Surrender My Love (16 page)

Turgeis wouldn’t be so close now. Gone was the hope that he could steal into camp late of a night and whisk her away to safety. The stone walls here would be amply guarded, the gates locked at night. And Turgeis wasn’t a man who could slip through gates unnoticed, day or night.

She could only wait for her brother now, and she knew not how long that might be. She wouldn’t tolerate the thought that Selig would kill him, as he had claimed. Ragnar would bring pressure to bear instead and she would be released. She had to cling to that hope.

There had been no more unnerving “talks”
with her nemesis, nor had she been forced to ride in the wagon with him again. When they abandoned the conveyance that third morn, she had been made to ride behind Ivarr on his great charger. She wasn’t sure which was more unpleasant.

Even worse than Thorolf was Ivarr, in his cold condemnation of her. And riding with him had put a strain on every muscle she possessed, trying to keep from touching him. She had discovered that, as Thorolf was Kristen’s closest friend in this land, aside from her family, Ivarr was Selig’s. Knowing that, she supposed the hate he bore her was understandable. It just wasn’t very palatable for her.

That journey had not been an easy one by any means. Aside from the uncertain future which was so fearful, she had the constant worry that Kristen would abandon her completely to Selig’s supervision, especially once her husband joined them. Not so. Erika’s plea that first night had worked, and the Norsewoman continued to come and collect her each time she herself had to answer nature’s call.

One of those times Erika had even tried to reach through Kristen’s dislike of her to what common sense the woman must possess, to remind her of consequences yet to be met that could still be avoided.

“My brother will come for me,” she had told her. “Even if he and I were not close, he would come.”

“Aye, I suppose he will. But he will not have you back unless
my
brother chooses to
release you. You may not want to go back by then.”

Erika had been able to think of only one reason she might not want to go home—a tarnished virtue. “You mean he will rape me?”

Kristen had snorted. “Rape a woman he hates? That is one thing you need not fear.”

“Then why would I not wish to go home?”

Kristen had shrugged. “Because ’tis likely you will come to love him.”

Erika not only had been incredulous, she had very nearly laughed at the absurdity of such a notion. “Love a man who means to harm me? How could you think it?”

“Therein would be a fitting punishment, would it not?”

“It cannot happen.”

“Do not say cannot. ’Tis more like you will not be able to help yourself. They never even try.”

“They?”

“All the women who love him.”

All the women who love him
.

An unusual statement, until you considered how unusual the man was in his looks. Erika had no fear that she would come to be included in that “all,” but she was surprised to discover firsthand so many who were.

A number of them had been traipsing in and out of this very room. A few almost came to blows over who would fetch what for Selig. And yet this was a man with no warmth in him that Erika could see, no compassion or forgiveness, certainly no mercy. How could
so many women be so shallow, to love a man merely for his handsomeness, even as remarkable as his was?

Only the mother and one elderly servant remained in the room when Erika took note of it again. Selig had been covered, was still on his stomach, with his eyes closed, possibly asleep, since the two women were now whispering. They were preparing to leave the room, gathering up the cloths that had been used to clean Selig, the bucket of water, the jar of soft soap, what food remained.

Erika held her breath, still hoping to go unnoticed. It was not to happen. In fact, both women came directly toward her, stopping at her feet. Obviously, they had been aware of her all along.

“I am Brenna Haardrad, Selig’s mother.”

Her voice was stiff. Her expression, of strong dislike, Erika was quite accustomed to by now. It was mirrored in the servant’s face.

“So I guessed,” Erika replied.

“He has told me what happened—and your part in it.”

“Did he say what his revenge is to be?”

“I would give you a lashing to equal the one you gave him—to begin with. Had I been there to see him when he was released, I would have killed you. But then, that is the way of hot tempers, is it not? Quick to act, with regrets come too late. I must commend my daughter for her restraint.”

The color had drained from Erika’s face, but it began to return with the word “regrets.”
“Are you saying you will not kill me now?”

“The decision is not mine to make, but nay, I would not. Death, like tempers, is too quick after all.”

That sounded so ominous, Erika was not sure she should be relieved. “But what does
he
mean to do?”

Brenna shrugged. “He did not say, but do not be so eager to find out. You have a reprieve whilst he recovers, which is more than you deserve.” Having said all she cared to, she turned to the servant. “Take her down to the bathing chamber, Eda, and she will need new clothes.”

“Nay.”

The denial came from the bed, clearly stated. Selig had not been sleeping after all, had been listening to every word.

Brenna glanced toward him and answered with the obvious. “She stinks, Selig.”

“She can have the bath, but here. She does not leave my presence.”

“Why?”

“Ask me about anything else, Mother, but do not question me about her.”

His voice was cold, not meant to be argued with. It was the man speaking, not the son. Which would not have stopped Brenna, except she had already decided not to interfere.

All she said was, “I never thought to see the day
you
would hate a woman.”

“All things are possible with the right provocation,” he replied.

“True.” She sighed. “Very well.” And to Eda:
“Have the bath brought here. He will need it on the morrow anyway.”

They were ignoring Erika, had not asked her if she wanted a bath, much less where she would have it. She would certainly not have it here and said so. “I cannot bathe with him watching, Lady Brenna.”

Gray eyes just like
his
came back to her. “You do not have a choice.”

Erika’s chin shifted upward. “I do. I will keep the stink.”

“Nay, you will not. My daughter does not abide slovenliness in her hall, nor do I intend to smell it each time I enter this chamber. You may take the bath yourself, or I will summon the women back to give it to you.”

At which point Selig made his own wishes known. “Not the women. They will be all over me again. Send Ivarr and two other of my men—”

Erika could not interrupt quickly enough. “I will bathe here!”

“I thought you might.”

The smugness in his tone grated on Erika’s already distraught nerves, but she refused to say another word. Stating her preference only got her the exact opposite. Obviously, he had decided to toy with her some more.

Brenna returned to the bed long enough to grumble, low-voiced, “I cannot see what you hope to accomplish in your insistence, Selig. ’Tis not as if you are in any condition to—take advantage.”

“You mistake the situation, Mother,” he said
just as low. “She will never know my touch. What I will accomplish is exactly what I mean to, her discomfort.”

“I hope not at the expense of your own,” she remarked with meaning.

“You worry for naught. The only thing she tempts me to do is strangle her, which would not be nearly as satisfying as what I intend doing.”

“Which is?”

He grinned at her. “None of your business, Mother.”

At any other time she would have boxed his ears for that answer and he knew it, which was why she laughed and ruffled his hair instead. “Your father and brothers will be up to see you later. After you have finished ‘discomfiting’ the prisoner, get some rest. I will not be gainsaid on what is needful for your recovery.”

“Somehow, I knew that.”

Chapter 19

E
RIKA STARED AT
the large wooden bath with baleful eyes. Steam rose from it. It looked deliriously inviting. But it was set in the center of the room, with the bed not so many feet distant. And Selig might be lying there with his eyes closed, still on his stomach, but she didn’t for a moment believe him sleeping this time.

The servant Eda had untied her. Clean clothes, along with washing and drying cloths, waited atop a stool for her use. Beside it were shoes, not hers. Someone had noticed she was lacking.

Erika hadn’t moved from her position in the corner, except to rub her limbs when the ropes had come off. She still couldn’t bring herself to move. She had said she would bathe here. The alternative was unthinkable. Yet she couldn’t garner the nerve required to actually do it, now that the time was at hand.

She could run. She wasn’t restrained. No one else was in the room except Selig, and he could never rise quickly enough to stop her. But the stairs led to the hall below, and the only exit she had seen was across that
long length of hall. She had nowhere to run to that she wouldn’t be brought back from and subjected to worse than this. But this…

“Ivarr can still be summoned.”

As she thought; not sleeping, waiting. And what he waited for was to experience her humiliation. If she had not hated him before, she did now.

“You are despicable!”

“A matter of opinion, and yours is irrelevant. Do I summon Ivarr?”

He rolled onto his side, facing her, to hear her answer. Those gray eyes rested on her without mercy. It would be pointless to ask for some. This was part of his revenge, a minor part to him, but not so minor to her. Yet he would have it with or without her cooperation, and the indifference in his tone said he really didn’t care which way it was to be.

Erika got slowly to her feet. She could have wished for concealing night, for candles, instead of the bright light of late afternoon coming in through the open window. No such luck for her. The most she could do was keep her back to him and pretend he was not there. Enjoy the bath. Deny him her blushes. Think of other things.

All she managed was to keep her back to him as she disrobed.

The tub was large in its roundness, not its depth. It came only to her knees. A short bathing stool had been set in the center of it, just barely covered by the foot of water she had been allowed. She disdained the use
of it, preferring to bury herself as deep in the tub as she could. He permitted that for only a few minutes.

“Wash your hair.”

She was so rattled by the entire situation, she wouldn’t have thought to do that. But she hated being told to.
Ordered
was more like it. What would happen if she refused? Ivarr, of course. Selig was going to hold that damn Viking over her head like a whip.

It took a while to get her braids undone, after so many days and so much dirt matting them. She had to sit up to do it, but once her hair was loose, she dropped down to her back to submerge her head, briskly rubbing her itching scalp under the water before she came up to cover it with the soft soap.

There had been only one bucket of water left for her to rinse with, so she had to save it until she was done. But three times she soaped her hair, until she was satisfied it was clean, so three times she had to dunk her head to rinse it. By the time she finished, a layer of soap scum floated on the water, but she had yet to wash herself.

Ordinarily she would have stood up to finish. Sitting in water turned dirty was distasteful at any time, and this time was no different. The reason for the stool. But she refused to sit or stand, which meant she had to wrap her hair in a towel to keep it out of the dirty water. She had to get up on her knees to do that, and was bright pink again before she was able to duck back down below the rim of the tub.

“You will not get clean in that filthy water.”

He was guessing. He couldn’t see it. “The water is clear enough,” she said, but needn’t have bothered. He had decided on further torment for her, and nothing she said would deter him from it.

“Stand up,” he commanded. “Should you ever have the opportunity for a private bath, I need to be assured you know how to wash yourself properly. I will not have my mother’s nose offended again.”

She wondered if giving her these ridiculous excuses was part of his game. Was she supposed to argue with him, remind him that she was not a Saxon, many of whom superstitiously thought bathing an unhealthy practice? His excuses were worth arguing over. Even “offending” his mother with her stench, which he was ultimately responsible for. They had crossed rivers, camped near creeks, but she had not been allowed to wash in them as everyone else had.

His excuses begged for argument. She could at least deny him that.

She stood up, carefully keeping her back to him. The hot color came anyway. She couldn’t help that. But she was actually feeling somewhat triumphant. She had thwarted him. She wasn’t sure what his true goal had been, probably no more than a further demonstration of his power over her. But she had defeated his purpose.

He laughed softly, which unnerved her, told her he didn’t really care about her temporary
triumph, that he had other avenues to reach the same goal available to him. She braced herself, expecting the hatchet to fall immediately. It did.

“Turn around, wench. You have a nice ass, but I want to see what else my new slave possesses.”

“I am not a slave,” Erika whispered fiercely to herself.

“What was that?”

“I am not a slave!”

“As I said, your opinion is irrelevant. You will still do as you are told. Protests on your part will be dealt with, and not to your liking.”

Whatever he meant by that, she didn’t care to find out. She knew his game now, and his ultimate goal. Humiliation at every opportunity, and utter devastation of her pride.
Crushing it will be one of my priorities
. She should have remembered that promise.