Page 18 of Ravager

They had ridden for most of the day and stopped by a shaded river glen just before night fall. With the men running around setting up camp, Erik took Cherine away from them and made their own sleeping area along a fallen tree, its bark covered with deep green moss and lichen.

Her hands were still bound, and when she asked for him to untie her so she could do her business in the woods, he was reluctant to do. He figured she’d try and make a run for it, even in the darkness, even with nowhere to go. And he’d be lying to himself if he thought she shouldn’t. He knew the moment he would have to give her over to Rolf, she’d be in real danger. Despite the way she eyed Rolf earlier, like a child in awe, he knew that was no guarantee of the way Rolf would treat her.

But there was a part of Erik that wanted to keep her and thought that as long as she was with him, there was a chance she could be all right. Maybe Rolf would grow bored with the idea. Or, just maybe, he and Cherine could leave the Vikings behind and start a new life together. Leaving this violent life had been on Erik’s mind ever since he said goodbye to Møre.

It was probably a silly idea, no matter how many nights he lay awake examining it. It was just one that wouldn’t go away. He kept that thought in his head as he nodded at Cherine and loosened her ropes. His eyes were tight on hers, barely visible from the small fire he had built.

Please come back to me, he thought but didn’t have the courage to say.

Once released, she rubbed at the raw marks the ropes had left behind, then quickly nodded her thanks and ran off into the trees, her ruby red dress flowing behind her.

If you were a bigger man, you would have told her not to return, he told himself as he settled down on the blanket at the base of the log. A soft pile of fallen leaves provided a comfortable bed, and he suddenly felt weary with fatigue. The day had been long, the ride easy yet tiring. He tore into an apple he’d taken from one of the carts and munched on it while waiting for her to return.

Five minutes had passed before Erik started to get worried. Instead of relief at the thought of her escaping the destiny of Rolf’s clutches, he felt foolishly rejected. He thought, perhaps, she would have come back because she wanted him, needed him, maybe even liked him. He swallowed the peculiar sense of loss along with the apple, both feeling too thick to get down his throat.

Then, before he had a chance to wallow in his unwelcome feelings, Cherine was back at his side and settling down onto the blanket beside him.

“Don’t look so surprised,” she said, noting his widened eyes.

He handed her the half-eaten apple. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

“You Vikings get afraid? Now I’ve heard everything,” she said with a slight smile. She looked devilishly beautiful in the firelight, her green eyes dancing with the flames. It took all ofErik’s self-control not to kiss her right there and then. It was one thing to tie her up and force her into an orgasm, another to desire a soft kiss and jumbled thoughts of romance.

He bit his lip and busied himself by bringing out another apple and a handful of walnuts that he spread out on the space between them.

“So, tell me,” he said, cracking open a nut with only the strength of his bare hands. Her eyes opened wide. The fair maiden was impressed. “Were you betrothed to anyone?”

It was a risky question. He didn’t want to ruin the levity of the mood, but he was curious, wanting to know more about her.

She sunk back against the log, nestling her hair into the dewy moss, and gingerly accepted the piece of walnut he was holding out for her. “In a way.”

His heart sank. “Oh.”

He felt remotely guilty that the man was most likely dead, perhaps at his own hands.

She brushed her hair back behind her ear and exhaled softly. “His name was Pierre. I didn’t want to marry him, but he was the only man available and closest to my age. All the fishermen were too old or taken, and we aren’t…or we weren’t…allowed to marry outside of the estate.”

He nodded, feeling a bit better at that admission. An arranged marriage didn’t seem enviable. “How old are you?” he asked.

“How old areyou?” she countered.

“Twenty-six.”

“Eighteen.”

“That’s fairly old for a peasant to not be married. You didn’t have a lover on the side?” Now, his voice was prickling with hints of jealousy, and he chastised himself for being so obvious about it.

“Not particularly. Women get in trouble for that sort of thing.”

He searched her glowing eyes. “Ah, Christian sensibilities, yes?”

“Yes.” Her brow furrowed softly with remorse. “I had a friend, however. Marc. He was Pierre’s younger brother. And he was my only friend.”

“And you gave yourself to him?”

She looked at him sharply, and he raised one hand in a plea.

“Cherine, I know you’re not a virgin.”