to the side of
the woman's dwelling where he paused and flattened himself against the side of
her home. No alarm sounded, no hurried steps approached. He peered around the
corner and waited a moment more. No movement came from the path, and he slipped
to the door, drawing a dagger from his belt and stuck the blade between the
door and frame, silently flipping the latch inside.
Valdrik
peeped into the dwelling where light spilled through the crack. He spotted her
on the bed, asleep. Quickly, quietly, he entered and shut the door behind him.
As he crossed the room, he had to admit he was wholly unprepared for the vision
before him.
Silken
pale hair as light as the moon itself surrounded a young and beautiful face
with high cheekbones and a pert chin. Full lips parted on gentle breaths as her
breasts rose and fell just above the furs she had slung over her body.
She
was thin. Perhaps she would not be so hard to carry from here to the forest
where his horse waited. Valdrik swallowed hard, his stare lingering on the
visible path between her breasts where her vest had pulled out of place in her
slumber. He would not have thought to find her attributes desirable, but he
did.
Valdrik
replaced his dagger in his belt and then picked up the jewel-handled blade from
above her head and slipped her dagger into his belt, too. He was thankful she
had no other blade at hand. Her sword now rested at the bottom of the fjord,
and he was sure she had not forgotten
who put it there.
The
woman did not stir as he bent over her, and Valdrik pulled a cloth for her
mouth from his belt, ready to shove it between her teeth to keep her from
screaming.
As
he looked down on her, he realized how much she looked like her sister as
well—only taller, stronger. In that way, she was very much like Surguilde. His
eyes traveled the length of her slender body, and he remembered her in the
camp, the way she had fought him so viciously and without fear.
It
would not be so easy for her now.
Valdrik
clamped his hand over her mouth then, coming down to straddle her on the bed,
his legs trapping her arms to her body under the furs.
Instantaneously,
the vixen flew up against him, bucking under his weight, thrashing and trying
in vain to free her arms. She cried out against his hand, biting him as she
struggled.
Valdrik
could not help but chuckle at her attempts, the small nip on the bottom of his
hand less than intimidating. Actually, were they in other circumstances, he
might have found the sensation arousing.
He
used all his strength, pinning her solidly between him and the bed. "Be
still," he hissed, as he feared she might harm herself. Quickly, before
she bit him again, he shoved the gag into her mouth and pulled her head to his
chest as he tied the cloth against her screams, the knot winding in her hair as
she struggled to get free.
Valdrik
released her, wincing as he noticed her lip beginning to bleed anew, as the
cloth tore at the cut there. He almost felt sorry for her. He did not remember the tear in her lip being present when
he had had his scuffle with her on the bluff. It was possible her fall had
caused the cut, he supposed.
By
the gods, never had he seen such fiery eyes or such open hostility from a woman.
Especially
not from one beneath him in bed.
That
thought made him laugh at her, only stoking that fire boring holes into him
from the clearest blue eyes.
He
lifted himself just enough to pull her arms free, catching her limbs and
pinning them together with one hand before she could claw him. Valdrik pulled a
short rope from his belt and began to bind her wrists, noting the swelling of
the left one and the bluish bruise circling just above her hand.
He
had hurt her in their brief combat. He had meant to. It would do her good to
know his strength. He had a feeling not many men had taught her such a lesson.
When
he had bound her good and tight, Valdrik relieved her of his weight and came to
sit on the side of the bed. He leaned over her,
the woman's dwelling where he paused and flattened himself against the side of
her home. No alarm sounded, no hurried steps approached. He peered around the
corner and waited a moment more. No movement came from the path, and he slipped
to the door, drawing a dagger from his belt and stuck the blade between the
door and frame, silently flipping the latch inside.
Valdrik
peeped into the dwelling where light spilled through the crack. He spotted her
on the bed, asleep. Quickly, quietly, he entered and shut the door behind him.
As he crossed the room, he had to admit he was wholly unprepared for the vision
before him.
Silken
pale hair as light as the moon itself surrounded a young and beautiful face
with high cheekbones and a pert chin. Full lips parted on gentle breaths as her
breasts rose and fell just above the furs she had slung over her body.
She
was thin. Perhaps she would not be so hard to carry from here to the forest
where his horse waited. Valdrik swallowed hard, his stare lingering on the
visible path between her breasts where her vest had pulled out of place in her
slumber. He would not have thought to find her attributes desirable, but he
did.
Valdrik
replaced his dagger in his belt and then picked up the jewel-handled blade from
above her head and slipped her dagger into his belt, too. He was thankful she
had no other blade at hand. Her sword now rested at the bottom of the fjord,
and he was sure she had not forgotten
who put it there.
The
woman did not stir as he bent over her, and Valdrik pulled a cloth for her
mouth from his belt, ready to shove it between her teeth to keep her from
screaming.
As
he looked down on her, he realized how much she looked like her sister as
well—only taller, stronger. In that way, she was very much like Surguilde. His
eyes traveled the length of her slender body, and he remembered her in the
camp, the way she had fought him so viciously and without fear.
It
would not be so easy for her now.
Valdrik
clamped his hand over her mouth then, coming down to straddle her on the bed,
his legs trapping her arms to her body under the furs.
Instantaneously,
the vixen flew up against him, bucking under his weight, thrashing and trying
in vain to free her arms. She cried out against his hand, biting him as she
struggled.
Valdrik
could not help but chuckle at her attempts, the small nip on the bottom of his
hand less than intimidating. Actually, were they in other circumstances, he
might have found the sensation arousing.
He
used all his strength, pinning her solidly between him and the bed. "Be
still," he hissed, as he feared she might harm herself. Quickly, before
she bit him again, he shoved the gag into her mouth and pulled her head to his
chest as he tied the cloth against her screams, the knot winding in her hair as
she struggled to get free.
Valdrik
released her, wincing as he noticed her lip beginning to bleed anew, as the
cloth tore at the cut there. He almost felt sorry for her. He did not remember the tear in her lip being present when
he had had his scuffle with her on the bluff. It was possible her fall had
caused the cut, he supposed.
By
the gods, never had he seen such fiery eyes or such open hostility from a woman.
Especially
not from one beneath him in bed.
That
thought made him laugh at her, only stoking that fire boring holes into him
from the clearest blue eyes.
He
lifted himself just enough to pull her arms free, catching her limbs and
pinning them together with one hand before she could claw him. Valdrik pulled a
short rope from his belt and began to bind her wrists, noting the swelling of
the left one and the bluish bruise circling just above her hand.
He
had hurt her in their brief combat. He had meant to. It would do her good to
know his strength. He had a feeling not many men had taught her such a lesson.
When
he had bound her good and tight, Valdrik relieved her of his weight and came to
sit on the side of the bed. He leaned over her,
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