Kristen was subdued for a while, thinking how kind it was of Royce to find time away from his duties for his sister. But impatience was riding her hard, and fast turning to irritation, and hence to the same resentment she had felt the last time he had made love to her, then still insisted she be chained afterward. Was she wrong in her assumption? Could he be so tender with her in bed, then feel no guilt at all in shackling her when she was not with him?
The last meal of the day was in progress when Royce entered the hall. Kristen watched him avidly as he crossed the hall to the long trestle table set up in front of the great hearth. When she caught his eye, he smiled at her and the anger melted away. God above, he was a devastating man. She hoped he would never realize the havoc he could cause her senses. He was powerful enough without arming him with that knowledge, too.
Darrelle claimed his attention, and Kristen went back to filling the platters that would be carried to the table. She had been wrong again. He was not hard-hearted, just forgetful. As soon as he saw that she was still chained, he would be contrite and make amends for his thoughtlessness.
Before the hall was half emptied and settled for the night, Royce approached her. He was well sated with food, had shared a few ales with his men, and water was even now being heated for a leisurely bath. She had filled two of the buckets herself from the vat over the fire.
He stopped beside her, not too close, and did not look at her, but at the mounds of dough set out on the table for the morn. “How fared your day, wench?”
She glanced to the side to see he still was not looking
directly at her, and she realized he would not with so many people still about. “Well, milord.”
“Your night will fare even better.”
He promised this in a husky whisper, causing quivers to erupt in her belly. But then he walked away toward the bathing room, and she stared after him incredulously. It was not possible that he could not see the iron bands about her ankles when he approached her, for black as they were, they stood out plainly between her skirt and shoes, both of a lighter color. Nor could he have missed the longer chain running across the floor from the wall to where she stood at the table. The women complained at having to step over it so often during the day. It too stood out plainly.
Rage flayed her senses until her hands trembled. God smite his green eyes and black heart! To share his bed without his trust made her no better than a whore! She was done with being used.
“I have said it afore, wench. ’Tis too soon for him to trust you. Bide your time.”
Eda stood at her back. Kristen did not turn to answer. She gripped her hands to still the trembling and brought her emotions under control. The rage settled in contempt.
“I will have scars on my ankles if I bide my time. Well and good. ’Tis no more than I deserve for consorting with my enemy. I will take the scars and wear them as penance.”
“Penance! God’s mercy, you sound almost like a Christian. Do you have priests, then, for your many gods who demand penance?”
Kristen did not answer. Coldly she demanded, “Are we finished, Eda?”
“Aye.”
Eda bent at her feet to unlock the wall chain. She removed the shackles while she was at it, to make it
easier for Kristen to mount the stairs. She was in fact feeling some of the girl’s misery. It could not be easy being favored by the lord, only to a point.
“Come along, then,” Eda said gruffly.
She trusted Kristen to follow behind her. She did, but only because bolting for freedom without a weapon or a plan would be foolish indeed. But, as before, she went no farther than her own door, though Eda walked on. This time, though, she stopped short on entering her chamber. It had been barren always, but now it was completely empty.
She felt Eda at her back again. “What means this?” she demanded sharply.
“Milord said naught about your restrictions to me, Kristen, but he did say you would use this chamber no more. The only bed at your disposal now is his.”
That brought a harsh laugh. “Truly? Well, I would prefer the hard floor here to what he offers.”
“He will be angry, wench.”
“Think I care?” Kristen snapped.
Eda left to inform Royce of Kristen’s preference. Kristen did not move until she heard the lock turn. It had been too much to hope Eda would forget that, for with Royce below, she could have laid hands on a weapon from his chamber, though what she would do with it she still was not sure.
Kristen stomped over to the far wall and sat down to wait.
W
hen Royce unlocked the door, Kristen was sitting with her back against the far wall, her knees bent before her to help her to rise quickly if necessary. She saw that he was not angry, yet. But he was certainly not pleased.
Coming straight from his bath, he wore only a long-sleeved white tunic and, over it, the type of robe that was given Kristen when she bathed, though his was of a fine quality, even to having an inch-deep border of green silk along every edge of the white linen that fell to his feet. The white became him with his dark hair and summer-tanned skin.
If she were not furious with him, she knew she would be waiting breathlessly to see a bare leg when the robe parted as he walked. But she stared only at his face, lit by the tallow candle he held aloft so the light reached across to her.
“Eda has confessed to me why you are here once again instead of where you should be. I want to know why you thought you had gained freedom of the hall, when I said naught of that to you.”
Kristen was proud of the way her voice did not falter, sounding calm even to her ears. “Tis simple, Saxon. You knew
why
I refused to share your bed this week past. Yet you took me to your bed yestereve. I was fool enough to assume that if you would do that, then you must have relented concerning my restraints.”
“You are correct,” he replied curtly. “’Twas a fool
assumption indeed. I told you why you must be fettered. I also told you the alternatives.”
Kristen was no longer so calm, hearing him actually confirm what she had concluded. “I spit on your alternatives! I will wear your cursed fetters, but I want no more of you. I cannot bear your tender care and the chains too.”
He walked slowly toward her. Warily she rose to her feet, but he stopped short of her, two arms’ lengths away.
“I thought you stronger than this, wench.”
She gasped at the deliberate slur. “I am not without mettle, milord. My father was captured and imprisoned in his youth. My mother endured enslavement for a time as well. I am what my parents have made me, and I would not be a credit to them if I could not endure enslavement myself. For me ’tis a fit punishment for defying my parents to sail with my brother. I can endure, Royce. But there is a limit to what I will endure without a fight. Leave me be from now on and you will have no problem with me.”
“I cannot,” he replied simply. “And you do not really want me to ignore you, Kristen.”
“I do. I want you no more.”
He did not like what he was hearing at all, and it showed in the tight slant of his lips, the turbulent green of his eyes. “You can say that after last eve?”
“Aye.”
“Liar. You want me still and I will prove it.”
She snorted contemptuously at the challenge. “Stubbornness is one of my faults, inherited from my mother. She once refused to speak to my father because of an argument they had, and did not say one word to him for an entire month. And they are two people who love each other passionately. Mayhap I do still want you, Royce, because I am attracted to you and that cannot be helped.
But you will never hear me admit it, nor will I accept you willingly again, because when you chain me, you show me that I am nothing to you, that you bear me no feelings at all. I need more than that from the man I give myself to. I need more than just passion.”
“So you will deny us both?”
Kristen closed her eyes for a moment as bitter disappointment washed over her. What had she expected him to reply?
I care for you, Kristen. Of course I have feelings for you, strong feelings. How could you doubt it?
Fool! She would never hear such things from him.
She opened her eyes to see that his expression was still tight-lipped. But now a muscle ticked along his jaw. The hand at his hip was clenched into a fist. The dark eyebrows had moved closer together and the eyes were mere slashes of green. He was angry at last. Good. At least he shared something with her.
“Answer me, wench!”
“Aye, milord. I will deny us both.”
“The devil you will! You have had your say. Now hear me. Whether I have you or not is my choice, not yours. I let the decision rest with you for a while, but ’twas a mistake, and I learn from my mistakes. Giving you the choice only served to make you think you had a right to choose. You do not, Kristen. I own you. Your life, your body, your mind, all belong to me.”
The callousness of that statement enraged her. “Never! You own me, true, for you can kill me, sell me, rape me, whatever pleases you. But ’twill not always be so, for if I am sold, or escape, or am taken from you, then you own me no more. And
belong
to you! Think it if you will, but unless I want it to be so, then the word has no meaning. I would have to love you to truly belong to you. I would have to want to never leave you, to want to return to you if I do.”
“I do not ask for your love,” he said harshly.
“Good!” she retorted in kind. “Because I will not give it. You speak of choices. Aye, whether you have me or not is your choice. Whether I am willing to have you is
my
choice. I am not willing, Saxon.”
“So you will fight me?”
“Aye.”
“You have already learned ’tis pointless.”
“Nay, what I have learned is how easily you can be manipulated by a mere challenge,” she was angry enough to admit now. With a derisive laugh, she went on to taunt: “You have yet to taste the full measure of my resistance, Saxon. You did naught yestereve that I did not want you to do, for I wanted you then. But if you force me now and I fight you true, I promise you will get no pleasure from it.”
Her taunting worked to fire his rage. He swore harshly, throwing the candle to the floor in his anger. It seemed his hands were on her even before the flame was extinguished, though she did not see him leap at her.
One hand slid down her arm to fasten on her wrist, and she was pulled after him toward the door. Kristen waited until they were in the narrow corridor to yank her hand away. She succeeded, and had the pleasure of hearing Royce swear again as she ran toward the stairs. He knocked her to the floor before she reached them, his body falling heavily on top of hers.
As soon as he lifted some of his weight to rise, allowing her to do the same, Kristen jabbed backward with her elbow. She connected with his belly and heard him grunt. With enough room between them now, she rolled to the side and would have kicked him even farther away if he hadn’t thrown an arm over her legs. In the next moment he caught her hand and she found herself hefted over his shoulder.
Royce had trouble rising with her squirming weight, but rise he did and start toward his room. Kristen, how
ever, was nowise done with him. Hanging halfway down his back, she reached up behind her to grab a handful of his hair. She jerked so hard she would have broken the neck of a less powerful man. As it was, Royce lost his balance and slammed into the wall.
Kristen gasped, feeling herself falling, and landed on her backside this time. But she did not let go of Royce’s hair, which brought him to his knees beside her.
Royce growled furiously and knocked her hand away, leaving her with a fistful of his hair. This time when he caught her wrist, he twisted it around behind her back and up, until she thought he meant to break the arm. His intention, however, was to force her to rise—which she did, quickly.
He kept her in front of him now, and if she did not walk forward, the arm bent higher. He got her into his room this way, and once there, he shoved her forcefully away from him.
Kristen stumbled only slightly, but caught herself and swung around to face him. Calmly he locked the door. Just as calmly, he walked over and tossed the key out the open window, the gesture more than intimidating.
She felt a shiver rush down her back. But he did not approach her yet. The room was well lit, and she could see a cold look of determination on his face as he glanced at her. But he did not approach her. Instead he went to the bed. There, taking the cover in hand, he used his dagger to cut thin strips from it.
Kristen’s eyes widened on seeing this. It didn’t dawn on her yet what he meant to do with those thin strips of cloth. She simply thought him insane, for the cover was a work of beauty, made of soft sheepskin and finely embroidered with half a dozen different colored threads.
Royce stopped when he had four long pieces cut. He moved to tie a strip to one of the low posts on the bed, then moved to the next post. Watching him, Kristen was
stunned, but only for a moment. She felt as if her heart had dropped into her belly, for there was only one reason she could think of for what he was doing.
A half yell, half groan ripped from her throat and she ran to the wall of weapons, yanking down a hefty broadsword. He
was
crazy!
“Put it back, Kristen.”
His voice sounded so reasonable. How could he sound so reasonable when he meant to torture her?
“Nay!” She turned to glare at him. “You will have to kill me afore I let you practice your cruelties on me!”
He shook his head at her and continued tying a cloth to the third post, then went on to the fourth. He was watching not her, but what he was doing. She did not take her eyes from him, though, and saw a slight smile curling his lips. It turned her blood cold, for there was nothing of humor in it.
The sword was heavy, much heavier than anything she had ever practiced with. But standing there watching him until he was done had cost her the chance to pick another. She was not thinking clearly at all. She realized now, too late, that she should have attacked him instead of waiting until he gave her his full attention.