Her mind had become very clear.
Gunnar Olafson had done this.
He had guessed what measures Rose meant to take, and he had acted first—that he should know her mind so well worried her, but she could not think of that now. Harold and his children had gone with Alfred. Rose shivered to think what fate awaited them.
“Where is he?” she whispered. “I must speak with him.”
“Alfred?” Constance was staring up at her, shrunken by this new turn in events. She looked like a small, wizened child.
Rose knelt down before her, making her voice firm. Never had it been so important for her to play the part of the lady of this manor. Somerford needed her now more than it had ever done.
“No, Constance, not Alfred. I must speak with Captain Olafson. He has done this, he can undo it. Mayhap I can appeal to him…somehow.”
Constance blinked at her as if her eyesight were failing. “No, lady,” she gasped harshly. “Do not give yourself to that man again! I was wrong, oh so wrong, I thought…Do not sacrifice your sweet self to such a one.”
Rose’s smile was grim. “You forget, old woman, I have already made the sacrifice…several times, in fact. It will be no different, and if it means I can help my friends, then I must at least make the offer.”
She meant it. Constance shook her head, but Rose continued to persuade her, and eventually the old woman gave in and went off to do her bidding.
Rose sank down on the stool. She was shaken and wounded, but not mortally. There was a new resolve growing within her. She would not be beaten by men like Fitzmorton and Miles de Vessey and Arno d’Alan. They were brutal and ignorant, and they did not understand the strengths a woman could garner. But she would show them now.
And Gunnar Olafson?
Anguish filled her. The pressure in her chest and throat was unbearable, so that she longed to scream and rend something.
I will give you my body, but my heart is my own.
Aye, because he had no heart! He was made of cold Norse ice. Rose remembered now all the times he had spoken of death and killing and money, as if only the last mattered to him. My sword is called Fenrir and he feeds on blood. How could she have forgotten that! And yet while she had been in his arms, she had forgotten all the distasteful things, pushed them from her mind. Now they were rushing back, those blood-soaked words.
If Fitzmorton and the rest of them were monsters, then Gunnar Olafson was an abomination. A creature without compassion, who knew not the meaning of kindness or love. How could she think to win him over to her side, to help her save the lives of the miller and his family? Jesu, how he must have laughed to himself when she asked for his promise to obey her! And how he must have laughed when she commanded him to her bedchamber…
Rose stilled.
Or maybe not.
Although Rose knew she had willingly allowed herself to be deceived in the mercenary’s character, she was not so certain she had been deceived in his desire for her. True, she was naive when it came to matters between men and women—one elderly husband did not make her an experienced lover. But Gunnar wanted her. She had not imagined the look in his eyes, the way he had arched against her hands, so eager to touch him, to worship him. Oh aye, he had enjoyed her worship!
Command me to be inside you, lady.
Rose hid her heated face in her hands. She had wanted him, too, but she told herself now that his deceit had killed forever her own lust. But what of him? Why should a Viking savage want her any less now than he had before? For him nothing had changed. Mayhap her hatred of him would even increase his pleasure in taking her.
Earlier, she had sat in the great hall and dwelt on last night spent in Gunnar’s arms. Remembered the expression in his eyes when he joined his body to hers, hot and yet determined, as if he were marking her in some way. Marking her as his.
Aye, that was exactly what he had been doing.
’Tis time I settled, took a woman, and stayed in one place long enough to see her swell with my seed. Somerford is as good a place as any, and I have already plowed the lady.
Despite the crudity of his words, he had meant what he said in the stables just now.
He wanted Somerford Manor, and he wanted her.
Aye, this was something Rose could work with, use on him. If Gunnar Olafson still wanted her, then she could turn his desire around and destroy him with it.
Chapter 15
Constance found Gunnar Olafson in the great hall. He was speaking with Ivo, his second in command. The two big men looked serious, and although their voices were too low for anyone else to hear, it was obvious to Constance things had not gone according to plan. Ivo appeared even wilder than usual, his hair windblown and tangled, his dark eyes blazing. In contrast, Gunnar was still and calm. He radiated confidence and reliability—leadership. Aye, he was a born leader, ’twas a shame his heart was as black and rotten as Rose had said it was that day in the solar.
Constance hovered at the edges of their conversation, awaiting an opportunity to intervene. Even now, looking at the mercenary captain, knowing what she did, she could not believe him to be an evil monster. So handsome! The air about him hummed with sensuality. Constance sighed. It didn’t seem fair. She had wanted Gunnar Olafson for her lady, she had believed that here was the man she had been waiting for, who would stand by Rose and love her. She had been so certain he was that one that she had even told him so to his face.