Wulfgar Read online

  There was no sign of the shelter.

  * * * *

  A sense of triumph and anticipation sustained Wulfgar throughout the arduous pace he set himself as he crossed and re-crossed his tracks, led the men on his trail in a wide circle that doubled back upon itself, then zigzagged into nowhere. They tracked him doggedly throughout much of the day, but, as he’d expected, they reached a point of frustration at last when they realized they would not be able to retrieve the woman without help. At last, they abandoned the hunt and rode off to inform their master that they had lost his bride.

  He grinned wolfishly, envisioning his enemy’s face when the news was brought to him.

  When the men-at-arms had disappeared, he turned his weary mount around and wove another round-about trail to the place where he’d concealed the woman. The moment he thought of her, however, an image of her rose into his mind’s eye and he frowned.

  When he’d heard his enemy had sent for a bride, he had not seen beyond the chance the gods had given him to avenge his loss—a bride for a bride. He’d imagined taking the nameless, faceless woman and violating her as that pretty faced French spawn of Satan had taken and defiled his own bride. He’d envisioned the tragedy playing itself out in reverse, where he had crushed the heart from Jean-Pierre, duc de l’Cran as his own heart had been crushed when he had discovered the lifeless body of his beloved Freda.

  An outlaw now in his own land, he had returned from the great battle, nigh as dead as those he’d left behind on the fields, only to discover that the Norman devils had taken all that had once been his and crushed those who stood in their path.

  And his gentle Freda, whom he had taken to wife little more than a week before he’d been called to fight, had been so cruelly used by Jean-Pierre and his men that she had taken her own life.

  The burning need for revenge was all that had kept him alive in the time since.

  He would let no one deprive him of tasting it at long last.

  Yet, he could not banish the sense of uneasiness that had begun to creep insidiously through his mind. The woman was nameless and faceless no longer. She had told him she was Alinor of Arrus. She had gazed up at him in terror through the eyes of a frightened doe—huge in her small, pointed face, soft and full of innocence—and painfully young.

  His gut clenched. Determinedly, he summoned the feel of her womanly form. Slight as she was, she was soft and rounded enough to please any man. To his relief, his body responded instantly to the memory of her soft bottom pressing against his groin, to the feel of her plump, pliant breasts resting against the arm he had held her with.

  The anxiety, hardly acknowledged, that he would not be able to follow through with his plan receded. In its place, a new urgency grew. He had not lain with a woman since he had lost Freda. He would take the Norman bitch and use her to slake his lust and appease his need for revenge. She was no more to him that any other possession of the duc, an object only, and, as his possession, an extension of the duc himself.

  Frustration, fear and rage filled him when he arrived back at the place where he had left the girl and discovered her gone; fear because it had leapt immediately to mind that she had fallen victim to some wild creature, or some two legged animal had stumbled upon her; frustration because he had intended to see the deed through before she could further corrupt his resolve; and rage because he had been thwarted by a mere slip of a girl.

  There was no sign, however, that she had been savaged-- no blood, only the discarded binding, and signs indicating that she had crawled from the lean to. Kneeling, he searched the ground carefully and finally discerned the direction she had taken.

  She had not gone far and she looked so relieved to see him that he felt his rage abandon him in a sickening rush.

  "Monsieur!" Alinor gasped when Wulfgar appeared, so relieved to discover that she hadn’t been abandoned in what appeared to be an unending woodland that she had to fight the urge to burst into tears of relief. "I became lost," she added a little uneasily when she saw that he was flushed with anger.

  He strode toward her, bent at the waist and pressed his face so closely to hers that they were practically nose to nose. Alinor looked back at him wide-eyed, but unflinching. "I will bind you better next time," he said through gritted teeth.

  Alinor blinked, looked at him blankly, but he’d spoken far too quickly for her to grasp what he’d said. In any case, she was captivated by his eyes. They were the color of emeralds. "Monsieur!" she gasped. "You ‘ave beautiful eyes!"

  He looked disconcerted for several moments. A dark flush stole up his neck to his hairline and he straightened abruptly, studying her face carefully. He could see no sign that she was being deliberately provocative—either to test his temper or in a flirtatious manner. Nor did she appear to be short on wit. Her eyes did not have that blank look of the slowwitted. They gleamed with intelligence.

  After a moment, he grasped her upper arm without another word and began marching her back toward the temporary encampment.

  Alinor did her best to keep up, but his stride was far longer than her own and she found she had to run to keep from being snatched off her feet. Belatedly, embarrassment set in. Her mother had beaten her many times for her thoughtless tongue—much use it had done her for she had never mastered ‘thought before speech’ and feared she never would.

  It might well be the death of her.

  He was angry, she realized abruptly, because he had been kind enough not to leave her bound too tightly and she had taken them off and wandered away. She’d known he would be angry if he discovered she had removed them. In point of fact, it had been her intention only to relieve herself and return and replace the bindings so that he would never know that she’d left.

  She would have except that she had not been able to find her way back. She had a bad feeling, however, that even if she could explain something that complicated in his own tongue he would be no happier with it. "I did not run," she said a little breathlessly.

  He didn’t so much as glance in her direction.

  "I had need," she added a little desperately.

  He halted abruptly, looked her over frowningly.

  She gestured a little helplessly toward the woods.

  Something flickered in his eyes, understanding, she thought, but in the next moment he was moving again.

  They reached the tiny clearing surrounding the encampment within moments, a disconcerting indication that she had wandered all around it for hours when she had practically been upon it the entire time. She had no time to feel embarrassment for her incompetence, however.

  He pushed her none too gently onto a pile of furs and followed her down, shoving a hand under her skirts. Alinor gasped, a shock running through her as his hand moved up her thigh and cupped her femininity. Something hard and long, like the root of a tree, was pressed brusingly against her thigh.

  She had known this would come. She had battled all day between the certainty that she must prepare herself for this and the certainty that she would be far better off if she could simply not think of it at all.

  Fear seized her, but she closed her eyes and her mind to it, bracing herself. Abruptly, her stomach, which had demanded sustenance off and on throughout the day, once again voiced complaint.

  When the man stilled, she opened her eyes to look up at him.

  He was frowning. The hard root that had been pressing into her seemed to have vanished. He rolled off of her and lay staring up at the trees for some time.

  Finally, he got up and moved away. Hesitantly, Alinor sat up, as well, pushing her skirts down, studying him warily as he moved to the pack on his horse and withdrew something from it.

  When he returned, he squatted down beside her and opened a leather pouch. Withdrawing something dark and withered looking from it, he tore it in half and handed a piece to her. She took it, looked it over and finally sniffed it. It appeared to be meat of some kind, dried to the consistency of leather. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with it
until he put the piece he still held to his mouth, tore off a piece with his teeth and began chewing.

  "Merci!" she said gratefully, and cautiously bit down on the piece she held. She discovered it didn’t just have the appearance of leather. It also had the consistency. Struggling for several moments, she finally managed to pull off a small piece and began chewing. At first, it was about as flavorful as chewing on leather, but it was not an unpleasant taste and the longer she chewed the softer it became. Her stomach, stimulated by the possibility of appeasement at long last, began clamoring once more in delighted anticipation. Finally, she decided she’d chewed it sufficiently and tried to swallow. It took several, convulsive efforts, but she finally managed to get it down.

  When she looked up at him her eyes were watering with the effort. Wulfgar, she saw, had returned to the horse for a wine skin while she was working on the piece of dried meat. Without a word, he handed the skin to her. She thought she saw his lips twitch, but when she glanced at him, he was frowning and she decided she’d imagined it.

  She had been almost as thirsty as she was hungry, and she took the skin eagerly, but she was not accustomed to drinking from a wine skin and discovered very quickly that there was a trick to it. Her first attempt resulted in a squirt of wine in her eye. Squeezing her stinging eye shut, she tried again. About half of the second squirt went up her nose, but she managed to get some of it in her mouth.

  Wulfgar snorted, rose abruptly and strode toward his horse once more. She peered at him suspiciously for several moments after she’d wiped the wine from her nose, eye, chin and neck, but although his shoulders shook slightly, he didn’t appear to be laughing at her. Dismissing it, she returned her attention to her feast.

  It was easier to get the wine than to chew the dried meat. Moreover, she’d been very thirsty before she’d tried to chew up the meat and that had only made her more so. She focused primarily upon the wine, therefore, although, in truth, she had never had wine that tasted any worse. Her head began to swim before it occurred to her that she should pace herself more carefully.

  Apparently, Wulfgar noticed she’d been imbibing rather too freely at about the same time that she realized it, for he took the skin from her. Shrugging, she returned her attention to her meat and took another bite. A sense of well being settled over her and she smiled at Wulfgar in a friendly way. He returned her smile with a suspicious glare. "Do you not speak French at all, Monsieur?" she asked him in her own language.

  He merely stared at her.

  After a moment, she sighed. It was going to make things very difficult if he couldn’t speak her language, because she didn’t know much of his at all. "You are like a grumpy bear," she muttered. His eyes narrowed at the comment, but she had turned her attention to her surroundings and didn’t notice. "I wonder if we will stay here until Jean-Pierre pays the ransom?" she speculated out loud.

  "No ransom!" Wulfgar said sharply, drawing her attention back to him.

  Alinor looked at him in surprise. "If you have not taken me for ransom, then why?"

  He said nothing and she decided he had not really understood as she’d hoped, but had merely recognized the word ransom. She searched her mind for some time, but discovered that she simply could not come up with any idea of how to frame the question in his own tongue. "Ransom, no?" she prodded.

  He refused to be drawn into a discussion on the matter, however, and Alinor wasn’t certain what to think of it. She wasn’t particularly perturbed either. She thought about it several moments, wondering if it was the wine and finally decided that there was some possibility that the wine had dulled her anxieties.

  She wondered if the wine was responsible for the fact that Wulfgar didn’t look nearly as threatening to her as she’d originally thought. In fact, quite the opposite. Now that she’d had a chance to look him over at close range, she saw that he was quite well favored. The sharp features that had seemed so unnerving when his face was shrouded by night, seemed, in truth, rather predatory, but they also made for a face that was quite fascinating. She thought he was probably not much, if any, older than Jean-Pierre. Certainly, he could be no more than thirty.

  She sighed, wiped her hands on her gown and looked up at him expectantly. "I am ready, Monsieur. You may ravish me now."

  Chapter Three

  Wulfgar scowled at her. "You are drunk," he growled.

  Alinor giggled, but sobered immediately at the look he gave her. "No, Monsieur!"

  Bending, he grasped her by both her arms and pulled her to her feet. She stood a little uncertainly, swaying slightly, watching him curiously as he snatched the furs from the ground, rolled them up and moved to tie them to the rump of the horse.

  His movements as he gathered the few personal objects strewn about were jerky with irritation.

  "You do not want to ravish me?" she asked a little uncertainly after she’d watched him stalk angrily about the campsite for several moments.

  He didn’t so much as glance at her and she frowned, wondering if she’d used the right words. "I say thees wrong, yes?"

  Having finished packing the horse, he strode toward her. Alinor watched him advance with a mixture of unease and anticipation. She was disconcerted when he merely grasped her arm and dragged her toward the beast. Placing his hands around her waist, he lifted her, settling her on the front of the saddle. The moment he released her, Alinor fell backwards. Fortunately, the ground broke her fall. It also knocked the breath out of her and she was still lying stunned on the ground when Wulfgar circled the horse and dragged her to her feet once more. Hiking her skirts to her waist, he sat her on the horse once more, straddling it this time, then placed her hands on the pommel. "Hold on," he said slowly, as if to a half wit, his teeth gritted in annoyance.

  Alinor nodded, gripping the pommel tightly while he mounted. She glanced back at him when he’d settled himself. "There ees no time for ravishment now?"

  He glared at her in tightlipped annoyance for several moments, then reached for the gag she still wore around her neck and pulled it up.

  Alinor looked at him blankly for several moments before her own irritation surfaced. She pulled the gag down. "If you do not want me to speak, Monsieur, you need only say so. I do not like that nasty thing. It stinks."

  Wulfgar tugged the gag over her mouth once more.

  After glaring at him for several moments while he pointedly ignored her, she faced forward once more, sniffing to allow him to know that she thought he was very rude. Grasping her around the waist, he hauled her back against him and kicked the horse into motion.

  Grateful for the support, Alinor didn’t even put up a token resistance. She settled herself comfortably and looked around at the forest for a while, but there was nothing of any real interest to see and she found herself drowsing. It was nearing dusk, she saw when he shook her awake. Groggily, she sat up as he thrust her away and dismounted. She reached for him as he turned to help her down and fell into his arms. It was when he set her feet on the ground and released her that she discovered her legs had lost much of their sensation. She managed to take a few uncertain steps, but when Wulfgar tossed the bundle of furs at her, it was all that was needed to finish her off. She staggered back several steps and sat, hard enough it brought tears to her eyes. When the pain subsided, she realized that she was expected to help set up camp. She crawled to her knees and then finally stood and looked around. Wulfgar stopped what he was doing long enough to point out a spot.

  Alinor nodded, but the moment she took a step it was born in upon her that her legs were not merely numb from having ridden so many hours. Her inner thighs protested screamingly over the fact that she’d spent so many hours riding the animal astride. Unconsciously, she rubbed the protesting muscles as she lugged the furs over to the spot Wulfgar had pointed to and began spreading them out. When she’d finished, she studied the pallet for some moments and finally decided it would be more comfortable if she gathered enough leaves to put under it to give it a little padding. She’d gathere
d her second arm load when Wulfgar strode angrily toward her and knocked them from her arms. She stared at him openmouthed, wondering what she’d done to so thoroughly anger him, feeling her own anger surge forth as he began to scatter the leaves once more.

  It occurred to her after watching him for some moments, however, that the other encampment had been so carefully concealed, the area around it left as undisturbed as possible, that he was expecting they would be tracked by Jean-Pierre. If Jean-Pierre had good trackers, no doubt they would still discover the encampments, but he was determined not to make their task easy.

  She was still angry. If he had only told her that she was not allowed to do anything that might disturb the ground, she wouldn’t have touched the leaves. After a moment, she stalked over to the furs and sat down, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at him while he attended the horse.

  They’d stopped, she realized, near a tiny brook. She’d been too preoccupied to notice the trickle of water before—for it was little more than that and choked with leaves. Her interest caught as Wulfgar led the horse to the water and she got up and followed, squatting along the edge and pushing the floating leaves out of the way to scoop water into her hand. It was cold, numbing her fingers, but it tasted quite good and quenched her thirst.

  When he’d allowed the horse to drink his fill, he led the animal from the stream and tethered it. He returned after a moment and stood staring down at her until, noticing, Alinor looked up at him questioningly. He pointed to the water. Alinor followed the direction of his pointing finger and then looked at him again. He couldn’t, surely, mean what she thought he meant.

  Glaring at her, he gave her a nudge toward the water with the toe of his boot.

  Alinor scurried out of reach, certain now that the man was insane. It was cold and the water was colder still. She was well aware she was probably in need of a bath. Save for being thoroughly drenched when she’d come ashore she hadn’t had an opportunity to do more than dab at herself with a handkerchief—but there was no way she was going to get into that freezing brook. "Non!" she said, shaking her head vigorously.