Chapter 8

With his left hand gripping the wall, Rangvald pulled himself to his feet. Heaving for breath, he did his best to endure the pain crushing his torso. The endless remedies foisted upon him were supposed to help, yet there seemed no end to his suffering. Even the smallest movement was a torment, but there was no one here to see him wince or hear his grunts of discomfort as he held himself upright.

He stared at where his jarl had just been standing. Eldberg's visit, although welcomed, had only brought more discord. Eldberg wanted Rangvald to soften his approach toward Elin, ensnaring her support for their journey home, but Rangvald was resolved, and he'd told Eldberg as much—men were not made to mollify.

He respected Eldberg's scheme to entrap his wench, Hedda. By his jarl's account, the plan was working well for him. His woman had warmed to her lover, and Eldberg's tone spoke of his growing affection for her as well. He still hadn't revealed his intention to leave the island, though.

Rangvald, however, could not concur with Eldberg's approach. He would not ingratiate himself to Elin to gain her favor, then ultimately trick her.

He believed there was a better way.

Certainly, he liked the look of the woman who tended to him. Her curves were appealing and her face most fair, but her relentless tongue was infuriating, as was her refusal to surrender to his will.

He could not abide any wench who consistently denied his dominance, and while he could imagine a path forward with Elin, if she would not submit, then he'd leave this place without her.

Eldberg had not been pleased to hear Rangvald's view. His jarl placed much hope on his ploy to fool these women, using the wenches to aid their escape. Rangvald could only find it demeaning—for a man to lower himself to twisting the truth. Why should he lie to appease a woman? Better to lay down the law and be done with it.

No doubt, it was easier for Eldberg. As jarl, he expected everyone to yield to his way of thinking. There had been moments of strained silence as the two exchanged views, Eldberg presumably expecting Rangvald to capitulate, but on such a personal matter, Rangvald could not. He admired his jarl and had served Eldberg loyally, but he would neither pretend to be someone he wasn't nor stoop to deceive.

If Elin was unwilling to submit to his dominance, he would leave her be. One thing he would never do was coerce her devotion. Nor would he take her against her will. The thought was repellent.

No woman should suffer the way his mother had…

Neither would he feign feelings for Elin. If she was the kind of wench who found no pleasure in submission, then their paths were not destined to entwine.

Several times, he was sure he'd witnessed desire in her eyes—a need to serve him in more ways than as merely his nurse. He'd thought he'd seen in her a woman he could protect and adore, but evidently, he'd been wrong. They were not well suited; there seemed to be no part of her that longed for a man's mastery.

‘Tis her loss.

Only hers? His jaw stiffened. It was a loss to them both. She was an alluring woman, one he'd happily make his, if only she would learn to kneel.

To Rangvald, the order of these things was clear. Women were made to open and receive, whereas men were designed to shield and command. He would look after her in every way imaginable, but first, she had to accept his orders. Rangvald had no need for a lover who would fight and resist. His heart, or whatever was left of one, only quickened for a woman prepared to surrender.

He sighed, edging toward the place where she oft sat to prepare food and medicines.

If she yields, there may be hope for us…

His thoughts returned to one pertinent point made by his jarl. For some reason unexplained, it seemed the men of this island had long since departed, leaving the women alone and unable to procreate. That explained Elin's initial desperation to ride his staff and her saltiness at his refusal to engage.

The wench sought his shaft to make an infant; without him, she would be barren. Shifting his back to rest upon the wall, he considered how he felt on that score but was soon interrupted by Elin's reappearance.

Her eyes widened at finding him standing. "You're up!"

"Ja." He bit down on a wave of pain. It rose and fell like the ocean, sometimes rampant and sometimes more subdued, but always there. "‘Tis time I found my feet."

"I'm pleased to see it." The crease upon her brow suggested otherwise. "But ‘twas unwise when there is none here to aid you. If you were to fall…" She made toward him, her gaze searching his as she neared.

He noticed how her face flushed.

"I cannot lie still all the day, brooding. Besides which, I'm of a mind to make myself useful." It was the closest to an apology Rangvald was prepared to offer. He'd spent long enough wallowing in woe. Meanwhile, Eldberg and the others were already busying themselves around the island. It frustrated Rangvald to be the invalid of their group.

"You might feel better if you were not so foul to me…" She'd seemed about to take his arm, to guide him to sit perhaps, but she now drew back a little. "I've done naught to deserve it."

"Ja, well…" A pang of something close to remorse twisted in his chest. He had been cruel, and ‘twas true she'd done little to merit his spite. "You and I see things differently."

"Ha!" she snorted. "That's one way of putting it!"

He tensed at her mocking tone. Small in stature, Elin might be, but her defiant eyes revealed an inner steel. She was not the sort of wench to be mesmerized by seductive words, whatever Eldberg might think. Rangvald suspected she was as shrewd as she was unyielding. The idea was unexpected and oddly appealing.

"Do not deride me." His tone, although hard, was playful. "One-armed or not, I'm strong enough to tan your hide."

She fought back a smile. "Now, why would you do that?"

"To put you in your place." Slowly, he raised his hand to stroke her blushing cheek. "And perhaps to ready you for more."

What was he doing? Had he not just reconciled himself that he should sail without her rather than compel her into an unsatisfying union?

Yet as he leaned closer, cradling her face with his palm, he caught the sweet scent of her hair. Leaving the island without better knowing Elin would trouble him. She mightn't naturally surrender, but beneath her snappishness, he sensed a yearning in her for something more. A new energy seemed to flow between them. Despite all, was she eager for his touch and his instruction?

"More?" Her eyes fluttered closed. "I thought you would offer no more until I called you meistari?"

Her breaths came faster, and he wondered whether she viewed the prospect with suspicion or intrigue. Certainly, she hadn't yet tried to push away his hand. ‘Twas a promising sign.

"You wish to see what a life with me as your meistari would be like?" His staff stiffened at the prospect. His right arm remained weak and bound, but he could administer a playful spanking with his left, and his tongue was eager to give her pleasure. "If you but demonstrate that respect, I swear to worship you."

"You mean to spank me?" Her concern was evident, but he saw more than fear in her eyes.

"Not as admonishment," he reassured. "Only to see if the burn upon your backside fuels your passion."

"Are there women who… enjoy such treatment?" Her voice was hardly a whisper. She was evidently agitated and uncertain but was thinking of how it would feel.

"Ja." His fingers shifted to her hair, smoothing back stray strands. "I have known many, but none as fair as you." He hadn't intended to offer such honeyed words, but staring into her eyes, he found he meant them. Elin was beautiful, and she'd endured enough of his sullen moods and sharp tongue.

"But your arm… will the act not pain you?" She gestured worriedly to his injury.

The mere fact she was considering his suggestion thrilled him. If she ceded to his pretend punishment, he would come to know her better, and she would know more of him. There was a strange comfort in that knowledge. Even if the gratification led no further, he longed for it over the endless silences and spiked exchanges.

"In order to enjoy pleasure, sometimes we can endure a little pain." He tightened his clasp of her hair. "I would like to see if you agree."

"I've never thought of it until now…" Once more, her words died in her throat, but he felt the heat rising between them.

It was real then—not merely a craving of his own making, but one she shared?

When he'd demanded she call him her master, he'd been callous and cold. Now, the connection between them warmed him. The prattle and sniping were to be replaced by something far more satisfying.

At last, she was succumbing to his will. Had he ever been so stirred? If she but let down her guard, offering him a taste of her submission, he'd ensure she was well rewarded. He was keen to hear her say the words.

"So… will you surrender to my palm, little Elin?"

The quiet in the room engulfed him. Only the crackling fire and her labored breaths were audible.

Finally, she delivered her soft reply. "Ja, Rangvald." Her smile was impish, as if the dark elves danced in her eyes. "I will not call you meistari, but I say yes to your plan."