The Viking's Woman by Heather Graham Page A

will run to the holy sisters, I will seek refuge in Paris—I will go to the Danes!”
    The last caught the king’s attention. He spun around and returned to her.
    “Nay, lady, you will not. I will keep you under lock and key until the moment you are wed. And if you persist in this infamy, I will pray that he is more Viking than Irishman and that he will take all necessary measures to silence you! Allen!” he roared. “Take her from my sight!”
    Allen grasped her arm hard. She turned to face him and saw that there was a malicious gleam in his eye, as if he enjoyed her discomfort.
    “Let go of me, Allen!” she demanded. “I will walk where you so choose. Just keep your hands off me.”
    His smile straightened, his mustache falling low over his mouth. His gaze upon her darkened. “Lady, I would watch your noble tongue!” he warned her.
    “I will watch nothing!” she said. She jerked free and hurried past him, storming out the door. Within seconds he was behind her. He caught hold of her arm just as Edward reached them both. “Please, let me take her!” Edward implored.
    She didn’t look at Allen; she was too close to tears. It seemed that he acquiesced, for Edward was leading her then. She stumbled, amazed that the sun could still be shining, that the clash of steel could still be heard as men practiced the arts of war.
    But now there was no one close to the king’s house.
    “I’m sorry, Rhiannon,” Edward said to her. “So very sorry.”
    “Where are you taking me?”
    “The spring house.”
    It was a small, unfurnished structure down the slope of the valley, usually used for storage. There was nothing at all within it now. One single high window let in the light.
    “Don’t bolt me in. Let me escape,” she pleaded.
    “You know that I cannot,” Edward told her sadly.
    She managed to square her shoulders and step into the small building. She slammed the door of her prison, and sank down to the dirt floor.
    Then she burst into tears, trying to muffle the sound so that no one set to guard her might hear her. She cried in silence until the darkness descended. No one came near her. No one brought so much as a drop of water. She sat through the dark, silent night in abject misery, her resolve stiffening.
    She slept, but her dreams were filled with terror. The Irish prince had turned her over to his blond Norse henchman, and the man was stalking her. Her arrow protruded from his thigh, and blood cascaded down his leg as he shouted at her, “Pray, lady. Pray that we do not meet again.”
    In the morning the queen came to her. Rhiannon was pale and exhausted and bitter.
    She told Alswitha that she wanted to see the king.
    Alfred had betrayed her. The king had cast her to the enemy, but she would not consent to his decree. Somehow she would elude them all. And they would never suspect.
    Alswitha brought her to Alfred. Rhiannon knelt down before him and whispered that she acquiesced to his will.
    She could not face him as she lied; yet a lie was her only road to freedom.
    He took her into his arms again and held her tightly. He whispered that he was glad and grateful that he loved her and would always be there for her.
    I hate you!
she cried inwardly.
    But she didn’t really hate him. She remembered her father and knew that Alfred could die at any time. She held him tightly in return; she could not obey him but she did love him.
    She just couldn’t forgive what he had done. She could not accept it. There seemed to be a coldness that wound around her heart and turned it to ice. He was unrelenting. She could be the same, Rhiannon knew, yet if she did not pretend to accept his will, then she would have little chance to change her fate.
    She had already bought her freedom from the spring house.
    The next morning she went out to the stables. She longed to take the roan that had brought her there and fly with the creature, fly into the wind, to the north, to the south, to oblivion. She knew that she had to be