“So you do not escape, you witless wench. I will ensure that you stay in this room till I am well rid of you.”
“Escape! Where would I—”
“Nay! I have listened to more than enough of your lying words. Either remove your garments, or I will return you to the palace. And, believe me, you will not relish our king’s manner of treating bothersome slaves when he gets you naked.”
Refusing to show Thork her terror, Ruby took off every item of clothing, even her socks and shoes, which Thork gathered in his arms, preparing to leave. Her face hot with embarrassment, she refused to cower. She wanted to cover her breasts and lower body with her hands, but, instead, raised her chin defiantly.
Thork stared at her—all of her. Unsmiling, he showed no regret or sympathy for his abominable actions. Only a muscle twitching next to his thinned lips showed any emotion on his blank face.
Through a screen of tears, Ruby looked at Thork and declared vehemently, “I hate you.” Then, with a barely stifled whimper, she added in a raspy, broken voice, “I thought you were my husband. I thought you loved me.”
She saw his fists clench before he spun on his heels and left, barring the door after him.
Ruby sat down on the pallet and cried endlessly for all she had lost. Jack. Her old life. Thork. All mixed together in her mind and became one.
Hours later, Ruby awakened to find herself lying face down on the bed in the dreary, windowless room. Ruby turned over and saw Gyda entering the doorway flanked by all her daughters who watched her in fascination.
She drew her knees up to her chest to cover her nakedness.
“Astrid, did you bring the bed linens?” Gyda asked.
“Yea,” Astrid said and handed her mother a pile of linen cloths and a fur bed cover. She put them on the bed beside Ruby. Another daughter carried in a wooden tray with a jug of water and a piece of flat bread. Still another put a clean chamber pot in the room and took out the old one.
With a flick of her hand, Gyda motioned all the girls to leave. Gyda’s voice and’ stern face spoke of broken trust and disappointment. Ruby couldn’t let her think the worst.
“Gyda, I would never deliberately hurt Tyra… or Tykir. To me, Tykir is my son. And Tyra, well, she’s just like the daughter I never had. I couldn’t love her more if she were my own.”
“Humph! Good intentions mean naught. Whether you are truly a spy and would kidnap our own, I cannot say. At the least, your carelessness put my child, and Thork’s, in jeopardy, and that we cannot tolerate. Trusted you no longer are.”
Every day after that, Gyda returned, no longer with her daughters. With silent condemnation, she would hand her a new tray of bread and water, and exchange her chamber pot for a clean one, refusing to answer her questions.
By the end of the fifth day, Ruby admitted to herself that she’d been careless, but not just in taking the children jogging without permission. She’d miscalculated the fierceness of the Vikings and the dangerous time period in which she’d landed. Because she’d seen a softer side of Thork in the panorama of Olaf’s family, she’d made the mistake of thinking of him and the other Vikings as being the same as modern man.
They were not.
* * *
Later that day, Thork stood leaning against Ruby’s doorjamb. He had been waiting for nigh on an hour for the sorry wench to awaken from her deep sleep. She lay sprawled on her stomach, the bed fur having fallen to the floor.
Thork could not believe he had delayed his trip to Ravenshire for five days, sending one missive after another to his grandfather making excuses for his absence. All he could think about was the maid he had imprisoned in this dismal room. Truly, she had bewitched him with her tearful words, “I thought you loved me.”
Thor’s blood! He loved no one, least of all a pitiful wench like her.
Still, he could no longer resist coming back to see for himself that she was well. To understand why he was so attracted to her.