She’d worn it just in case the Northmen left her out in the elements. For all she knew, she might have to sleep on the ground in the open, and the sea breezes turned cool even in the summer.
As if reading her mind, Alaric shifted his gaze to the cloak. “Cold?”
“Nay,” she said quickly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “But…I know not how long I will be forced to remain with you.”
She dragged her gaze up and held his eyes boldly, a silent challenge in them. She must make it clear early on that she would not be pushed over like a reed in the wind. She was not here by choice, but she would maintain her dignity in the process. She was a chieftain’s daughter, and soon to be a King’s wife.
“You are engaged.”
Again, it was as if Alaric could see into her mind and discern her thoughts with ease. But unlike his question about her cloak, which had been subtly playful, now his eyes were dark and searching.
“Aye.”
“To whom?”
He seemed slightly annoyed at her lack of ready information. Good . Elisead had no desire to make life easier for this intimidating Northman.
“To Domnall.”
He raised a golden eyebrow at her. “And who is Domnall?”
“The son of Causantín mac Fergusa.”
“And who is Causantín mac Fergusa?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, considering any other possible evasion. “He is King of the Picts,” she said at last.
This had both brows shooting up and a slow exhale escaping from Alaric’s lips. Her gaze lingered there for a moment. His lips were most expressive. They curved playfully, or wolfishly, or they compressed into a hard line that conveyed an unbending will.
“Your father must be very interested in negotiations if he would risk such a valuable…asset.” His eyes roamed over her, as they had by the river, and she felt heat once again move up her neck. Though his gaze wasn’t lewd, something about it sent a knot into her belly.
Elisead silently cursed herself for giving up that piece of information. In truth she didn’t understand the whole of her father’s reasoning. Perhaps Alaric had already deduced more about her father’s position wedged between the Northmen and the Pictish King than she had.
“Don’t punish yourself overmuch,” Alaric said, that easy smile creeping back to his lips. “You fought valiantly to make that information hard-won.”
She stiffened. “It is not my place, nor my wish, to help you in any way. I will just have to work harder to avoid inadvertently aiding you.”
Alaric snorted softly. “You need not see me as the enemy. You are a hostage, not a captive.”
“What is the difference?”
“As you likely very well know,” Alaric said, holding her gaze, “if you were a captive, you would not be sitting in that cart. You’d be over my shoulder.”
Elisead inhaled sharply. Then unbidden, the tingling started in her body where she’d come in contact with her as he’d scooped her up in her faint.
“But as a hostage, I must look out for your wellbeing as if you were my own flesh and blood.”
A dark promise that Elisead didn’t fully understand flickered in Alaric’s bright green eyes. All she knew was that it was wrong—wrong of him to insinuate aught, and wrong for the knot to tighten hotly in her stomach at the glint in his gaze. Nevertheless, she straightened her spine so that she sat rigidly on the swaying cart.
“I want naught to do with you barbarians. The sooner these negotiations are over, the better.”
Alaric chuckled, drawing the eyes of some of the men who walked alongside them.
“Very well, little spirit.”
“What did you just call me?”
His eyebrows drew together for the briefest moment, as if translating from his native language to Northumbrian. “Do you not have forest spirits in this land?”
She was so startled by the question that her lips parted wordlessly for a long moment. “Aye,” she managed at last. “We have forest spirits. Or at least we did—in the time of
As if reading her mind, Alaric shifted his gaze to the cloak. “Cold?”
“Nay,” she said quickly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “But…I know not how long I will be forced to remain with you.”
She dragged her gaze up and held his eyes boldly, a silent challenge in them. She must make it clear early on that she would not be pushed over like a reed in the wind. She was not here by choice, but she would maintain her dignity in the process. She was a chieftain’s daughter, and soon to be a King’s wife.
“You are engaged.”
Again, it was as if Alaric could see into her mind and discern her thoughts with ease. But unlike his question about her cloak, which had been subtly playful, now his eyes were dark and searching.
“Aye.”
“To whom?”
He seemed slightly annoyed at her lack of ready information. Good . Elisead had no desire to make life easier for this intimidating Northman.
“To Domnall.”
He raised a golden eyebrow at her. “And who is Domnall?”
“The son of Causantín mac Fergusa.”
“And who is Causantín mac Fergusa?”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, considering any other possible evasion. “He is King of the Picts,” she said at last.
This had both brows shooting up and a slow exhale escaping from Alaric’s lips. Her gaze lingered there for a moment. His lips were most expressive. They curved playfully, or wolfishly, or they compressed into a hard line that conveyed an unbending will.
“Your father must be very interested in negotiations if he would risk such a valuable…asset.” His eyes roamed over her, as they had by the river, and she felt heat once again move up her neck. Though his gaze wasn’t lewd, something about it sent a knot into her belly.
Elisead silently cursed herself for giving up that piece of information. In truth she didn’t understand the whole of her father’s reasoning. Perhaps Alaric had already deduced more about her father’s position wedged between the Northmen and the Pictish King than she had.
“Don’t punish yourself overmuch,” Alaric said, that easy smile creeping back to his lips. “You fought valiantly to make that information hard-won.”
She stiffened. “It is not my place, nor my wish, to help you in any way. I will just have to work harder to avoid inadvertently aiding you.”
Alaric snorted softly. “You need not see me as the enemy. You are a hostage, not a captive.”
“What is the difference?”
“As you likely very well know,” Alaric said, holding her gaze, “if you were a captive, you would not be sitting in that cart. You’d be over my shoulder.”
Elisead inhaled sharply. Then unbidden, the tingling started in her body where she’d come in contact with her as he’d scooped her up in her faint.
“But as a hostage, I must look out for your wellbeing as if you were my own flesh and blood.”
A dark promise that Elisead didn’t fully understand flickered in Alaric’s bright green eyes. All she knew was that it was wrong—wrong of him to insinuate aught, and wrong for the knot to tighten hotly in her stomach at the glint in his gaze. Nevertheless, she straightened her spine so that she sat rigidly on the swaying cart.
“I want naught to do with you barbarians. The sooner these negotiations are over, the better.”
Alaric chuckled, drawing the eyes of some of the men who walked alongside them.
“Very well, little spirit.”
“What did you just call me?”
His eyebrows drew together for the briefest moment, as if translating from his native language to Northumbrian. “Do you not have forest spirits in this land?”
She was so startled by the question that her lips parted wordlessly for a long moment. “Aye,” she managed at last. “We have forest spirits. Or at least we did—in the time of
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