Free The Captive by Joanne Rock Page A

you so well you won’t want to leave?” He liked this idea more than he should. He could not even pull into a port of his homeland without risking bloodshed. What would he do with Gwendolyn if he found he could not part with her at the end of three days’ time? Still, he did not know if her heart might soften toward him, but he found he wanted that very much. Thoughts of her giving herself to him willingly were as addictive as good mead.
    “I worry that your idea of treating me well involves things I am not ready for.” She spoke so quietly—as if she feared his reaction—that it made him furious anew with the man who had taught her such reticence.
    “Gwendolyn.” He withdrew the blade he’d just sharpened that afternoon and—once he had her attention—he drew it quickly across his palm. A thin, red line appeared. “By my blood, I swear I will never hurt you.” He reached for her hand and held it in his, allowing his life force to seep into her skin along with the vow. “On my life, I will protect you.”
    He had shed blood for far less. But she looked at him as though he’d lost his wits, her eyes wide with mild horror. Then, perhaps as the words he’d spoken settled in, he thought he glimpsed a fleeting moment of understanding. Appreciation?
    She nodded jerkily and he wondered at the emotions that ran beneath the surface of the bold face she showed the world.
    “I will hold you to your word, Viking.” Her thumb smoothed across the place where he bled. “And I thank you for it.”
    A momentary hoarse note in her voice told him his gesture had not been wasted. They sat together, hand in hand before the warmth of the blaze, a new promise binding them as surely as any touch. The temptation to kiss her ran hot through him, the need to erase all memory of her cursed husband pushing him hard. But since intimacy seemed to make her more nervous than excited, he opted to seduce her another way.
    Easing their palms apart, he leaned toward the fire to check the fish.
    “Hungry?”
     
    G WENDOLYN’S BALANCE FALTERED like a just born colt, her heart and mind unsettled by the new facets she’d uncovered of her conqueror.
    Wulf Geirsson had vowed to protect her with a blood oath that had all but moved her to tears. Not even on her wedding day had Gerald promised her anything with such earnest passion.
    Wulf had also shown her he could retreat when aroused, something that Gerald had suggested a man was physically incapable of doing. Clearly, it depended on the strength and will of the man in question. Wulf, she was discovering, seemed a man with a limitless supply of both.
    Yet he’d made his desire for her obvious and forthright, something that—as she considered it rationally and not from a place of fear—was actually very flattering. In truth, she had thought about his kisses and touches all day long, her body assailed with vivid, sweet memories at the oddest times.
    And it wasn’t just her mind that traveled back to sensual moments they’d shared. Her whole body recalled the way Wulf made her feel, surprising her with heated flushes and tingling in unmentionable places. Her daydreams had been wildly inappropriate and wickedly delicious at the same time.
    “I’m starving.” She searched for the eating knife he had given her eagerly, grateful to pry her thoughts away from Wulf and the fluttery feelings he inspired. “I fear my appetite may match yours this eve.”
    She did not miss the predatory gaze he cast upon her.
    “It does not even come close.” Raw, masculine interest lit his words. “But I can always hope.”
    He turned back to serve them, leaving her shaky andbreathless, but not frightened in the least. Something about that promise he’d made gave her a new security in being around him. She would bet the whole of her wealth that Wulf Geirsson had never broken an oath before.
    They ate in silence, chasing down bites of succulent fish with the fresh creek water. Later, as she licked the last of