His Captive Bride by Shelly Thacker Page A

said: There was no way to escape from this island.
    Avril sagged against the door, despair closing in on her, dark and overpowering. She pounded one fist against the wood, but the futile gesture only hurt her hand. Her throat tightened until she could not seem to draw breath.
    She shut her eyes, remembering the last time she had seen her baby, with her ruddy cheeks, her raven curls shining in the sun, her chubby fingers waving farewell.
    “ Giselle .” The cherished name came out as a sob. “My sweet Giselle.”
    After a long moment, Avril pushed herself away from the door, shaking her head, refusing to accept what Hauk had told her. If she could not hope to be rescued, then she would rescue herself.
    It was too dark to venture out tonight, but as soon as dawn broke, her escape efforts would begin.
    “I will return home to you, ma petite papillon ,” she vowed. “Even if I must build a boat with my own two hands!”
    ~ ~ ~
    Hauk strode down the moonlit path, the sound of his pulse competing with the distant roar of the surf in the darkness. His fingers gripped the leather sash of his pack, but he was only distantly aware of its familiar weight on his shoulder, the jagged stones beneath his boots, the night wind cooling the sweat from his body.
    He could hardly see or even think past the fatigue and frustration and unwelcome emotions that clouded his brain. By Odin’s black ravens, all he wanted was for this accursed night to end before some new torment presented itself.
    How could a woman—any woman—affect him this way, in so short a time? Had he not sworn only an hour ago, at the althing , to remain cool and distant, to never allow his new bride into his heart? He could not even seem to make the vow last one night. Could not resist touching her. Was beginning to admire the way she stood up to him, all courage and boldness and curses.
    And he had been utterly unprepared for the impact of her tears.
    Hauk shifted the pack to his other shoulder and kept walking, trying to forget those two glistening droplets, gliding down her cheek one after the other. For one horrible moment, he had felt as if he were drowning in them.
    In that instant, he had glimpsed a completely different Avril—not defiant and fierce, but tender and soft-hearted, utterly devoted to those she loved... and utterly vulnerable.
    And he could not banish the uncomfortable feeling that stabbed at his belly as if he had eaten a bowlful of thorns.
    Guilt.
    I have a daughter. A three-year-old daughter .
    His cheek still stung from Avril’s slap—but he felt as if she had punched him in the gut with those words. By all the gods, he had never suspected she had a young child awaiting her in France along with her husband.
    But she would not be returning home to them. Not now, not ever.
    He glanced up into the black, star-strewn sky and spat an oath, cursing the gods for throwing her into his path on that crowded streetcorner in Antwerp. If she had been a few moments earlier or he a few moments later, if Keldan had not insisted on chasing after her, if she had not attacked Thorolf...
    Nei , it was too late for regrets now. What was done could not be undone. He could not risk the lives of everyone on Asgard for the sake of one woman.
    Or even one child.
    He fastened his attention on the trail before him. At least the child still had her father. At least she would not be alone.
    That was more than he had had growing up.
    Forcing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he focused on the familiar curve of the path beneath his boots, the brine-scented wind in his face, the journey that lay ahead. His life had been wrenched out of his control on that ill-fated voyage to Antwerp, and he felt an urgent need to put it back in order. What he needed was routine. Habit. A good night’s sleep and some hard, physical work.
    He needed some distance from the mesmerizing little beauty who had just become his wife. Enough to keep him from thinking of her spice-scented hair