Naughty Temptations

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

She closed her eyes, praying to whatever deities might be listening that something would happen to spare her this. Even so, when rescue did come, she barely believed it.

She felt the thunder of hoofbeats through the ground before she saw or heard anything else. Her captors were so fascinated by her naked body, they failed to notice even when the sound of approaching horses became audible. By the time they looked up and prepared to fight, it was too late.

The leader of the group of horsemen surveyed the scene quickly and gave them all a disdainful glare. He didn’t even bother to draw the sword strapped to his side. Fianna pulled the remains of her clothes back over her body as soon as the men released her hands, but she still colored when Henrik stared at her.

“I regret that I interrupt your recreation,” he said to her tormentors. “But I have need of the lady’s services.”

Fianna couldn’t help staring at him. In sunlight, the man’s handsome face, straight carriage, and a natural air of command made him even more striking. His expression, though, was tight and hard, promising no kindness, very different from the way he’d looked the last time she’d seen him. What had happened to rouse that fierce glare? A frisson of unease crawled up her spine, and she shook despite her efforts to remain still.

The three men who’d been her late captors stirred.

“She’s no lady,” Jerrod said. “She’s a witch.”

“We have need of her services as well,” Artur protested at the same time. “And were about to avail ourselves of them. You’ve had your time with her. Give us an hour and then come back and get her.”

Henrik’s expression showed no change. “I know what she is. I cannot wait for you to finish this business.” He turned to her. “I need you to come with me.”

“Why?” Fianna asked. Was it possible that he did want her—enough to take her this way? The Norse raiders were notorious for their s****l appetites and for taking what they wanted whenever they wanted. Still, Hjalmar and his son, Henrik, had been restrained and had even intervened in a case where a woman had been forcibly taken from her family by one of his men. And he would surely know that even now he had only to ask to get her to come to him.

Artur said, “The lady doesn’t want to go with you.”

He had read her hesitation correctly, but he misjudged the strength of her hatred for them and what they’d tried to do.

Henrik threw Artur another disdainful look and then ignored him, focusing his attention on Fianna. He watched her struggle to hold her dress together for a minute, then reached up, removed his cloak, and tossed it to her. Fianna wrapped it around herself, grateful for both the coverage and the warmth. She’d begun to shiver with reaction as much as the chill. The garment bore his scent.

“Come with me,” Henrik repeated, and it wasn’t an invitation.

Fianna shrugged, trying not to let the hope rouse. “Why do you want me?”

“We need a healer.”

She wasn’t disappointed. No reason she should have expected anything else. It was a struggle to keep her emotions in check and her face blank. She nodded. “Then it would be wise to let me collect some things before we go.”

Henrik considered that for a moment. “So be it.”

She nodded. Her late tormentors stood watching the interchange. Artur still held her dagger. He didn’t protest or resist when she walked over to him, took it out of his hand, and replaced it in the sheath at her side.

Two of Henrik’s men dismounted and came to her. She turned away and started to lead the way on foot, but one of them put a hand on her shoulder. “Ride,” he said firmly. “Come.”

Sensing that they would brook no refusal, Fianna went with them to the group, looking for a riderless horse. She was shocked when the two men on foot suddenly took her and lifted her onto the back of Henrik’s mount, without giving her any warning or time to prepare. They ignored her shriek of surprise.

Her companion turned his horse. Fianna gasped and put an arm around his waist to steady herself, but was able to relax a bit when the horse settled into an easy walk. She didn’t move her arm, though. Her hand rested against his flat stomach, and there was something both soothing and exciting about the contact. Although his shoulders were broad and substantial, his waist was much leaner. Beneath the leather jerkin, she felt the play of hard muscle there. She didn’t look back, but she felt the glares of her late captors follow her as they left the area.

The party of five horsemen drew considerable attention riding through the small village. People stepped aside, stopped, stared, and pointed, muttering among themselves. Neither Henrik nor any of his party paid notice to it. Instead he led the group to her cottage.

Marla heard the clatter and came outside to peer at the arrivals. Her expression changed from alarm to puzzlement when she saw Fianna being assisted from the horse by one of the Norsemen. “What is happening?” she asked as Fianna approached. The woman’s gaze swung back and forth between the grim-faced horsemen and her young friend. “Your clothes! Did they—?”

“Not them. Come inside with me.” Fianna took the older woman’s arm. “I need to pack a bag. They need a healer.”

“Ah. And did they ask you?”

“Nay, but I haven’t been coerced, either. Indeed they rescued me in a sense.” She told Marla about the men who’d nearly r***d her.

The woman sighed. “I’ve spoken to Tom Miller about his son before, but he will not curb him. Those boys will not give up easily and will cause you more grief. Girl, you must find someone who can protect you or settle on one of them. That is the Jarl’s son you shared horse with, no? The one who companioned you on the equinox night.”

“Aye, but harbor not any romantic notions concerning him.”

“He has no wife here, I’m told.”

“He’s a Norseman.”

“And a strong man. Well-favored, also. You could do worse.”

“I could not do it at all. Why should he have any interest in me but for a pleasant night’s dalliance?”

“For the same reason those other young men do, Fianna. I know you have no vanity yourself, but your looks will draw men. Perhaps even that young Viking, do you exert yourself but a bit. You cannot go on as you’ve been doing. It might be better for you to find some other place to settle if you will not have one of the men here.”

“Nay, I know.” Fianna pulled off the ruined dress and slid on an older one she’d recently mended. “They might well have killed me after using me this afternoon. I don’t want to leave here, Marla. Where would I go? What would you do without me to help you? I am needed here.” She tied the ribbons on the dress and set her girdle with the leather sheath back over it. Then she gathered a cloth bag and began to choose what she might need.

“I’ll survive, dear,” Marla said, handing her pouches of herbs to put into slots in the cloth bag Fianna was loading. “And so will most in this village, if you do leave.”

A growing rumble of voices and tromp of feet swelled into a commotion outside. Fianna wondered if the Norsemen were having an argument with people from the town. That wasn’t it, though, as she learned moments later, when three of the town elders, followed by assorted others, crowded into the main room of Marla’s home.

Alfred, the most prosperous and influential merchant in town, stepped to the front of the group and stared at her. Fianna spied Keovan lurking behind several of the older men.

Alfred watched her for a moment longer. “The situation grows intolerable,” he informed her. “Long have you been a disruptive influence with your arrogant refusal to choose any man in town to partner you. Too much like your mother, you are. You have come close to inciting some of the young men of this town to violence. Just today, I understand, there was trouble. You’re disrupting too many lives, Fianna, Eislinn’s daughter. This cannot continue.”

The man paused and looked around the room as though waiting for someone to contradict him.

“I agree,” Fianna answered. “Three men nearly forced me this afternoon. They need to be warned that such behavior is not tolerated.”

Alfred looked surprised but recovered. “I’ll be speaking to them about it,” he promised. “But there is an argument that your refusal to take any of them continues to injure and wound them, inciting them to uncharacteristic acts. This cannot go on. You, Fianna, must do your part to stop it.”

“And that part is?” she asked.

“You must marry. And soon. I’ll not tell you who to choose, but I declare this. You have until the eve of May Day, the night the Norsemen celebrate Walpurgis, to make your choice. Have you not agreed to wed with some man, you’ll have to leave the village that night and not return, on pain of death.” For the first time his expression showed some distress. “I do not like having to pronounce this doom or force you to this,” he said. “But the need for peace in the town compels me to it. You must decide whose suit to accept and cease tormenting the young men of this town.” Alfred looked at her. “Do you understand what you must do?”

She stared back at him. “Aye,” she answered on a sighing breath. “Because they cannot control themselves as reasonable men are normally expected to do, I must sacrifice my freedom to live my life as I would. This is a strange justice.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “It is perhaps not entirely fair to you,” he admitted. He drew a breath and his face hardened. “It is nonetheless necessary. You are a woman, and so must be subject to a man. That is how it must be.”

“I see,” she agreed, wanting to argue further, yet recognizing the futility of it.

“Very well. We’ll await your decision.” The man nodded to her and to Marla, then turned to leave, signaling that the others should go with him.

Marla’s face showed compassion when she turned to Fianna. “I’m sorry it has come to this for you. I know there are few good choices.”

Fianna shrugged and resumed packing her bag of medicines. “I suppose I could agree to marry Jerrod or Artur or Keovan. Not a one of them thrills me, but I could reach accommodation with one, I suppose. I know not how to choose among them, though.”

“There are other possibilities, no?”

Fianna shrugged. “Walter, the stablehand. He’s slow, but strong enough.”

“My cow’s smarter than Walter. And he’s too young anyway.”

“I’m sure I could get a proposal from Densley, the old cooper.”

Marla shook her head. “Too old. He’s doddering. He’d fall over dead from the shock did you make a move toward him.”

Fianna sighed, closed the bag, and hung it on her shoulder. “I’ll think on it.” She glanced outside and saw the Norsemen still waited there. “I know not what exactly the Norsemen want of me so I cannot say how long ’twill take.”

“Take care of yourself,” Marla said.

Fianna nodded to her and went back outside. Two Norsemen approached the door but stopped when they saw her emerge. Again they accompanied her to their leader’s horse and helped her mount behind him.

She strained to get a better look at Henrik’s face in the brief moments before she was raised up to the horse, searching for the warm, caring lover she’d known. His strong features were set in a stern expression that didn’t soften as he watched her. His blue-gray eyes were cool, the arched brows drawn into a scowl. No hint of warmth or sympathy showed in that handsome face.

Fianna shivered when she settled into place behind him. The blond hair that hung to his shoulders rippled with gold highlights in the sunshine, clean and tangle-free. The scent of leather mixed with a hint of soap and something potently masculine coming from him. That smell set her senses ablaze with memory. Yet something had changed since last she had seen him, to set the sternness so firmly in place on his features. Or perhaps he just dared not show any sympathy or kindness to her, lest it be taken for weakness by the men he commanded.

The trip didn’t take long, thank goodness, since she was far from comfortable in that position. The Norsemen’s settlement was only a short distance from her town. She’d never been there before, however, and looked around curiously as the party rode into the center of a grouping of ten or so houses. Two of them were very long buildings built of wood, raised off the ground on enormous poles, with straw-thatched roofs. The others were smaller versions of the longhouses, scattered in a rough half-circle around an open area where children played and people gathered to talk.

A small crowd of men and boys emerged from one of the longhouses to meet them. Several boys took charge of the horses as the men dismounted. The same two who’d helped her onto the horse assisted her off as well, and supported her when her legs wobbled.

Henrik ignored her and turned immediately toward one of the smaller buildings. Her companions moved to follow, still holding her arms, so she went with them.

Enough light flowed in the window openings of the house to let her see clearly the interior. In one corner an older man sat, whittling on a piece of wood. He wore an intimidating frown. She’d seen Hjalmar only once before, but despite the greater years, the resemblance Henrik bore him was clear. A woman stirred a pot hung over the fire on that wall, releasing an aroma that reminded Fianna she hadn’t eaten for a while. She doubted they would offer her food. At least not right away, and not if the mission they’d summoned her for could be accomplished quickly.

Henrik went over to the old man, bowed toward him, then folded himself onto a low stool and began talking. Fianna knew only a few words of the Norse tongue, and none of them helped her distinguish what they were saying. But more than once they turned to look at her. The old man argued and waved a hand in a way that showed he wasn’t happy. Finally, though, they seemed to come to an agreement.

Henrik stood. As he turned toward her, he drew his sword from its scabbard and pointed it at her.

Fianna couldn’t move. Shock held her firmly in place at first, then the realization that she could do little about the situation. If he wanted to kill her, she couldn’t prevent it. Better she face him with courage than with sniveling pleas or cowering fear, though she had no idea why this was happening.

Man and sword advanced on her until the point was no more than an inch from her breast. She looked up and met his light eyes. Fierce emotion blazed there, but it wasn’t anger or hatred.

She held his gaze as she asked, “Why?”

He ignored her question. “Turn around,” he said.

Fianna debated refusing but couldn’t see anything to gain by it. She turned. He was suddenly beside her, the sword pointed down. With his left hand, he took her arm and led her to a panel that walled off about a third of the building into a separate room. Henrik pushed aside a length of cloth draped over the opening into it, and waited for her to go in.

A rough mat covered in linen cloths took up nearly half the floor space. A man lay stretched out on it. Pain drew his face into harsh lines and printed dark shadows under his sunken eyes. His hair would have been the same bright golden blond as Henrik’s save that it was matted with sweat and mud. In fact, when healthy, she suspected the man would look quite a lot like Henrik. But he was far from healthy. His skin looked grayish, and his breath gasped in and out too loudly.

“What’s wrong with him?” Fianna asked. She began to understand why they’d brought her here.

Suddenly the sword came up, and its point came to rest against her breast. “You will heal him,” Henrik said.

“I’ll try,” Fianna answered, “but even I can only—”

“You heal him or you die.”