Lord of Hawkfell Island by Catherine Coulter Page A

front of them. Don’t be unyielding about this. Don’t wallow in your damned pride. It will gain you nothing but pain. Don’t be stupid. Say it now, loudly, so they will hear you. Say ‘my lord.’ ”
    â€œI cannot,” she whispered. “You know I cannot.”
    Rorik cursed. “How like a woman you are, when all is said and done. You have lost because you lack judgment, because you don’t understand how to reason properly. You must learn to pick your battles. This one you couldn’t win. It is already lost. Now, say it.” As he spoke, he turned slightly to see that his three men were watching him avidly. He cursed again. He’d done it to himself and now she would suffer for it. He’d told her the truth. There was no choice for her or for him. But she’d made the decision not to obey him. It was her fault, after all. He waited. She said nothing.
    â€œI will give you one more chance. Say it.” He shook her again. Kerzog wuffed again, but still didn’t move.
    She looked at him helplessly, then shook her head.
    He cursed very softly. She knew only she had heard him. He held her right wrist and took off his belt with his other hand. She stared at it. It was wide supple leather. It would hurt, for he was very strong. He grabbed both her wrists and held them high with his right hand, bringing her to her tiptoes. He wondered briefly at her passivity, but only briefly. In the next instant, she spun about, jerking her hands free, and sent her fist into his belly, her knee toward his groin. Her fist in his belly hurt but he was quick enough to have her knee land hard against his thigh. She was on him, her fingers going for his face. He cursed her, dropped the belt, and managed to grab her quickly enough. Still she fought him with amazing strength and agility. Well, why not? She, after all, had been eating like a stoat for the past day and a half. She was no longer weak, curse her and curse the women for seeing to her needs and not his. “You will only make it harder on yourself. Hold still, damn you.”
    He ended up binding her wrists together, then holding them high in his right hand. She struggled, but she couldn’t break free of him. She cursed him now, vicious curses that impressed him with their range and intensity.
    He turned her so that her back was to him, her face to the three men. He knew he wouldn’t hurt her badly for he had no leverage, though his men wouldn’t realize it. He picked up the belt and swung it, wrapping it around her back.
    She jerked, but didn’t make a sound, not even another curse. She didn’t struggle anymore. She looked over her shoulder at him, and her eyes were deep and calm,as green as the moss grass in the salt marsh. “You are naught but an animal. I will kill you if I have the chance. I should have killed you at Clontarf when I had you caged. Aye, I just pricked your pretty throat to give you a taste of pain and the sticky feeling of your own blood, but I should have sunk my knife deep.”
    â€œYou didn’t, so it doesn’t matter what you spout out now. I am your lord. Say it.”
    He gave her several moments, wishing to Thor, to Frey, to Odin All-Father, that her stupid pride would bend. But she remained silent. He saw her tense for the next blow, but she didn’t try to escape him again. He swung the belt. It stung her back harder this time, he knew it, he felt her shudder, heard her sharp intake of breath.
    â€œSay it.”
    She remained silent as a tomb. He stopped after the fourth swing of the belt. He’d given her only a small jolt of pain, nay, not really pain, just the warning of it. She’d given him more pain when she’d stuck her damned knife in his throat, and she had the gall to call it naught but a prick.
    What he had forced on her was the knowledge of her helplessness against him. That humiliation wouldn’t leave her for a very long time. He turned