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willed herself on. It was a vain effort. The rider leaned down and a strong arm reached out and swept her off her feet. Elgiva shrieked as she was thrown face down over the front of the saddle, held firmly across the rider’s knees. For some further distance every bone in her body was jarred before the horseman reined to a halt. Fury and fright vied for supremacy as she fought to recover her breath. Then she heard a familiar voice.
    â€˜Whither away, Elgiva?’
    Her stomach lurched. Wulfrum! Frantically she strove to push herself upright, but a firm hand between her shoulders kept her where she was, his well-trained mount standing like a rock the while.
    â€˜Let go of me, you clod. You Danish oaf.’
    â€˜Clod? Danish oaf? These are grave insults indeed.’ Wulfrum regarded his struggling captive with a keen eye. ‘It seems to me that you need to learn better manners.’
    â€˜You have the nerve to lecture me about manners, barbarian?’
    â€˜I think you were not attending to me earlier, wench, for I warned you what would happen if you defied me again.’
    Suddenly she did recall the words and her face grew hotter as she divined his meaning and realised the extreme vulnerability of her present position.
    â€˜You wouldn’t dare.’
    â€˜Is that so?’
    The flat of his hand came down hard, eliciting a yelp of indignation and further futile struggles.
    â€˜Let me go, you bastard! You swine! Let me go!’
    It was an unfortunate choice of words for half a dozen sharp whacks ensued. Elgiva yelled in rage but bit back any further insults, knowing he would avenge himself if she uttered them.
    â€˜You’re not going anywhere,’ was the pleasant rejoinder. ‘You belong to me now and I will hold what is mine.’
    Fuming, she forgot her former resolve in the face of this breathtaking arrogance. ‘I will never belong to you, you loathsome Viking filth.’
    That last was a mistake—the hand descended several times more and much harder. Elgiva gasped.
    â€˜Anything more?’ he asked. ‘I can keep this up indefinitely if you can.’
    Indeed there were plenty more things she could have found to say, chiefly concerning his lowly birth, probable ancestry and certain destination in the hereafter, but with a monumental effort she forced them back. Only a very small exhalation of breath escaped, a sound that reminded him of an infuriated kitten. Wulfrum waited a moment, but there was nothing more. His lips curved in a sardonic smile; touching his horse with his heels, he let it move forwards at a walk. Elgiva gritted her teeth in helpless fury as they headed back towards Ravenswood and a dreadful suspicion grew that his retribution wasn’t over yet.
    Â 
    In this she was right. Wulfrum took his time about the return journey, knowing full well the helpless ire of his captive and her present discomfort. He had been visiting the Viking encampment earlier and was returning when he caught sight of the running figure heading for the forest. He had recognised her at once and knew a bid for freedom when he saw it. He also knew she must not be allowed to get away. How she had got so far was a mystery, one for which the guards would get a roasting later. As for Elgiva, she would discover that it did not pay to disobey him. Right now he knew she was smarting, as much from the humiliation as from his hand. It had been most tempting to put all his strength behind it and beat her soundly, but he had resisted the notion and tempered the punishment.As it was, she would think twice before crossing him again. Like all the Saxons she would learn that rebellion came at a price.
    In consequence Elgiva was held across the saddle bow all the way back to the outer door of the women’s bower. If she had thought then he would let her slide from the saddle and slink indoors, she was mistaken for Wulfrum dismounted first and dragged her off the horse after. Tucking her under