Viking's Prize (21 page)

He sensed at once she was awake.

Elienor watched with bated breath as he came
nearer, his silhouette dark and forbidding against the dull orange glow of the
firelight.

He stared down at her for an interminable moment.

“Did you dream again?”

Elienor averted her gaze, terrified that despite
the darkness, he would discern that she had, and worse, he would inquire of it.
How could she tell him? And yet how could she not? Her fingers twisted the
bedsheets. She understood now what the dream revealed—had dreamt it so
often that she could recall every vivid detail.

According to her divination, Alarik would die,
betrayed, though that part of it she could not yet discern.

In truth, she should have been elated at the
notion, yet she wasn’t. She was terrified.

He hovered silently above her, waiting for her to
reply. Swallowing, Elienor avoided his question, distracting him with another.
“You... you banished Nissa and Red-Hrolf?”

“’Tis none of your concern!” he declared.

Why was it that his response seemed to deflate her
spirit somehow? And why had she thought he’d banished them for her? Because
he’d held her so tenderly in her dream—silly fool! she berated herself.
It had been no more than a dream, after all. There was naught between them.
Naught.

Naught!

“Tell me, Elienor...”

Elienor swallowed, averting her eyes, sensing what
he was about to ask yet again. She turned to her side, clutching the blankets
to her breast.

“What demons haunt you so that you cannot sleep
through the night?”

Elienor’s grip upon the bedsheets tightened. She
balled it within her fist, daring to say nothing, not trusting her voice. His
shadowed eyes seemed to peer directly into her soul.

“Surely something?”

“Nay,” she croaked, swallowing. “I... I merely
dream of my mother,” she improvised. Not wholly a lie, yet not the truth,
either. She reminded herself that it was a sin to lie, yet rationalized that
the truth might very well find her burned at the stake.

And she was a coward.

“Your mother?”

“Her death,” Elienor murmured in explanation. “It
was senseless.” Guilt plagued her. How could she, in all good conscience, let a
man perish when God, or Lucifer, had seen fit to forewarn her of his death?
Shouldn’t she use her gift to the good of mankind?

Mayhap it would be for the good of mankind did he
die, she argued.

Yet was she much better than he was though she
simply allowed him to perish without a single, solitary warning?

Her heart leapt in confusion and growing
desperation. Her mother had been courageous enough to speak freely of her
visions. Why couldn’t she?

Because you’re a coward!

She glanced up to be certain she’d not spoken the
self-depreciating accusation aloud. His expression was unchanged, brooding, and
she couldn’t help but wonder if he sensed her lie.

She suddenly heard a faint whimper, and her brows
knit as she watched Alarik bend to the floor and lift something up. To her
surprise, he placed a whining pup upon the bed, and her eyes widened as she
recognized it as the same one Nissa had booted and Red-Hrolf had abused. She
peered up at him in surprise.

“I thought you might like to have it,” he
disclosed in a husky whisper, his eyes spearing her through the shadows.

Her heart hammering, Elienor said naught, yet the
hand that clutched the bedsheets suddenly released their hold and reached out
to accept the pup. She drew it into her arms protectively and sat up to examine
each leg for injury, finding none.

Alarik watched. “Do you loathe me so much?”

Elienor’s heart turned over, her breath choking
her. He could not know, she assured herself—could not know of the
dream—could not know that she’d chosen to deny him the knowledge that
might save him! In reality, how could she even be certain that her dreams were
anything more than her own fancy, she reasoned.

Mayhap It was only coincidence, after all?

The silence between them lengthened.

“How is it you came to be raised in a nunnery?”

Elienor dared not look at him. His presence beside
her was becoming much too disconcerting. Releasing the dog, she raised the
bedsheet and scooted backward in self-preservation—not that she supposed
he might harm her. They’d been alone enough that she knew he’d not. She simply
felt undone with him so near, was all. The dog followed her, whining as it
reached up to lap at her lips, begging for affection. Elienor couldn’t suppress
a soft giggle at its effort, and at once she recommenced stroking its head and
back.

Her unexpected laughter jolting him, Alarik
watched Elienor’s fingers move gently over the pup, his body quickening as he
imagined those same fingers moving just so over his own flesh.

He had no notion why he’d carried the accursed animal
in, only that the image of her with her anguished expression when Red-Hrolf had
abused it had prompted him to it.

Keeping him centered was the simple fact that she
would not even look at him—and that if she did, her smiling expression
would revert at once to that of loathing. No matter how he treated her, how he
spoke to her... that he kept his vow, she saw him only as she saw fit—as
a demon, butcher, slayer of innocents. No matter how he strove to, he could not
seem to banish the sound of her accusing voice from his thoughts... and now her
laughter lingered; the two sounds were incongruous, yet equally tormenting.

“Why do you wish to know of my days in the
priory?”

“Simple curiosity.”

“I entered the priory when my mother died,” she
relented.

“And you say ’tis her death you dream of?”

“Aye,” Elienor replied.

“You need not speak of it... if it pains you.”

Elienor nodded.

“But... there is something I would have you tell
me,” he prompted, settling upon the edge of the bed. Her violet eyes watched
him warily. “I would know your relation to Robert of Francia.”

“He is my uncle,” Elienor said.

Without realizing he did so, Alarik exhaled in
relief. The tension in his body eased.

Again the uncomfortable silence.

“Would it please you to know we have a
kirken
here?”
he asked suddenly.

Her brows knit. “A
kirken
?”

“A church.”

Elienor snorted. “A heathen church!”

“Nei, Elienor, not a heathen church... a Christian
church.” He was silent a long moment, weighing his words, and then continued.
“You will discover it soon enough... mine brother has taken your faith.”

Her eyes widened at the revelation, though she
seemed to recover herself at once and inquired, “Your brother? Not you?”

Alarik grunted. “He was converted by a soothsayer
in the Scilly Isles,” he explained, “and confirmed with the English king
Ethelred as his godfather.” His eyes seemed to smolder as he looked down upon
her, assessing her reaction to his disclosure.

“I see,” she said stiffly, raising her brows. “Am
I supposed to feel at ease now that you’ve revealed this to me? Because I do
not! You’ve taken me far from everyone I’ve loved, everything I—”

“So you loved Count Phillipe?” he asked sharply,
his eyes piercing her through the shadows.

“Nay,” Elienor snapped, glaring back at him. She
shrugged. “How could I? I did not know him long enough to love him. You saw fit
to that!”

Sensing that further interrogation would gain him
naught and stir up much discord, Alarik decided to forego further questioning.
Instead, he informed her of Brother Vernay and the holy writ to be copied for
Olav. Elienor was so astounded by the request to aid the monk that she remained
speechless, gawking at him, her lovely face flustered.

“You wish me to copy for you?”

“For Olav,” Alarik amended. “Do you know how?”

“Aye,” she murmured softly. “But...”

“Should you agree to the request, then you’ll
spend the majority of each day with Brother Vernay... at the
kirken
,” he
revealed. “The rest of the time you will spend with me, tending mine needs.”

Elienor’s chin lifted, heartened by the knowledge
that he could argue all day it was God’s will, but if she chose not to assist
Brother Vernay, then he could never force her. Mayhap Alarik had spared
Clarisse, but she could not forget Stefan. “And if I do not agree?”

His lips twisted wryly. “Then you’ll spend the
majority of each waking day tending me, instead.”

Elienor quivered. “Then I shall be delighted to
assist Brother Vernay!” she relented at once, choking on her pride. “May it
never be said I resisted God’s will,” she ceded ruefully.

“’Tis settled then. You shall begin in the
morning,” he told her. Something about his tone made her feel that he was
somehow displeased with her reply... yet he’d gotten what he wished of her,
hadn’t he? He withdrew her ring from about his neck, his look sullen. “You’ll
be wanting this back, I think,” he said, offering it to her.

When Elienor merely stared at it, stupefied, he
dropped it over her head and watched as it settled at her bosom. Her fingers
went to it at once. “Did your uncle give it to you?”

Elienor closed her fist about it, her eyes locking
with his. “Aye,” she murmured.

“An acknowledgment of your kinship?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She glanced down at the
ring in question. “For my eyes alone, for I can never be acknowledged as my
father’s issue.” She glanced up, assessing his expression.

“Why?”

“Because I was disinherited at the age of four in
the eyes of both church and state—my mother as well—so that my
father might take to wife an heiress more suitable to his needs.”

Her lashes lowered, black as midnight against her
pale flesh, and once again Alarik wondered that one so dark could be so fair.

At her forlorn expression, Alarik felt an
overwhelming compassion for her, a kinship even, separate from any carnal
emotions he’d possessed before; yet he couldn’t afford those sentiments and so
he dismissed them, severing the moment abruptly.

“You should go back to sleep,” he suggested,
commencing to undress at once. “’Tis late.” He lifted his tunic up over his
head and tossed it upon a coffer and then began to unlace his breeches.

Elienor gasped, averting her eyes. “Where shall
you slee...”

The aversion in her voice twisted his gut. “Atop
you if you don’t move yourself over!” he said impatiently, and his stomach
turned as she propelled herself to the far side of the bed, going so far as to
place the pup between them.

CHAPTER
21

In her dream Elienor endured Phillipe’s sloppy
kiss. It was her duty, she told herself. Her body grew taut, and she endeavored
not to cry out in disgust, counting herself fortunate that he never did more
than this. Still, it sickened her and she worried how she would abide it when
they were wed. She’d find a way, she was determined.

She’d find a way...

It was a long befuddled moment before she could
rouse herself sufficiently to realize it was not a human tongue at all, for It
was much too large—and wet!

Her eyes flew open to find an eager pink tongue
lapping at her face. Sputtering in surprise, she sprang upward, grappling with
the clumsy animal that seemed suddenly all the more determined to devour her
face!

A soft chuckle reached her ears. “I wondered how
long it would take you to rouse,” a husky voice remarked.

Elienor’s eyes found him at once, leaning
casually, arms crossed, against the chamber door. To her alarm her first
emotion was relief—relief that it was him, and not Count Phillipe.

Yet that was ludicrous, was it not?

He was dressed, though scarcely, wearing mere
linen breeches and a tunic thrown over one shoulder, and she caught her breath
at the sight of his bare chest, so immense. Seeing him thus was unsettling, to
say the least.

An arrogant smile curved his lips as he noted the
direction of her gaze, and his silver eyes gleamed. The thought of him standing
there, scrutinizing her in sleep while she was entirely unaware of it, unnerved
her. Elienor nudged the pup aside peevishly. “Why didn’t you simply waken me?”

“Because you needed rest.”

Elienor’s brows knit. How was she supposed to
continue to loathe him when he said such things? Worse, how was she supposed to
forget her nightmares? Though she couldn’t be certain the dream was prophesy, she
reminded herself. Self-preservation kept her silent. The memory of her mother’s
persecution, for so much less, plagued her.

She met his gaze boldly, trying to seem unaffected
by him. “I’d have thought you’d have better things to do with your time, my lord
Viking,” she said with easy defiance, “than to watch your prisoners slumber?”