His Captive Lady

But Erica could not help herself, the thoughts kept coming. Thoughts about what it would be like to kiss such a man, one with penetrating blue eyes and a well-shaped mouth that had softened more than once when he had looked at her, a powerful man with a peculiar hint of sensitivity about him. Erica had never kissed a man, not intimately. Once, Ailric had attempted to steal a kiss in the Christmas before the Normans had come, but he had come to Erica with the reek of the ale-house on his breath and she had pushed him away very quickly. Her position as thane’s daughter had spared her other men’s attentions.

As Erica watched Wulf Brader prepare for sleep, the disconcerting intimacy of their situation stole her breath, and for a moment she forgot her question. Then she remembered. She was curious about him, his background, and not just what it might be like to share a kiss with him. It was quite ridiculous that she was having carnal thoughts and most unlike her. Still, it had to be better than dwelling on her current plight—hostage to the whim of Guthlac Stigandson.

‘Wulf, you say you are but newly recruited—how came you to join Thane Guthlac?’

For a moment it seemed he was not going to respond, then he shifted and said, ‘I was brought up in the port of London, near Earl Godwine’s house in Southwark. That was where, as a boy, I originally met Thane Guthlac.’

Erica’s eyes widened. ‘Did you meet King Harold, too?’

Again, Wulf took his time answering. In the hall, the noise was lessening, save for the clatter and bang of trestles and benches as they were pushed back to the wall to make room for sleeping.

‘Yes, but I do not like to talk of those days,’ he said in a closed voice, and bent over his cross-gartering.

Erica nodded. She understood; she felt the same way herself. She also had met King Harold, both when he was an earl and, later, when he had been king. And, yes, it was indeed painful to recall former times, when a Saxon king sat on the throne of England, and when William of Normandy was but a minor princeling on the other side of the Narrow Sea. ‘We all wish King William in hell,’ she said. ‘What loyal Saxon would not?’

Wulf shot her an impenetrable look and set the leg bindings aside. ‘Goodnight, my lady.’

‘Goodnight.’

Settling down once more on his cloak, Erica composed herself for sleep.

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