That’s right, daughter. That’s the way.
As I stared out the window, a shape detached itself from one of the giant rocks, and leapt through the mist, landing on another outcropping that brought it closer to the keep. The dark shape rose up again and leapt from rock to rock. But no, it couldn’t be. The distance was further than any man could jump.
The wind howled and shook the rocks. The sound was like the eerie dirge I heard earlier—was it only this morning?
The storm made the sea surge, water fingers tipped with foam reaching, grasping, failing to pluck the shape right off its path. But the figure kept coming.
The clouds parted enough to limn the bright head with silver light. The Sea Wolf was right outside the window, making his way to the keep, leaping and climbing like a creature from myth imbued with supernatural powers.
The man reached the base of the keep. There was no way an ordinary man could scale the wet-slicked stones. But this was no ordinary man.
Pay attention, daughter. Remember the story.
I retreated until the lodge pole was at my back, but kept my eyes fixed on the window. My heart was already in my throat, so I felt nary a tremor of surprise when the great golden head appeared. Battle roughened hands gripped the broken stones, pulling another free and tossing it behind. And so, the Sea Wolf entered his keep and the tower where his man had imprisoned me.
When he straightened, the top of his head threatening to brush the roof where it met the old wall. He strode in, filling the room with his muscled bulk. The room shrank and I shrank along with it. With light, sure steps he approached. My hands touched the rough wood behind me. No escape there. I clenched my fists and teeth, raising my chin to hold his gaze.
He stopped when there was nothing but a hairsbreadth between us. His rich honeyed scent drenched my senses, drugging me. I swayed.
His face was broad yet spare, like a sand colored rock face scoured clean by years of sun and wind. His brows and hair were the same tawny gold of the tow-headed conquerors from the north. He was a Northman, and this an old Viking hold.
I stared up at him, unable to speak, unable to move. My heart thumped loudly. By the way he tilted his head, I swore he heard each beat.
His hands were large and scarred, but gentle as he tilted my head up to examine the rope collar. When he withdrew and marched to the fire, I slumped against the wood post, weary after holding myself upright and courageous in the thrall of those bright eyes.
Crouching, he tossed a few more logs onto the blaze. When his boot steps returned, I kept my head down until a tug and a snap told me he’d cut the rope that tethered me. Slowly he drew me up, forcing me to scramble to my feet if I didn’t want the rope to choke me. Without looking back, he pulled me along to stand before the bed. The wood creaked as he settled himself.
I kept as much distance as the tether allowed.
He patted his knee and looked expectantly at me.
“No,” I muttered and cleared my throat of cobwebs. He wasn’t forcing me onto the bed even though he easily could. Nor had he thrown me down, tore my gown and claimed me in a captor’s right. His care made me bold. “No,” I said louder and planted my feet, calling up the haughty iron of a chieftain. “You will explain to me why I am here.”
He tilted his head again and I recognized the movement and glowing eyes as wolf’s, wary and confident all at once.
“Where are we? Why did you take me?” I challenged.
A rough scrape on the step made me whirl. Hawk paused in the door, wearing his typical smirk. He hesitated, looking past me to his leader and raising the earthen jug he held.
The Sea Wolf nodded. Before I knew what was happening, he reeled me in until I stood between his legs. His thighs were thick as tree trucks, wider than my hips. I clenched my hands before I reached out to use them to steady me.
Hawk set the jug down on the table. “The men have built the fire. There’ll be meat, soon.”
My golden-haired captor grunted. Hawk touched his forehead and was gone.
The Sea Wolf looked at me and pointedly at the jug. It seemed I was to act as a serving wench.
But I was grateful for something to do. And a horn would keep his hands busy and away from me.
Aware of his gaze on my back, I went to the small table and filled the horn. It took all my will to pivot and walk the short distance back to the bed. I held out the drink as soon as I could, but the Sea Wolf had another idea. Instead of taking the horn, he drew me forward, a sardonic humor in the curve of his mouth. The closer I grew the more the honeyed scent enveloped me. Mead tempered with the sharp tang of salt.
Using the leash, he maneuvered me between his knees. Closer, closer, he reeled me in, until I practically rested on his great chest. Reluctantly I raised the cup to his lips. He drank deeply, eyes on mine, and pushed it back to my lips.
I shook my head. I did not want to drink and lose myself. He stared at me and I lost my nerve. Dropping my eyes, I drank a mouthful.
“I’ll get more,” I muttered. I could not take much more of this. I swayed and almost stumbled on my way back to the table. Danu curse him! A man had never affected me thus. His very presence intoxicated me.
It was time. Before I lost my nerve, I slipped my left hand in my bodice for my knife. One strike, and my captivity would end.
The next time the Sea Wolf tugged me forward, I let my hair fall in a thick curtain between us. I held the horn to his lips as the fingers of my free hand closed around knife hilt.
“Drink,” I whispered. He gulped and pushed the horn to my lips. My eyes held his as I sipped. When I lowered the horn, my hand was at his throat, the knife point set into the hollow below his jaw.
For a moment his eyes glimmered—did he guess?—and my arm weakened. Then I pressed the blade and drew it across. Fast. Hard. As if he were a goat or deer marked for sacrifice. A quick, clean kill.
I had forgotten there’d be so much blood. A red spray hit me in the face. I choked and fell back, sputtering.
The knife hit the stone floor with a clang. Then there was nothing but a horrible, gurgling sound. The Sea Wolf’s life ebbing out.
Pain wrenched my middle. I stood with head bowed and hair tangled over my face and counted my heartbeats. One. Two. Three. Long enough for a man to die.
But when I risked a glance, a golden blaze caught me fast.
No. Impossible.
The warrior raised a hand to his wounded throat. He pulled it away and examined his dripping fingers with mild curiosity. He shrugged back his red-stained hair. Blood pooled on his chest, ran in rivulets between the muscles. Another heartbeat and another, and the ruby waterfall lessened to a thin trickle.
The Sea Wolf was not dead. I had failed.
The horrible gurgles stopped, replaced by a deep chuckle. The man who should be dead was laughing at me.
My knees knocked and I slumped to the flagstones, weak as if my own life’s blood had run out.
That was how Hawk found us. He clattered up the steps, a platter of roast meat in his hand and stopped short to stare. When he’d left we hadn’t been covered in blood.
I cowered against the pillar as the Sea Wolf kept laughing, laughing.
Hawk recovered quickly. With his own guffaw, he set the platter down and dusted his hands.
“I leave for a moment and she tried to kill ye?”
The Sea Wolf stopped chuckling and shrugged.
“Ah, well, I’ll fetch water to wash.” He started to turn and spared a glance for me, curled into a frightened ball. “Tried to get the best of him, did ye?” Hawk mocked. “Takes more than a blade to kill this one.”