Chapter Two
Princess Aethelthryth. Ella stared at him. This barbarian thought she was the princess. Probably because of the silk gown she still wore. And she was in the princess’s room, but how he would have known that…
“You do not have to be afraid.”
She raised her chin. “I’m not afraid.” He raised one brow and took a step toward her as she backed into the wall. In another minute, she’d be cornered. Ella glanced sideways in search of a weapon. The only thing anywhere close was the pewter water pitcher on the dresser. She lunged for it, only to have strong hands wrap around her waist. Her feet left the floor and for a moment she dangled suspended in air before he put her down. Out of reach of the pitcher.
“There is no need for that,” he said. “I’ll not harm you.”
She gave him a wary look. Stories of what Vikings did to women were rampant. It was the reason King Aelle left a standing order to get Aethelthryth to safety. The real Aethelthryth, anyway. Still. This man hadn’t just thrown her on the bed. And, even though he’d moved with the speed of a striking wolf—maybe that’s why he was called Bronwolf—his hands had not been brutal when he’d grabbed her. In fact, that momentary touch had been firm but…gentle. A word she’d never associated with barbarians. And he’d eased her down instead of tossing her to the floor. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because, Princess, Ivar wants you alive and well to use as a hostage.”
Ivar. The man’s name struck terror in her heart, although she wasn’t about to let that show. Aethelthryth had spoken often enough of the threats he’d made against her father. The revenge he sought. But, if the ruthless Viking wanted a hostage—one who would be kept alive and well—perhaps it would be wise if she pretended to be Aethelthryth.
“You speak for your leader?”
“I do.” Bronwolf looked around the empty room. “But I don’t think you have much of a choice, do you?”
Before she could answer, the door to the wardrobe burst open and Cwen hopped out, followed by Rowena.
“We’ll all fight you,” Cwen said, brandishing the small knife she always carried.
The Viking’s look of surprise changed to amusement as he looked at the puny weapon. “With that?”
“With whatever it takes.” Rowena took a step forward.
A corner of his mouth quirked as he turned back to Ella. “And who would these stout defenders be?”
“Cwen is our castellan, and Rowena, our healer.” Ella moved in front of them. “You have no cause to hurt either one of them.”
He studied her for a moment. “You are a fierce one, aren’t you?”
She raised her chin again. “I know what you barbarians do.”
His brow lifted once more. “Do you?”
“Aye…” She let her voice trail off. There certainly was no need to tell him what he was capable of. Why couldn’t she learn to think before she spoke? “I’m sure you are aware of the rumors that surround Vikings.”
“Ja. The spoils of war.” He shrugged. “In this case, we can use your healer’s skill for our wounded.”
“She’ll be safe?”
A corner of his mouth lifted again. “Whatever you may think, we are not in the habit of harming one who has the ability to save lives.”
“And Cwen? She has knowledge of our accounts and food stuffs and…ale.” Ella glanced at the older lady then back to Bronwolf. “I’m sure she will be useful to you, as well.”
“I am sure she will.”
“Then they’ll both be safe?”
He studied her another moment, his gaze sharpening, turning his eyes a darker blue. “Both will be safe, liten beskytter.”
She frowned, trying to ignore the strange reaction she had to his intense look. “What does that mean?”
“It means ‘little protector’, although I don’t think Ivar said anything about you being such a fierce one.”
“Then he’s never met a Saxon princess.”
Bronwolf smiled, that contrary dimple showing again. “That is true.”
Ella managed to smile back. With luck, the man never would meet one either. But, for now, she would accept the role. She just hoped everyone else at the fort would play their part. If they didn’t, she didn’t want to think about the fate that awaited her for the deception.
• ♥ •
By the time the knock came on the door to wake her the next morning, Ella was already dressed and waiting. She’d expected to be escorted to Ivar’s presence the night before, but Rowena—who’d sent a reassuring message that both she and Cwen had been treated well enough by the Vikings—also relayed that the whole lot of them were celebrating too much to be concerned about her, safely secured behind a repaired door on the third floor.
But now, the time had obviously come to meet their leader. She looked up as Cwen entered with a tray. “I’m not hungry. Let’s get this over with.”
The castellan set the food down on the small table by the window. “The heathens eat like horses. I was lucky enough to scrounge this from the table this morn and I’ll not have you wasting it.”
There really was no arguing with Cwen when she used that tone. The woman had probably already let the Vikings know, in no uncertain terms, who would be in charge of their food and drink. Ella took her seat and dipped a spoon into the porridge.
“How did things go last night?”
Cwen stuck her head into the hall to make sure no ears were nearby before she closed the door and came closer. “Rowena and I managed to tell the rest of the servants they are to address you as the princess.”
“Thank goodness.” Ella lowered her voice. “What about Lynet and Deira? Did they escape?”
“I let them out the kitchen door myself.”
She breathed a sigh of relief at that. After Bronwolf left, the maids had crawled out from under the bed, but they’d hidden in the wardrobe since the door was in pieces on the floor. She’d almost despaired of getting them out since he’d posted a guard in the hall, but the serving girl, Ina, who’d brought her a late dinner, distracted the man by lowering her bodice and enticing him into an alcove for a stolen kiss. Ella suspected Cwen’s direction in that as well since Ina was one of several serving wenches who were willing to grant favors in return for a bit of coin. Lynet and Deira had lost no time in scurrying down the back stairs.
“I’m glad they’re safe.”
“Aye.” Cwen frowned. “Those two would never last at the hands of the heathens.”
Ella suppressed a shudder. “Were the village women raped, then?”
Cwen shook her head. “From what information I could get, once the men from the village saw how outnumbered our king’s soldiers were yesterday, they sent their women and children through the postern gate.”
“Thank God. I hope they can be far enough away before the Vikings notice the lack of them.”
“That probably will not be a worry,” Cwen replied. “Ina wasn’t the only serving wench to decide it wasn’t such a chore to curry favor with the victors—brawny and strong as they are.”
That comment made Ella think of Bronwolf. Brawny didn’t even begin to describe him. Every time she stepped over the broken door, she’d thought about the Viking’s brute strength in splintering the solid wood, then knocking it off its hinges. He’d handled the double-bladed axe as though it were a child’s toy. No doubt he’d had his choice of their serving wenches. The thought was rather annoying.
“So where is my captor now?”
Cwen gave her a perceptive look. “Do you mean Ivar or Bronwolf?”
Ella felt her cheeks warm. “Ivar is the one in charge, is he not?”
“Certes.” The woman shrugged. “But you might do well to consider making Bronwolf your benefactor.”
Ella stared. “You think I should become his leman?”
“I did not say that, although there are benefits to such an arrangement.” Cwen gave her a shrewd glance. “It’s not like others won’t try.”
No doubt some already had. The man was attractive. More than that, if she wanted to be truthful. As wild and untamed as he looked, he had an animal magnetism. She had felt the pull of it when he’d grabbed her last night, although all that savage strength had been held in check. She raked in a breath. “He is a Viking. His people killed my parents and wiped out my village. I want nothing to do with them. Him.”
Cwen shrugged again. “Suit yourself, but someone needs to be in your corner. Prince Ivar is the devil himself. And you are about to meet him.”
Ella laid down her spoon, unable to finish the rest of the porridge. She stood, smoothing her skirts with a trembling hand. “He has summoned me?”
“That he has,” Cwen answered. “I am to bring you down.”
“He didn’t send Bron—a guard—to escort me?”
Cwen grimaced. “It was not necessary. They are everywhere.”
Ella saw the castellan was not exaggerating as they walked down the stairs—where a man was posted at the top and bottom of each level—and even more at the entrance to the Great Hall where, she assumed, she was going to meet her fate. She took a fortifying breath. She was Princess Aethelthryth, not plain Ella. That made Prince Ivar her equal. She could not show fear or intimidation no matter how fiendish he was. She. Was. A. Princess. Ella lifted her chin.
But she wasn’t prepared for what she saw once she stepped inside the room.
Lynet and Deira lay bound and gagged on the floor by the dais.
• ♥ •
Bronwolf watched as Ella’s attention was drawn to the two maids lying on the floor. He saw her fists clench and two angry red splotches appeared on her face. In another moment, she was probably going to unleash her fury on Ivar who was seated on the dais. He must prevent that.
“The women were found trying to escape,” he said, drawing his attention to her.
She narrowed her eyes. “Surely they didn’t need to be trussed up like pigs to market?”
He shrugged. “They put up quite a fight.”
“Of course they did! And gagged?” She turned to Ivar. “How low are you barbarians?”
Bronwolf found himself tensing. Ivar was mercurial, to say the least, and last night’s ale probably still affected him. “The women had some colorful language the prince did not want to hear.”
“And can Ragnor’s son not speak for himself?” Ella asked, not taking her eyes off Ivar.
His eyes widened, and Bronwolf wanted to tell the foolish woman to keep still. Spitfire that she’d proven to be yesterday, she should still know it was not wise to anger the enemy. Especially when the enemy personally hated her father. Her status would only protect her so far.
“Indeed, I can,” Ivar said, his voice deceptively calm. “And I can also make decisions that control your fate, Aethelthryth. Decisions that perhaps your father would not like.”
She drew herself up to her full height, although Bronwolf doubted that her head barely reached his shoulder.
“I am Princess Aethelthryth.”
“So you are.” Ivar crossed his arms. “And all the more humiliating if I were to have you whipped here in the hall.”
“You would treat a valuable hostage as such?”
“How valuable you are remains to be seen,” he answered. “For now, I suggest you curb that viper’s tongue.”
“Vi—”
“If you will allow me, Prince,” Bronwolf interrupted, “Perhaps I can explain to the lady how a valuable hostage is expected to behave.”
“Ja.” Ivar waved a dismissive hand. “I grow weary of her voice.”
“I will see that she understands.” Bronwolf pretended not to notice her glare, but at least she remained silent. For a minute.
She pointed to Deira and Lynet. “What about my maids?”
Ivar smiled, although it was more of a baring of teeth. “Since there are hardly enough serving wenches to fulfil my men’s needs, I will add these two. Perhaps having their fields plowed by real men a few times will lessen their enthusiasm for escape.”
Ella stared at him as the maids began to whimper and writhe on the floor. “Real men do not rape helpless women!”
Ivar looked at Bronwolf. “I suggest you get the princess out of my sight before she finds out for herself what my men can do.”
Bronwolf stepped forward and took Athelthryth’s arm, tempted to clamp his hand over her mouth for good measure. “At once.” He turned to leave with her, but she was rooted to the floor. He was about to toss her over his shoulder when he caught her expression. For all her bravado, there was fear in her eyes. He suspected it had more to do with her maids than with her own predicament.
He could not just ask for the maids’ release. The men who were now watching this drama unfold would think he had gone daft. Women had been the spoils of war from time unknown. That was the fact of it. Nor would Ivar grant such a request lest he seem weak, as well. He took a deep breath, hoping—praying to Odin—that the princess would understand what he was about to do and not screech over it.
He gestured toward the maids. “Since I was the one who caught them escaping, perhaps it’s fitting that I get to plow those fields first?”
Ivar looked at the women squirming and kicking on the floor, muffled angry sounds coming from behind the gags. “I think you are asking for trouble with those two, but it is your right to have first choice.”
“I shall enjoy taming them,” Bronwolf said, his hand tightening on the elbow that was trying to dig into his ribs. “When I tire of them, the rest of the men can have a turn.”
Aethelthryth glared at him, trying to tug free of his hand. He didn’t let go. “Have the wenches taken to my chamber.”
The princess kicked him then, which probably hurt her slippered foot more than it did his leg, encased in its leather boot, but enough was enough. If the soldiers thought him soft, he wouldn’t be able to protect any of the three stubborn females. In one deft movement, he lifted and slung her over his shoulder, his hand caressing her firmly rounded buttocks as a show of mastery. Her fists beat his back and he gave her arse a sharp smack as he strode from the room, laughter trailing behind him.
• ♥ •
The slap stung, but not as much as her pride. Since her fists were not having any effect, Ella tried to kick him, only to have one strong arm wrap around her thighs to hold her immobile.
“Put me down!”
“Stop your wiggling.”
In spite of her continued demand, he didn’t speak another word as he climbed the two flights of stairs to her chamber and kicked the just-repaired door open. Once inside, he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed. She looked up at him looming over her, his eyes gleaming with a strange light. For a moment, she thought he might straddle her and have his way. There would be no one to hear her scream or come to her aid if he did. Quickly she rolled to a sitting position, her face all but colliding with the hard ridges of his belly. His body heat and unique scent—leather and soap, of all things—invaded her senses. The strange thought occurred that maybe she wouldn’t scream.
As if he read her thoughts, he stepped back, putting space between them.
“I will not take advantage of you, Princess.”
Princess. Ella’s thoughts cleared. She had to remember who she was. Who she was supposed to be. She stood up with as much dignity as she could muster, given that her hair was in complete disarray from having hung upside down over his broad back. She smoothed her wrinkled skirts. “You would do well to remember that I am a princess.” She would do well to remember it too. “How dare you submit me to such embarrassment?”
His eyes glinted silver. “If you think that was an embarrassment, you might think on what would have happened if I’d left you there at the mercy of men hungry for something other than food.”
Her chin went up. “Surely not even a barbarian prince would allow a valuable hostage to be raped.”
“Mayhap not,” Bronwolf replied, “but you vexed him enough that he was ready to allow the soldiers to have a bit of sport.”
Ella frowned. “He wouldn’t have actually whipped me like he threatened?”
“First of all, Princess, you need to know that Ivar does not make threats he will not carry out. It would be wise of you to remember that.”
“But you agreed he would not allow—”
“I said mayhap not. But it would not be amiss for Ivar to allow the men to toss you about like a ball, each of them taking what favors he would before passing you to another. By the time they finished, your clothing would probably be off, as well.”
Ella felt her eyes widen. “That is barbaric!”
Bronwolf lifted a brow. “You have called us barbarians.”
“But even Vikings must have some sense of decency in treating their women with dignity.”
That strange light came into his eyes again. “We do treat our women with respect. I have a sister, too.”
“And other women don’t deserve it? I am—”
“A princess. You’ve already mentioned that.”
That wasn’t what she was going to say, but he hadn’t let her finish. “What I meant was—”
“I understand what you meant.” Bronwolf studied her. “Let me give you one more piece of advice. Being a princess will only protect you so far. If you wish to avoid being roughly used, do not make Ivar any more angry than you already have. He might just decide revenge on Aelle will be sweeter if his daughter is ruined.”
“He is that ruthless?”
Bronwolf hesitated. “Let me just say the prince lives up to his reputation.”
Ella shuddered, thinking of her maids lying bound on the floor of the Great Hall. “Will he use Lynet and Deira for sport as well?”
“For the moment, no. I have claimed them. However, since they are your maids and you helped them try to escape, Ivar is aware that you care. He could use that against you if you anger him again.”
“You mean he would have them tossed about?”
“Worse.” His eyes bore into hers. “And he’d make you watch.”
Ella tried to still the trembling that suddenly started to shake her body. Lynet would never survive such an ordeal. She’d talked often of taking the veil, but her family had not the money to pay the abbey for her board. Deira’s parents were also devout Christians who would disown her completely. It seemed she had no choice but to curb her own tongue. At least, for now.
“Very well. I will strive not to make your prince angry again.”
Bronwolf nodded. “See that you do not.”
“Will you return my maids so they may attend me?”
He shook his head. “That I cannot do.”
“Why not?”
“Because I suspect you would just plan another escape.”
Of course she would. Drat. “What if I promise—”
“Princess. Do you think I trust you any more than you trust me?”
Ella couldn’t argue the point, since it was obviously true. Vikings and Saxons would never trust each other. She frowned. “Then what will you do with them? They can hardly stay in your chamber.”
His mouth quirked. “They can’t?”
She stared. “Of course not. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“Proper.” He seemed to mull over the word.
“They’re my maids.” Well, Aethelthryth’s, anyway.
“So you’ve said. But I’ve claimed them, and, according to our law, they’re mine now.” He turned and walked to the door. “I had better go see to them.”
“Wait!” Ella ran into the hallway, only to be stopped by the guard who stood there. All she could see of Bronwolf was his retreating back as he took the stairs. She stepped back into the room and flopped on the bed. She’d wanted to tell him Lynet and Deira were innocents, but it wasn’t something she wanted the guard to hear.
Would Bronwolf protect their virtue and leave them be? Or would he claim his rights? She’d heard enough stories of Vikings pillaging to know it was common place. Anxiety rose as she feared for her maids.
Ella closed her eyes and draped an arm over her forehead. As she did, she caught the slight scent of soap and leather from where her sleeve had brushed against Bronwolf. A strange tingling swept over her. One that she couldn’t identify, but that made her feel restless. Anxiety for her maids dissipated. In its place came another unfamiliar emotion…one that had to do with wondering what was really going to take place in Bronwolf’s chamber.