‘On the bed,’ the guard said. When Rurik glared at him mulishly, the man shrugged. ‘Unless you would rather stand for the night.’
Apparently, it was not enough that his hands would be bound, she wanted him chained to the bed as well. He scraped his free hand across his jaw as he stared at her. She seemed to stifle a laugh as she turned to give him a modicum of privacy. In the time it had taken the guard to retrieve the restraint—a suspiciously short amount of time—Rurik had been divested of his boots and tunic, so that he stood in only his trousers and undershirt.
With an inward sigh of frustration, he climbed on to the bed and held his hands up to the headboard. The guard pulled the restraint around a sturdy piece of wood and fastened the cuff to Rurik’s free wrist, effectively chaining him to the bed for the night.
‘I find it odd that you have all these chains and restraints at your disposal. Do you make a habit of befriending men in taverns and bringing them home to chain them up?’ He could not seem to help his unhealthy obsession with goading reactions out of her. She made it far too easy to want to ruffle her. The fact that she usually responded as he wanted her to only sweetened the enticement.
She whirled around as he had known that she would and gave him a critical glare, her chin notched up just slightly. ‘None of this is necessary. There are no windows. No escape except through the door which will be heavily guarded. There is no need to chain you if you are in here alone.’
‘And wake up dead? I would rather not.’
She laughed and it was not bitter or derisive. For the first time, he thought that perhaps she enjoyed his goading. Perhaps having everyone around her bowing down to her every whim had not been very satisfying.
‘It is done,’ the guard said.
She nodded her thanks. ‘Go and take your position outside the door, Alder.’
Rurik called after the man, ‘No one in or out for the rest of the night. If you hear screaming, it will be from pleasure.’
The door closed with a bang and Annis shook her head. ‘You hold yourself in too high esteem.’ There was no bite to her words and her eyes shone with mirth.
‘You could find out.’ Rurik raised a brow at her. ‘No one has to know if you are very quiet.’
She rolled her eyes and walked to the far side of the bed, perching on the very edge. She divested herself of one slipper and then the other, keeping her feet and ankles well below the side of the bed so that he could not see them.
He decided to give his chains a quick test. Grabbing a section of the restraint with each hand, he pulled tight. She glanced up in surprise at the movement. The wood groaned a bit in protest, but stayed in place. He did not think it could withstand a prolonged assault and would eventually give way. The problem was the noise would draw her attention or even the guard at the door before he could break it. To make a quicker escape, he would have to roll up and give the wood bar a swift kick that would likely splinter the wood. It was a measure he would take only if Cedric or someone else came in to end him, but it was reassuring to have a plan.
So that she would not catch on that he was coming up with a plan for escape, he said, ‘There is no chance that I can touch you. The wood is strong. You might as well get more comfortable.’ He gave a shrug as well as he could with his arms pulled up past his ears.
‘Thank you, but I will be fine.’ Moving back on to the foot of the bed, she pulled her feet up so fast he barely saw the flash of her light skin before they were hidden beneath the deep amber of her skirts.
‘Whose chamber is this?’ he asked.
‘It belonged to Wilfrid’s wife. She died many years ago when I was still a child.’ Her gaze touched briefly on the space between them before she looked away. It was a telling gesture, as if she thought the bed was smaller than she remembered, or perhaps it was simply that she felt uncomfortable being so close to him. He shifted a bit, making certain that his legs took up more space than was strictly needed.
She did not move away and instead asked, ‘Would you mind explaining something to me, Norseman?’
His plan was to get her to talk with him openly. If he could get her to understand him, even sympathise with him, he just might get the information he sought. ‘I will if you call me Rurik, not Norseman.’
She glanced at him and he read hesitance in her eyes. Almost a sort of fear. Interesting. Instead of responding to that, she asked her question. ‘How is it that you are here on your father’s behalf, as his son, if your mother was a slave?’
Noticing that he had to crane his neck to look at her, she moved on to her knees and leaned over him to adjust the cushion behind his head. She smelled fresh and faintly sweet with a hint of the outdoors about her, like a field of wildflowers in early summer. He closed his eyes to breathe her in more, searching for the musk of her layered underneath the scent, but opened them again as soon as he realised what he was doing. He could not allow his attraction to her to undermine his strategy.
‘Because I am still my father’s son.’
Her lips pursed in obvious displeasure at his answer as she sat back on her knees beside him. ‘But you would be a slave as well?’
He
