9. Cherine

Chapter 9

Cherine

E ven with the feeling—or perhaps the illusion—of freedom, I felt lost, dizzy, and utterly conflicted about what had just happened to me. Erik, who was so gentle and so rough, the man who had both captured and cared for me, had done things to my body that had never been done before—things I would do anything to experience again.

And I hated myself for it.

Erik could tell. He eyed me warily as he wrapped the rope into a coil and placed it on the ground at my feet.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” he said, trying not to look at me too closely.

I tilted my chin up. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me. Everything I’ve ever had has been taken from me. I have nothing left.”

He seemed to ponder that, then reached forward and wiped the area around my mouth, his thumb rough as it scraped along my bottom lip. It smelled musky, and the scent made my lips part further.

“If you have nothing left,” he murmured, his gaze glued to my lips, “then it seems you have everything to gain.”

His words made my heart thud anxiously in my chest. I didn’t trust my feelings anymore, and I certainly didn’t trust him. What Erik did was wrong, I knew, even though Marc and I had done similar things behind the thicket. Not those exact things, for I had never had an orgasm before, but they hadn’t been pure either.

You’re being foolish, I told myself, turning my face to the side, away from his. I focused on a spiderweb hanging from the rafters. You’ve been captured by a barbarian and he had his way with you. You’re no smarter than a mule if you think that’s something that should feel good, let alone right.

But no matter how much I tried to ignore it, it did feel good, maybe even right. Even looking at Erik felt satisfying. With everything that had happened to me, all the loss I had suffered, his handsome face brought me a strange sense of comfort. It was like I had found a kindred spirit in him, someone who was born to a life they didn’t want, with only dreams of running away.

But this man hasn’t run from anything, I thought, slowly bringing my eyes back to him. Still, there was that fire that burned in his eyes, the fire I had just glimpsed, that suggested he wasn’t without his own secrets.

A thud from somewhere above brought us both to attention. Erik looked up at the ceiling and back at me with new determination.

“Listen to me: I’m going to have to tie you up again,” he said, reaching for the rope.

I reached out and grasped his forearm, ignoring the feel of his fine hair, the width of his muscle. “You will not!”

He brushed my hand away. “I can’t trust you to not run away again.”

“If I recall correctly, I didn’t run the first time.”

“Don’t make this harder than it is.”

“Well then don’t tie me up!” I exclaimed. I crossed my arms and hugged them close to my chest. I knew I was outmatched with Erik; I just wished my freedom hadn’t been so short-lived.

He sighed and stretched the rope out between his hands. “It will just be around your hands, and it will just be for show—for the most part.”

He picked up my hands, and, reluctantly, I let him tie my wrists together.

“I take it you don’t trust me,” I muttered.

“Should I trust you?” he asked incredulously.

I shook my head. “No, I guess you shouldn’t.”

Suddenly, he bent over, his face mere inches from mine. I sucked in my breath at the intrusion, feeling a wave of skin tightening at the back of my neck. “And you don’t trust me,” he said. “So we’re even, aren’t we?”

I swallowed hard. “For now,” I said thickly.

He peered at me for a moment before nodding stiffly. He straightened and pulled me up by my shoulders. With our height difference, there was at least half a foot between us, and he lowered his head to talk to me.

“I don’t know how long it is to Saint Martin, perhaps overnight. I’ll need to be with you at all times.”

I rolled my eyes. “Of course.”

“I’m serious. This is for your own protection.” His mouth grew grim, and he slipped his hand around my bicep, gripping firmly.

“You really don’t think much of your Vikings, do you?”

“With good reason,” he said under his breath. He kept his hand steady and led me over to where a leftover tray of food sat. He picked up part of the rye loaf, now stale and hard. He put it in my hands.

“Eat now, and quickly,” he told me. “You’ll be lucky to get any more food.”

“I recall you offering me wine earlier.”

“I did. I finished it.”

“Did you have a case of the nerves? I would have thought forcing yourself on a woman would have been as natural as breathing.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew it was a mistake. Erik instantly detached himself from me; a dark storm had clouded his eyes and created a cold wind that parted us. I couldn’t read what it was exactly, but I knew I had said something that poked a wound.

“Sorry,” I quickly said, torn that I even felt the need to apologize.

“Eat,” Erik said, ignoring me and gesturing to the loaf. He kept his falcon-like eyes on me until I complied. He didn’t say anything else or give any part of himself away. He just watched as I slowly chewed at the bread, grasping it delicately in my bound hands, making sure I ate it all. When he was satisfied, he gave me a tug and led me out of my chamber. Whatever man I had been close to getting to know, whatever man I had enraptured between my legs, was gone, replaced by the pile of ice that was Erik the Viking.

My thoughts could only focus on Erik for so long, for I was soon out of the chamber and being led up the narrow stone steps to the rest of the manor. I heard voices and clattering from up top, and with each step I took, my chest squeezed in anticipation. Everything Erik had told me about the Vikings, everything I had seen, was larger than life. I was nothing but completely afraid.

Erik tightened his grip on me as we came to the door at the top of the stairs. I watched him, waiting for some sign of reassurance, some remark that would prepare me for what lay beyond the door, but there was nothing in his eyes except the dark grey that flickered in the torchlight like ocean waves on a cloudy day.

He pushed the door open, and I found myself first blinded by the brightness of natural light and then face-to-face with about twenty Viking warriors. Each one of them, from the stocky, drooling man with the red braided beard to the horrible one-eyed aberration that was Ross—the vile man who had killed my sister—was staring at me with such malicious and depraved intent, I felt my insides shrivel up. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to run back downstairs and lock myself in the dungeon.

Sensing this, Erik kept his hold on me and walked me forward out of the stairway. I didn’t know whether to keep my eyes on the polished floors, look the Vikings in the eye, or take in the sights around me. This was the first time I had been in Lord Bouchon’s manor, and curiosity was nipping at me. Still, I couldn’t quite take a look when I was the object of everyone’s attention.

The men had started to say things in Norse to Erik, and from their tone, dripping with lust and animosity, I had a feeling I knew what those things were. I was no stranger to male attention; every time I had gone into the village alone, I was often pinched or grabbed by the less respectable villagers. Still, never had I been in a large room full of men who had murdered their way to get where they were.

I started to wonder whether Erik was going to say something to his comrades, anything at all, when I heard a deep voice soar above their heads.

I craned my neck to the right and saw a large man step out from behind the crowd. Perhaps large was an understatement. I decided he was the biggest man I had ever seen in my life, and he was walking toward me with all the confidence of a king. The Vikings parted around him like Moses parting the Red Sea.

The man stopped right in front of Erik and me, and though part of me was afraid to meet this giant’s eye, I couldn’t help it. He was, no doubt, the Rolf Erik had mentioned. His power seemed to leak through his tanned skin as he commanded everyone’s attention with his presence alone.

“You must be Cherine,” Rolf addressed me in fluent French that rolled easily off his tongue. He gave me a smile that made my knees go weak. Rolf was a stunning man, with captivating dark eyes that twinkled playfully and a broad mouth that bordered on a perpetual smirk. He looked like he was always in on some joke, and it contrasted against the deep red scar that carved down the side of his golden face. He was all male, from his dark beard and exceptionally broad chest to the size of his hands as they clasped around mine.

He lifted my bound hands to his mouth and planted a firm kiss on both my knuckles. While Erik had a fire burning in the back of his soul, I could see Rolf was smoldering in every way possible.

“It is a pleasure to have you here,” he said, lowering my hands but still holding on. “I trust Erik has been taking great care of you.”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remembered that the only reason Erik was taking care of me was because this man had ordered his Vikings to slaughter my family. I gave Rolf only a faint smile and attempted to compose myself.

There was a gleam in Rolf’s eye as he studied my change in posture.

“Is my French too hard for you to understand?” he asked, finally letting go of me. My hands tingled without his warm fingers, and I snatched them back to the front of my dress.

I raised my head proudly. “It is acceptable. However, the fact that I am being kept prisoner here is not.”

Erik’s hands sank further into my arm. Rolf eyed him in amusement before bringing his penetrating gaze back to me. “You’ll learn to love it, Cherine…”

“Cadet,” I filled in as I looked down at the floor.

“Ah, Cherine Cadet. Beautiful name for a beautiful lady. And don’t you want to know who I am?” he asked, and I caught an edge to his voice that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. He pushed my chin up and forced me to meet his eyes again. They sparked with unpredictability.

“You are Rolf,” I answered.

“I am Rolf the Walker, son of Rongvald, the Earl of M?re,” he announced, louder now, as if he was also reminding his men. “Do you know why they call me Rolf the Walker?”

I shook my head. His fingers traced the edge of my chin.

“I am so large, very few horses can carry me. I used to walk instead of ride. Do you think you’d break if I rode you?”

I jerked away from his touch at that comment and felt a wash of fear spill down my back.

He grinned, pleased at my discomfort. “I am saying this in jest, my beauty.” He turned his smile to Erik. “I bet the longer she spends with you, the more she’ll develop your sense of humor, Erik.”

With a brief shake of his head, he turned away from us and faced the Vikings. He began yelling at them in Norse, commands I couldn’t understand, except that the men looked very happy and excited at them. No, excited was the wrong word. They looked crazy, with leering smiles and wild eyes, cheers roaring out of their throats. The noise in the room rose to uncomfortable levels.

Rolf then barked something else, and every one of them took off, running in different directions. I watched them, feeling like a panicked bird in a cage. Rolf said a few more things to Erik and stormed off into the rest of the manor, his black hair flowing behind him.

Erik’s grip loosened, and I turned to face him, a knot of worry on his brow slowly disappearing.

“What is happening?”

“He told them of our plans for Saint Martin. We’ll be on the move very shortly.”

“Are you…are you going to kill everyone in that village too?” I asked with wide eyes.

He smiled grimly. “Not everyone.”

“And you can’t just leave me here?”

He licked his lips quickly and avoided my pleading look. “No, I cannot. It is too late for that now. Rolf likes you. And so you’re one of us.”

“I’ll never be one of you.”

“Oh, Cherine, I do hope you’re right.” He tugged me forward. “Come along. We must find our horse for the journey.”

Sometime later, Erik was hoisting me on top of a massive dapple-grey Percheron and mounting right behind me. Though I protested that I knew how to get on a horse, I was still weak from the days spent underground, and Erik wouldn’t have any of it.

He placed me right in front of him, his crotch pressed hard against the swell of my buttocks. I held onto the gelding’s thick mane to steady myself while Erik wrapped one strong arm around my middle.

His mouth was right at my ear, and he murmured into it, “Are you comfortable?”

I was a little too comfortable. I swallowed and nodded, my fingers entwined further into the mane.

Erik clucked to the magnificent horse and steered it out of the Lord’s livery to the lane where the Vikings had gathered. There looked to be about fifty of them in total. There hadn’t been enough horses at the estate to carry all the men, so some were walking, while others were perched on the edges of carts loaded with stolen paintings, priceless artifacts, heavy jewels, and a generous helping of food and wine. The Vikings had robbed the port village of Criolium bare, only leaving behind a handful of men who promised to watch the boats and keep the manor under their command.

“Come ride with me,” Rolf boomed, waving at Erik and me to join him at the very front of the cavalcade. This time, he wasn’t walking, as Rolf had found himself a large Shire horse tall and broad enough to carry his build, even though he had to ride it bareback.

Together, we rode down the country lane with the procession of warriors behind us. Rolf sat like an emperor on his steed, his eyes focused straight ahead. I thought he would have been watching the hills or the dusty bushes that lined the road for any rogue Frenchmen, but Rolf seemed completely confident that we wouldn’t be attacked.

I tried to look behind me to see if maybe the men closest to us were at the ready, but I forgot Erik’s face was right there, and his lips accidentally brushed against my cheek.

I blushed and turned away. When I realized how silly I was to blush, the heat in my cheeks increased even more.

The three of us lapsed into silence while the men behind us rattled on in Norse. There were occasional cheers, and every now and then, someone would laugh, but because it was all in a language I didn’t understand, it faded into the background. After a while, I let go of the mane and settled back into Erik’s firm chest, secure in my position. He kept his arm tight across my middle, giving me just enough room to breathe as we rocked against each other with each hoof-beat.

With my legs spread in the saddle and his hands so close to my loins, I couldn’t help but let my thoughts drift to that morning. I had been deathly scared when Erik first tied me to the chair. Despite his assurance that he would not hurt me, I hadn’t believed him. I thought it was so easy to be fooled by a man who had brought me food, water, and clothes, even while I was being kept against my will. No matter how considerate Erik seemed to be at times, I still didn’t know him well, and what I did know was that he was a ruthless warrior who had a part in killing everyone I loved.

Well, perhaps “loved” was too strong of a word. Everyone I knew. Even though I was never close to my family, except possibly Odette, and even that relationship had its complications, they were still my family, the only thing I could really claim for myself. Now, they were all dead, and I could claim nothing. I was only a peasant girl being taken for a ride.

Still, the ride hadn’t been without its pleasures. When I realized Erik wasn’t going to hurt me, I learned to give into the sensation. Erik’s fingers, and later his tongue, gave me everything I had ever wanted from Marc but had failed to get. That epic release made my soul feel as if it were being freed, spilling out like feathers from a split pillow. The build-up of pressure, of the years of curiosity and yearning, had been too much for me to ignore.

But why had he done it? Why give me such pleasure only to do the same to himself? Why didn’t he just take me like most men in his situation would? I didn’t have any answers; I just hoped I’d have another chance.

Even now, with his hand so warm and masculine against my flat stomach, I couldn’t help but want his fingers to dip lower. I thought about him reaching down and subtly folding up the edges of my fine dress, stroking along my cleft in rhythm with the horse’s walk. I wanted to see what it would feel like to grow wet and swollen again from his nuanced pressure. I wanted to feel the spread of his long fingers plunging inside me.

Yet, for all I wanted it, Erik did no such thing. He kept his eyes forward and his arm tight, and we rode together toward Saint Martin.