep it.
“Then why three on the medallion?”
“The third replaced the other two after old age took them.”
“The third still lives, then?”
“Aye,” he said, and came to stand in front of her. “Now unwrap your chain, wench.”
She guessed his intent and objected. “You need not chain me to the wall just because you will not be here. Lock the door instead.”
He smiled, that blindingly beautiful smile that warned she wouldn’t like his answer. “Since when do you think the choice is yours, wench?”
This was because of the argument they had had, and that damned kiss. She knew it was.
“Nay, you are wrong.” He was back to reading minds—or expressions. “You come below with me.”
It was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. “To the hall?”
“Aye.”
A small bit of freedom, however temporary. It was a reward, so she ought to distrust it. She was too delighted to be suspicious.
She unwrapped her “necklace” and handed the end to him. He didn’t take it, reached for the other end at her neck instead. The weight was gone in a second, without any exertion on his part.
“So your strength has returned completely.” Her remark came out almost breathlessly.
“Not quite, but enough,” he replied, his pleasure so very obvious.
And in the next instant, the chain was attached again to her neck ring. She understood then that he had only been testing his ability to open and close the locking link himself so that Ivarr would no longer have to come each day to do it.
Her disappointment was palpable, making her barely notice that his hand slid down the chain, knocking hers off in the process, until he reached the end, which he wrapped around his fist. He left the room then, pulling her along behind him.
She didn’t bother to protest, at least not until they had reached the stairs. When he started down them, still with her chain in his hand, she drew back, stretching it taut between them.
“You can release the chain now. I—”
He turned, lifting a brow at her. “Did I not warn you to get used to this?”
She frowned. “I do not understand.”
“You thought you would have the same pain I was given, Erika No Heart?” The smile again—the warning. “Nay, I could not do that to a woman, even you. There are other ways, such as the pain of humiliation and shame.” He yanked, and she stumbled down the steps, nearly into him. “Do not lag behind again.”
Not torture, but torture nonetheless. So now she knew her fate, what he had intended all along. No normal revenge. Nothing so simple as that for her. Just shame and degradation at every turn, until her pride became a meaningless thing. She would rather have had the physical pain, but the choice was not offered to her. He had made up his mind—Nay, she would not be defeated by this. He could force humiliation on her, but she wasn’t going to hand over her pride to him. She would retain it, somehow.
He continued down the stairs. Though she loathed doing it, she stayed so close to him that there could be no question in anyone’s mind but that she followed him willingly, making it appear ridiculous, his holding of her “leash.”
Color still flooded her cheeks, uncontrollably, as soon as they became visible to the hall. But her head remained high. And she did not avoid eye contact with anyone, including his family, who awaited him at a grouping of tables near a mammoth keg of ale.
Lady Brenna looked on in disapproval. Kristen was even more tight-lipped, actually outraged. Lord Royce was amused. And Selig’s father showed no expression at all. He rarely did when he looked at her.
As for the rest of the people in the hall who stopped what they were doing to follow their progress, Erika had to console herself that, being so close to Selig’s magnificence, she would be all but invisible herself, especially in the drab servant’s clothes she had been given to wear. The dun-gray chainse was inches too short, revealing clearly the shackles at her ankles. It was also much too tight for her ample breasts, though that tightness was hidden by the brown outer gown that was much too loose, and belted with a strip of rope.
He led her directly to that leisure area where his family waited. All were sitting except Garrick, who, with one foot set upon the end of a bench, stood with his elbows braced against his thigh. Selig, as casually as if he had been there earlier and was now returning—alone—sat on the bench opposite them. Given no specific instruction, Erika remained standing stiffly at his back.
Kristen stood up as he sat down, probably because the glare she was giving him was much more effective from a superior height. “This is intolerable, Selig,” she began.
“No inquiry after my health, sister?”
She actually seemed to swallow whatever she had been about to add, to say instead, gritting out every word, “Is your pain gone?”
“Mostly.”
Her hands slammed against the table as she leaned forward. “Then I repeat, this is intolerable, and do not ask me what, you brainless jackdaw, for you know very well. Do you mean to draw her to the king’s notice?”
That got her an unconcerned shrug. “’Tis not unusual to see a slave enchained.”
Erika flinched at that and turned aside so she might not hear more. But whatever Selig added was in Celtic, which Kristen also switched to. Since Erika understood none of it, she ignored them for the moment.
“A male slave, mayhap not,” Kristen was agreeing. “But the last female chained here was myself. And even should Alfred not notice her, what is to stop her from requesting aid of him? And do not think he would not listen to a Dane. He would especially listen to a Dane.”
Royce eagerly joined the argument at that point. Because Kristen had not quite forgiven him for the spanking she had received, and because he had been given more cold shoulders than his passionate nature could tolerate comfortably, it behooved him to take her side in this. That her reasoning was valid was less importa
“She is right,” he told his brother-in-law. “Alfred could well ask you to release the lady. And ’tis not wise to refuse a king without excellent reason.”
“My reason would be sound,” Selig insisted.
“As unfair as it might seem, kings do not consider revenge reasonable.”
“Particularly when the peace of their realms could be threatened by it,” Kristen added.
“And they do not like losing able-bodied men to personal wars,” Royce added still more, “when they need those men for their own.”
The argument continued apace. Brenna saw no need to join it. Neither did Garrick, so he took the opportunity to move to Erika’s side.
“So he has made a pet slave of you?”
The word “pet” was even more galling than “slave” to Erika, for that was exactly what Selig was doing, treating her like an animal, a pet for his amusement, a creature not violent or dangerous, but one too dumb to be allowed out without the guidance of a leash.
It was the first time Selig’s father had spoken to her, though he had visited Selig in his chamber quite often. She wondered now if he was as bad as the son, to point out her humiliating position. His expression told her nothing, was still unreadable.
“He thinks he has enslaved me.”
Her answer caused Garrick to laugh softly. “Those were my wife’s sentiments exactly. She would never admit I owned her either.”
Erika was incredulous. Both mother and daughter at one time enslaved by the men they had married? It was no wonder the idea had come to Selig so readily. He was merely following family tradition.
The thought was a chilling one, but at least she would not end up like his mother and sister, wed to her captor. There was as much chance of that happening as there was of her gaining her freedom within the hour. None.
“But soon it was she who owned me, heart and soul.” Garrick was still reminiscing. “Do you know how it was done, wench?”
“I care not—”
“With an indomitable will and pride that would not bend. She was fire in a land of ice, with a warrior’s heart—and a warrior’s skill. She captured my admiration first, then my heart. Will your pride bend?”
She really wished he had kept his silence where she was concerned. “Nay,” she said stiffly. “But for myself, not to impress him.”
“Your anger is understandable.”
“Anger is but a small part of what I feel toward your son,” she informed him.
His gaze turned thoughtful. “’Tis regrettable, his treatment of you—and unusual.”
“You mean he does not enslave every woman who has him lashed?”
“Do not be flip with me, child,” he admonished gently. “What I meant was, he has never hurt a woman in his life. He adores them.”
“Except me.”
“Except you,” he agreed.
She thought the conversation had ended. The argument still raged behind her. But Garrick did not step away from her just yet.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he remarked, “My daughter is quite fierce in her championing of your cause.”
Erika snorted at that. She couldn’t help it. “Your daughter would not lift a finger to help me. She merely detests the sight of these chains.”
“Do not be too sure of Kristen’s motives. Selig’s behavior has her baffled.”
“But not you?”
“Not completely.”
“You imply that men understand revenge much better than women? I doubt that.”
“So now you hunger for revenge as well?”
Erika was surprised, not at the question, but at her answer. “I have not once thought of revenge. Freedom is all I think of. But I suppose eventually I will also think of revenge.”
“Then let us hope you have your freedom before then,” he said.
More surprise, much stronger. “You do not condone what he does?”
“’Tis not in his nature to be cruel or abusive. This is what has his sister baffled. What I feel is that he will come to regret what he is doing.”
“You could insist he end it.”
He smiled at her, not unkindly. “If you have not noticed, Erika of Gronwood, my son is of an age where he no longer must heed his father. I can do no more than advise him.”
“Will you?”
“Not about you. My wife and I have decided not to interfere.”
Another brief span of hope most thoroughly crushed. Bitterly, Erika turned her back on him to face the rest of the family again. But the rest of the family was no longer there. Only Selig and Royce remained, and Selig had swung around on his bench to watch her—and had likely heard a good deal of what had been said.
Her chin lifted a notch in defiance, only to feel the tug on her neck that pulled her slowly forward. He was winding the chain around his fist. If he continued, he would have her bent over him again. He didn’t go quite that far, but she was now so close to him, he had to look up at her. He didn’t seem to mind that.
Behind him on the table, she noted that someone had brought him a trencher of food, though it was not near to the dinner hour. The man had had enough food in the past fortnight to feed an army, and the women of this hall were still determined to fatten him more. She began to wonder just how large a man he had been before that head injury.
“You may sit here beside me to eat if you are ready to call me master.”
Her eyes came back to him and narrowed. “That is not what I would call you.”
He grinned to show he didn’t mistake her meaning. “Then you can eat from my hand, at my feet.”
She was surprised he did not add, “Like a dog.” “I will not eat at all, thank you.”
“I think you will. Food is necessary to your continued health, which I mean to maintain. Clothes, on the other hand, are not.”
Every last bit of color fled her face. He would do it. He would strip her naked before all these people. How better to humiliate her utterly, and that was what he was striving for, after all.
But her mood was not very tractable at the moment, possibly because she was certain it would come to this eventually, no matter what she did. He would see to that. So now or later, what difference?
“Do as you will,” she said with as much nonchalance as she could manage.
“I intend to, wench, exactly what I will.”
He laughed, noting her stiffness and that she was braced for the worse. It was more than satisfaction, having this advantage over her. The pleasure he felt was so great, it was almost sexual. He would not lose it due to a disagreement with a king.
“But for today,” he continued, “you are reprieved from deciding your own fate. My sister has convinced me it would not be in my best interest to introduce you to the Saxon king. We will have to wait until he departs to find out if you will eat from my hand—or call me master.”
Erika hoped the king moved his court to Wyndhurst and stayed indefinitely. What she had to face when he left was intolerable.
Chapter 25
FOR THE NEXT two days, Erika was left alone more than not. She didn’t mind that, even though her movements were restricted to her corner of Selig’s chamber. He had not only locked the door that day he had returned her abovestairs just before the king’s arrival, he had also chained her to the wall. He was taking no chances during his absence. And the same was done each day since.
It amused her that he must think she would try to break her neck crawling out the window. Or mayhap he thought she would try to drown herself in the tub of dirty water that had gone unemptied, the servants were so busy with the royal guests. And those royal guests…
Three times, women had come scratching at the door, Saxon ladies by the sound of them, each in search of Selig, who must have momentarily left the hall to make them think he had come up here. Erika wondered how many other times he had entertained court ladies in this chamber, for those three to find it so unerringly. And where was he entertaining them now, with his chamber already
Eda came as usual with food, and now with a chamber pot, since she could not release the chain from the wall any more than Erika could, and Selig was rarely there to do it. The old servant no longer looked at her with the disapproval she had first displayed. Her gaze had become more in the way of pitying, which Erika did not exactly appreciate.
She was going to be freed from this predicament. It was just a matter of time. And since she had yet to succumb to self-pity, she wanted none from anyone else.
Yesterday, Eda had chatted amiably about the king and his courtiers, expecting no response from Erika and getting none. Apparently Alfred was traveling lightly, not with his full court, and was expected to move on in a few days—which wasn’t pleasant news for Erika.
Today, however, Eda didn’t just chat to hear herself talk. For the first time she got personal, and surprised Erika with the remark, “You cannot imagine how much you remind me of my Kristen—except she was a fighter.”
Erika could not remain silent after that. “Meaning I am not?”
“You make no complaints, lady. You let that rascal have his way.”
Erika was incredulous. “I do not see how I am to stop him.”
“Do you not? My Lord Royce was a much harder man. He lost half his family in a Viking attack. But Kristen brought him around. And she got him to unchain her simply because he knew she hated those chains. Does Selig know you hate them, or do you let him think you do not care?”
Erika had taken just that approach, but explained herself defensively. “Selig wants revenge on me. It would delight him to know I hate the chains.”
Eda snorted. “Revenge is new to that young man. I doubt me he knows what he wants. But ’tis a lady’s man you do war with. He lives to please women. Hurting them is alien to him. If he thought he was actually hurting you, I wonder how much longer the hurt would continue.”
After Eda left, Erika spent a long while considering what had been said. Hurting women might be alien to Selig, but he was learning quick enough how to go about it—nay, that was unfair. Not once, actually, had Erika been hurt by him. A few raw scrapes that she had caused herself did not count. Nor the few blisters on her feet that had bled and might have been prevented if she could have unbent enough to ask for her shoes. And the blow to her cheek had not been his fault, had in truth been stopped by him.