Rolfe drew his mount up short the moment he saw Elswyth with Domnall, heir to the Scots King. Her eyes were round with terror. The sleeve of her dress was torn and much of her hair had fallen from her usually tidy braid, but otherwise she looked whole and unharmed. Domnall stood behind her with a dagger at her throat. It was only one of the many reasons Rolfe wanted to see him dead.
‘You’ve taken my wife, Domnall. You will die for the crime.’
Domnall’s laugh sent a chill through Rolfe’s body. It was said the man was touched in the head and, looking at him now, Rolfe could believe it. His eyes were those of a man unconcerned with his current situation, which was an unbelievable show of arrogance in one so young and undermanned. Rolfe knew that he had at most twenty men. Aevir had split off a while back and had managed to pick off a few, but the rest were probably spread out in the shadowed dawn, watching them. Rolfe had ten men at his back, the rest silently closing in from the other sides. Domnall had to know Rolfe would come with more than ten men.
‘If I die, then so does she.’ Domnall pressed the tip of the blade closer to her tender neck, drawing a bead of blood. However, Elswyth didn’t flinch, she stared at Rolfe as if attempting to warn him with her eyes.
Rolfe wanted nothing more than to attack and pull her away from Domnall. He’d take her in his arms and thank the gods she was safe while vowing to never let her out of his protection again. But he couldn’t think of that now. First, he had to get her away from the madman.
‘Why were you on Alvey lands? It’s an act of war,’ Rolfe said, attempting to distract the man while showing no sign of the rage that pounded through him at the sight of his wife’s blood.
‘We’re already at war, Dane. You know that. The truth is that I didn’t come with the intention of taking such a prize, but I’m glad to have found her.’ He ran his hand over her torso, from her breast to her hip. Elswyth’s wrists were tied in front of her but she still managed to send a sharp elbow into Domnall’s side.
Domnall grunted and tightened his arm around her in what looked to be a merciless grip.
‘I doubt you could handle her.’ Rolfe forced an unconcerned grin.
‘It seems that you couldn’t handle her either. What was your wife doing wandering the forest on her own in the night? Did she get away from you or was she going on a spy’s mission to report to her family?’
‘She’s no spy and it’s none of your concern what she was doing unaccompanied. Hand her over and I might let you live.’
Domnall laughed again. ‘Your words are very compelling, but I’ll keep her. I quite like her. Had I known Godric’s spy was such a beauty, I’d have demanded he give her to me as a sign of his loyalty rather than the bloodstone.’
The words were so odd, that Rolfe had to ask. ‘What bloodstone?’ From across the distance he met Elswyth’s gaze and the guilt shining out at him nearly stole his breath. He didn’t want to believe it was his bloodstone, but there was no denying the pained way she looked at him, as if her heart was breaking this very moment.
Domnall shifted her slightly to the side, revealing the stone fastened to his cloak. A surge of blinding anger tore through Rolfe. It was the same stone he’d brought home, set in the same gold-filigree design. It was supposed to be in the chest beneath his bed.
The guilt stamped into her features told him that Elswyth had taken it. When? Had she delivered it tonight? Was that the true reason for her mad dash in the middle of the night?
If he’d had any doubt about her guilt, he only had to look back to his wife to see the way her face scrunched with pain—or perhaps it was anger that her game had been found out—and the way she would not meet his gaze. It was clear that she had used him and chosen her family in the end. He had allowed his feelings for her to blind him to her true character. First Hilde and now his wife. He let out a bitter laugh.
He didn’t want it to make sense, but it all came together perfectly. Her family had wanted her to wed him, probably in an attempt to eventually control him, or at the very least to gain insight to his plans. It was the perfect plan, because she was so unlike any seductress he’d ever come across. Instead of using pretty words and her body, she had used her innocence to seduce him.
The breath wheezed out of him in a hiss. The lies she’d fed him hurt far worse than the theft. Hilde had left him broken, but Elswyth’s betrayal cut far deeper. Down to his core where it mangled him.
‘Do you recognise it?’ Domnall’s voice had turned bitter. ‘You took it from my bastard brother after you ran him through with your sword.’
The anger was followed by a very real and a very hated surge of fear that the man would kill her before Rolfe could save her. Rolfe shouldn’t care any more. He didn’t want to care, but he couldn’t stop himself. Not yet. Perhaps soon he would be able to wrest control of the flicker of tenderness that still lingered for her and extinguish it like the hated spark that it was, but for now it was there and he could no more put it out than he could allow it to live.
Despite her crimes, she didn’t deserve to die for them. He could devise a far better punishment than death. Besides, like it or not she was his wife and he’d vowed to protect her, to give his life for hers if need be. He’d honour that commitment.
‘Aye, I recognise it.’ He did not, however, recognise his own voice. It had gone soft and menacing with a raw thread he’d never heard in it before.
‘Shall I cut off her cloth?’ Domnall ran his dagger up her neck and over her jaw, coming to a stop on the cloth that had been put between her lips and pulled cruelly around to the back of her head and tied so tight that it bit into the tender flesh of her cheeks. ‘She can tell us how she came to have it and how she delivered it. Perhaps she could also tell you how we came to know where your sentries were so that we could avoid them.’
She finally deigned to meet his gaze again and Rolfe held it, refusing to allow her to hide from him. He’d get answers from her, but it wouldn’t be with Domnall watching. It would be when they were alone and he would get the truth from her whether she wanted to tell him or not.
Elswyth could hardly bear the stone-hard hatred she saw in Rolfe’s face. This was the commander she knew lingered beneath the surface of the man she had come to love. This was the enemy warrior capable of violence. It was not the man who had smiled at her so tenderly, nor the man who had whispered deliciously wicked things in her ear as he’d come inside her. This man was as cold and beautiful as the moors in winter, with hard plains and jagged edges that were as beautiful as they were inhospitable.
As the coldness of his gaze crawled inside her, making her shiver even harder, she had to wonder if he would even try to get her back from Domnall. He looked as if he could turn and leave without even giving her a second thought. And why wouldn’t he? They were very possibly in Alba. Domnall had won. Any attempt to get her back now would be an act of aggression that would likely bring retaliation to Alvey. He knew she had stolen from him and she couldn’t use her voice to tell him that Domnall lied about her supplying the Scots with information. Why would he want her? If she wasn’t so exhausted and heartsore, she might have cried again.
‘Nay,’ Rolfe finally said, answering the question she had nearly forgotten hung in the air. ‘I do not care to hear from her. Tell me what you want to give her back to me.’
She would have tumbled to the ground with relief had Domnall’s grip on her waist not have been so tight she could barely breathe. It was a short-lived relief, however. She barely wanted to face Rolfe any more than she wanted to go with Domnall at the moment.
‘You still want her, knowing she’s a traitor?’
Despite herself, Elswyth stiffened, bracing herself for the answer.
‘I want her because she’s my wife. You will pay for taking her, Scot.’
It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Rolfe wanted her back because the slight of taking a wife could not go unseen. It had nothing to do with her. He probably hated her. If the coldness in his eyes was an indication, he did hate her. She wanted to go back to the day before her father had come, when everything had been good between them and she’d been falling in love with her husband. She was afraid that now they could never go back. Nothing could change what either of them had done. She had lost both her family and her husband.
‘Have you harmed her?’ Rolfe asked.
‘You mean have I taken her?’ Domnall replied. ‘Not yet.’
From somewhere in the deep shadows of the nearby trees a piercing cry broke through the silence that had fallen. Rolfe didn’t react, but Domnall stiffened behind her. She didn’t know how he knew, but it appeared they all assumed it was a Scot calling out as he lost his life. It was followed by another one on the opposite side. Rolfe’s men had them surrounded. Domnall began to subtly tremble behind her while Rolfe looked on.
‘Let her go and I’ll give you a head start,’ Rolfe said.
The sharp tip of the dagger pressed harder into her neck. A warm trickle of blood oozed out of the tiny puncture to slide down her neck. Before she knew what was happening, Domnall was pulling her backwards. Her feet stumbled over the uneven ground and she slipped a bit, but tried to hold her neck away from the blade’s point. Rolfe and his men didn’t move. They stayed vigilant.
Finally Domnall made it to where his horse was waiting. He mounted, half-pulling her up with him, so that she draped over the side of the horse facing Rolfe. ‘Dismount!’ the Scot yelled.
Rolfe and his men slowly moved to comply, but as soon as they did Domnall pushed her away and took off. His horse went flying off into the grey morning. Elswyth landed with a painful crash, her head throbbing and her limbs shaking as she rested on her hands and knees.
Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. She knew without looking that it was Rolfe, she would know his touch anywhere. Though his face and eyes were still hard, he did keep his touch gentle as he cut the binding around her head. Hooves thundered past them on either side as his men set off after Domnall, but Rolfe stayed calm as he looked her over. ‘Did he hurt you?’
She shook her head. ‘Nothing that won’t heal quickly.’ Her tongue felt swollen and slow from having the cloth shoved in her mouth.
Rolfe turned back to Sleipnir and pulled a skein of water off his back, pressing it to her lips. She drank greedily, some of the water trickling down her chin to moisten the front of her dress. When she’d had her fill, he took it away to replace the stopper and she brought her bound hands up to wipe the water away.
‘How did you know they had me?’
‘We got word of the Scots being sighted as I was planning to ride out after I discovered you missing. We followed your path towards Banford and came across Gyllir.’
‘Is she hurt?’ Elswyth had been so worried for the gentle horse, not having seen what had happened to her after being taken.
‘She has a slight limp, but it looked to be minor. We found where you had come across the Scots and it was a simple matter to follow them here.’ He spoke without emotion. She could have been anyone he had saved in keeping with his duty.
‘Thank you, Rolfe. I... I wasn’t certain that you’d want to have me back.’
He paused briefly in tying the skein to his saddle, but then he finished the task and looked back at her. She could not tell what he was thinking or feeling. Perhaps saving her hadn’t meant he’d wanted to have her back at all.
‘Would you untie me?’ She held up her wrists to remind him, but he merely looked at them. His face was impassive and her stomach sank. ‘Am...am I a prisoner?’
‘Did you steal the bloodstone from me?’
She swallowed, hating the answer that she had to give. She hated that she had taken it. If she had to do it all over again... She closed her eyes and put that useless thought away. Nothing could change the past. ‘Rolfe, I—’
His hard voice cut off her words. ‘Tell me “aye” or “nay”.’ His tone brooked no argument, drawing her gaze to his impassive face.
‘Aye,’ she said, her voice a little more than a whisper.
‘Then you’re a prisoner.’ His words were flat as he turned to pull a fur that had been wrapped up behind his saddle. He shook it out and wrapped it around her shoulders, his movements as impersonal as if she were a stranger. Though his hands moved up and down her arms to help warm her faster and get her blood flowing, there was nothing to hint at the tenderness or the passion they had shared.
‘What will you do with me?’ she managed to ask as he boosted her on to his horse.
He didn’t say a word as he mounted behind her and turned Sleipnir around, heading south towards Alvey’s border. His left arm hooked around her waist to keep her stable. Her body felt so tired and she trembled from the cold that had seeped deep into the marrow of her bones that she wasn’t certain she’d be able to stay up without his assistance.
‘Rolfe, you must know that I only took it because—’
‘Enough! I can’t talk to you now.’ The bitterness in his voice was the only outward sign of the deep anger burning inside him.
Rolfe despised how good she felt in his arms. After a day and nearly two sleepless nights without her, he’d longed only to have her in his arms again, to hold her against him and know that she was safe and his. It didn’t seem to matter that he had learned she had used him ruthlessly for her own purposes. He knew that and his anger burned so hot that he could scarcely contain it, but his heart and his body hadn’t yet caught up to his mind. They craved her with the intensity of an animal too long separated from its mate. So he allowed himself this time to hold her. They should reach Banford by afternoon and then that would be the end. He’d turn her over to Vidar and she would have to answer for her crimes just like anyone else.
At first she’d tried to hold herself stiffly against him, but soon the motion of the horse became too much for her exhaustion and she slumped forward. That was to be expected. More concerning was the fact that she had yet to stop trembling. The sound of her teeth chattering along with the occasional sounds of Sleipnir’s huffs of breath was the only thing that broke through the stillness of the morning.
‘Elswyth?’ He hoped to rouse her, thinking that even though they were in a hurry, he should make her walk a bit to get her blood flowing again. She didn’t stir, so he repeated her name a bit louder and with more authority. When she still didn’t rouse, a flicker of fear moved through him.
A few years ago he’d been to the Great North with a group hunting the great white bears that lived there. They’d been besieged by a snow storm and had sought shelter, but it hadn’t stopped a few of them from being overtaken with the cold. They’d shivered uncontrollably even after they’d found the warmth of the fire. Two of them had fallen asleep and never revived. It had been much colder then, but those men had been stout and large-boned. Elswyth was smaller framed and more delicate and she’d been without a fur for at least a day and a night with steady snow. A twinge of guilt tightened his chest uncomfortably. Her clothing was the same as that she had come to him with, barely adequate for winter, much less the extended exposure she’d endured. They hadn’t had time to commission new clothing for her in heavier fabrics. Or perhaps there had been time, he simply hadn’t seen clothing her as a priority when he’d wanted her without her clothes as much as possible.
Allowing Sleipnir his head, he pulled the knife from his boot and cut the bindings at her wrists. Then he turned her in his arms to see her pale face and the faint blue shadows around her lips and beneath her eyes. ‘Saxon,’ he called.
She shifted and the relief he felt nearly sent him falling to the ground.
‘Saxon, talk to me,’ he said, unable to stop himself from cupping her cheek. It was nearly as cold as the snow.
‘Dane.’ It was the softest whisper, but it brought a smile to his face none the less. He found the pulse in her neck and breathed another sigh of relief when it was strong and steady beneath his fingers. ‘So tired and cold,’ she mumbled, seeking the heat of his body and turning into him. ‘Please can I sleep?’
‘Aye, Saxon. I’ll keep you safe.’ He held her against his chest and pulled away her fur, tucking her against him so that only their clothes were between them. She needed as much heat from his body as she could get. Then he wrapped his fur around them both and tucked hers around her so that she was doubly protected. The new position hindered their speed, but they were still able to make slow and steady progress. He checked her often to make certain she wasn’t slipping into a deeper sleep. Each time the strong beat of her pulse reassured him.