Calder studied the woman before him. Her pale, faultless skin, red hair, and eyes of dark green. He fought the urge to return his gaze to the creamy rose-tipped breasts he’d been given a glimpse of when Halvar had ripped her tunic.

Taking a blanket from the floor, he wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll have one of the women bring you a change of clothing. You’d be better off not tempting my brother again. His lust is only surpassed by his pride. Women do not reject him.”

“I’ll reject him with my dying breath,” she hissed.

Calder laughed softly at her spirit. “Do not worry, lady; you’ll be returned to your husband very soon. He will pay the ransom for a prize like you.”

He’d almost said beauty. He gritted his teeth against that. He was not here to befriend her. She was a captive. She’d provide enough ransom to pay for several ships they’d lost in a storm a month ago.

“My husband—”

There was something in the way she said the words that caught his attention. He appraised her face, flawless, high cheekbones. Eyes wide set. Perhaps not flawless, but he found it to be sheer perfection.

“What of your husband?”

She shook her head and turned away, wrapping the fur tighter about herself.

He’d have sworn he saw a tear slip from those eyes.

Deep in his chest, his bear growled.

Calder ignored the bear. He’d been born a shifter, and his bear was a part of him. His bear was him, and by the same token, he was his bear. And yet…

He and his bear hadn’t always agreed.

But at this moment, he found he wholeheartedly agreed with the sentiment his bear was making known. Both of them were attracted to this woman.

He should do as Halvar wanted to do. Plant his root deep in her body to get her out of his head.

He’d been there when Halvar knocked her on the head. Calder had watched over her for three days while she’d lain unconscious, her breathing shallow and her face pale.

In the middle of the night while all others slept, he’d sat next to her in this very cell and run his fingertips across her high cheekbones, her plump bottom lip, and thin upper lip.

He’d wondered about her name, wondered much about her. Was she a mother? Was she happy with her husband?

While she was unconscious, she didn’t speak, didn’t call out the name of any man. Wouldn’t she have called out the name of her husband if…

He pushed those fruitless thoughts away. He should not have spent those nights watching over her. He should not have let his bear begin to have feelings for her.

Yes, he should rut to get her out of his system. But he wasn’t sure that would do it. He’d only want her more, he suspected.

She turned to face him. “What of the others? From the village?”

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Brenna.”

“Brenna,” he repeated, liking the sound of it as it rolled off his tongue.

“The others? The villagers?”

He clenched his jaw. She would not like the answers, of that he was certain. “The men fought bravely.”

Her eyes widened. “You killed them?”

“They died in battle.”

She threw herself at him; her hands beat on his chest. Her fur had fallen, her breasts bounced with every strike she laid on him.

“You miserable—you barbarians. You killed all the men? The fathers? The sons?”

He grabbed her arms by the wrists and held them down, then pulled her against his chest, still holding her hands captive.

She struggled against him, deep sobs escaping from her chest.

He put his other hand on her head and let her cry, but refused to release the tiny hammers of her fists, certain they’d be on the attack again.

Finally, she sucked air in deeply and then dropped her head.

A gasp told him she’d discovered she’d lost the blanket covering her breasts, and the plump mounds were against his bare chest.

“If I release you so you can cover yourself, will you stop the assault?”

She nodded, her tearstained cheeks rubbing on his chest.

He let go of her hands. She swooped down and pulled the blanket over her chest swiftly.

“What of the women in the village?”

“They did not perish.”

“Did they leave? Are they free or are they captives like me?”

Calder ran his fingers over one of the two braids on his crown that ran the length of his scalp then cascaded down his back. “They did not leave. And they are not captives like you. Not exactly.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, reddening it, making it look as though it had been freshly kissed. “Then exactly what are they?”

“They are here to serve us. They belong to us. You, Lady Brenna, are for ransom. As the visiting daughter of another chieftain—a chieftain from a wealthy area—and the wife of a chieftain, you will garner much silver for us.”

“My husband—” Again she stopped short. This time she shook her head. “I’ll need to take a bath. I’m filthy. I smell.”

“There is no one to attend to you or bring you hot water here,” Calder told her. “Tomorrow, you bathe in the river. Under guard, so that we do not lose a precious one like yourself.”