whistled under his breath. He found it hard to remember the last time he’d seen a woman that beautiful.
Had Hagal finally made a mistake after all this time?
He held out his hand and tried for a gentle approach rather than his usual brusque manner. ‘I come in peace. I’ve no wish to harm you. What happened back there? Back with the cart?’
She gave an inarticulate moan, redoubled her efforts to free herself from the bush. The cloak tore and she started to run. Thrand crossed the glade to her before she had gone three steps. He caught her shoulders and gave her a little shake.
‘If you run, you die. These woods are no place for a lone woman.’ He examined the fine bones and delicate features of her face. She came up to his chin. Most women barely reached his shoulder. ‘Particularly not one who is gently bred.’
He allowed his hands to drop to his side and waited. Had his words penetrated her shocked brain?
Her tongue wet her lips, turning them the colour of drops of blood on snow. ‘I’m already dead, Norseman. Here or elsewhere—what does it matter?’
‘Are you injured? Did they hurt you? How did you escape?’
She slowly shook her head and started to back away. In another heartbeat she’d run. Thrand silently swore. He did not have time to spend chasing this woman through the forest.
‘Do you want to live?’ he ground out. ‘Simple choice.’
She stopped, hesitating. ‘I...I...’
Forget gentleness. He had tried. The Northumbrian woman was stubborn beyond all reason. Action was required. He reached out and grabbed her wrist.
‘You come with me.’ He pinned her with his gaze. ‘Whatever happened to you before, know that you belong to me hereafter. I’m your master now.’
You belong to me. I’m your master. The words reverberated through her brain. Cwenneth stared at the large Norseman warrior who held her wrist captive, hating him. After all she’d survived today, she’d ended up a slave to an unknown Norseman. And she knew what they were capable of.
Surely it would have been better to die a quick death at Narfi’s hands than to suffer this...this torture!
She had been a fool to trust Hagal the Red and his promises in the marriage contract. She had been a fool to flee from her hiding place at the sound of this man’s voice. She had been a fool to try to undo the cloak when it became entangled on the thorn bush.
Time to start using her mind instead of panicking like a scared rabbit! Aefirth would have wanted her to.
‘I belong to no man, particularly not a Norseman.’ Cwenneth brought her hand down sharply and twisted. ‘I will never be a slave. Ever.’
He released her so abruptly that she stumbled backwards and fell on her bottom, revealing more than she would have liked of her legs. Cwenneth hastily smoothed her skirts down.
‘That’s better,’ she said in her most imperious voice, playing for time and ignoring the way her insides did a little flutter at his intense look. ‘Keep your hands to yourself in the future.’
‘If you want a race, so be it, but I will win.’ The planes of his face hardened to pure stone. ‘You are welcome to try. I will catch you before you go ten steps. And my mood will be less generous.’
He reached down and raised her up. His hand lingered lightly on her shoulder, restraining her.
‘Will you strike me down if I run?’ Cwenneth whispered. She’d survived Narfi, only to be killed for sport by this man? Her limbs tensed, poised for renewed flight, but she forced her legs to remain still.
‘Where is the challenge in killing women?’ he responded gravely. ‘I’m a warrior who fights other warriors. Playing games of chase with a beautiful woman will have to wait for another day. I’ve other things to attend to. Give me your word that you will come meekly and I’ll release your arm. Otherwise, I will bind you.’
Cwenneth concentrated on breathing evenly. Playing games of chase, indeed! As if she was some maid flirting with him in the Lingwold physic garden! She was a widow whose heart had been buried with her late husband and son.
She clung on to her temper and did not slap his face. This was about survival until she could return to Lingwold. Once she was safe behind the thick grey-stone walls, she could give in to sarcasm and her temper. Until then, she guarded her tongue and kept her throat whole.
‘Let me go and I’ll give my word,’ she ground out.
‘Satisfied?’ He lifted his hand.
She stared at the large Norseman warrior standing before her. He had released his hold, but the imprint of his hands burnt through the cloth. Large and ferocious with glacial blue eyes, a man who took pride in fighting, and the last sort of person she wanted to see. Who was he? Was it a case of things going from bad to worse? How much worse could it get? At least Thrand Ammundson was in Jorvik. No one could be as bad as that man.
‘You see, I keep my word. Now will you? Will you trust me?’
Cwenneth swallowed hard to wet her throat and keep the tang of panic from invading her mouth. Trust a Norseman? A Norseman warrior? How naive did he think she was?
‘Say the words now.’ He pulled a length of leather from his belt.
‘I’ll come with you...willingly. There is no need to bind me,’ she muttered, despising her weakness, but she hated to think about her wrists being bound and marked. ‘I give you my word. I won’t make a break for my freedom.’
‘And I accept it.’ He refastened the length of leather to his belt. ‘You see I’m willing to trust you, but then I can outrun you.’
‘How do you know how fast I can run?’ she asked, watching the leather sway slightly like a snake.
‘You wear skirts.’ His dark-blue eyes darkened to the colour of a Northumbrian summer’s midnight, but held no humour. ‘Skirts tangle about your legs and catch in thorn bushes and brambles. If I have to chase you or you disobey me, things will go much worse for you.’
Cwenneth lifted her chin. She had to concentrate on small victories. She remained unbound...for the moment. It would be harder to escape if he decided to tie her up. And she planned on escaping when the time was ripe. ‘I will take your word for it. I’ve never worn trousers.’
‘A modicum of sense in your brain. Not my usual experience with Northumbrian women.’ His brows drew together. ‘Why are you here? Why were you left alive? Why was your entourage attacked?’
She knew then he’d found the carnage that lay back there on the road. Silently, she named the six men who had died, thinking they were protecting her. They were seared on her heart. Someday, somehow, Hagal would be made to pay. Even faithless Agatha needed justice. In this darkening glade with the bare trees towering above her, she had half-hoped that it was a dreadful nightmare and she’d wake
