Chapter One

Coast of England - 1079

All noise ceased as the immense Viking entered the inn. His green eyes surveyed the scene quickly, then his strong legs carried him purposely toward the bar, where Esmeralda Handrian attempted to cover her nudity with the shredded remains of her gown. Was he to be her fate, then? The nuns who had raised her had not prepared her for the possibility of being abandoned by her traveling companions. Penniless and without proof of her identity, she’d been forced to seek shelter at this inn, only to be stripped and bid upon like a common whore.

Eerie silence reigned until the Viking nodded to the innkeeper and tossed him several coins. Behind him, his second in command threw a handful of coins to the gathered men, dispersing them quickly.

“Have her bathed and fed,” the Viking told the innkeeper. “And make sure we’re not disturbed until morning.”

“Of course, I’ll see to it myself.” The innkeeper cowered before the Viking’s fierce stare, and then scurried away to do his bidding.

Esme gripped her dress, biting her tongue to keep from crying out in distress. She wanted to scream that the Viking had no right to buy her, but knew this was not the time. Her only chance was to try and convince him that there had been a misunderstanding and try to persuade him to help her.

To her surprise, he swept the white fox cloak from his shoulders and wrapped it around her half-naked body. She stared up at him, stunned. She hadn’t expected kindness. A maid came up beside her and tried to pull her away, tugging at her hand when she remained frozen in place, staring up into the Viking’s startling green eyes. He met her gaze for a long, strange moment then waved his hand in an arrogant command for her to be dragged upstairs to the inn’s finest chamber.

Esme bathed in the shallow tub provided, rushing to take advantage of the scalding water before the Viking came for her. The maid helped wash her long sable curls before retreating, leaving her alone in the chamber. Taking a seat before the large fire, she raced to stitch the torn bodice of her gown while the heat dried her hair.

A tray of food sat on a long wooden table in the center of the room, untouched. Though she was starving, she didn’t want to put herself any further in debt to him.

She flinched when the heavy door pushed open, and the Viking ducked through. He was so tall; he had to duck to enter the room. As he straightened to his full height, she pulled the cloak tighter around her shoulders, desperately wishing she’d managed to finish mending her gown.

As he shut the door behind him, his hungry gaze swept her from head to toe. She flushed, and a curious warmth bloomed with her. For one strange moment, she wondered what it would feel like if he held her, kissed her, or even touched her intimately. The idea both intimidated and thrilled her. Ashamed, she dropped her gaze. The nuns would lock her away forever if they knew what she was thinking.

Ulrich Valda hadn't planned on buying a maid for the night, but the moment he’d seen her, he’d known she wasn't in her element. Normally he wouldn't have cared. He'd use his purchase and set her free in the morning. But he’d been stunned by her fear and innocent appearance. When he’d entered the inn, she’d tensed and set her shoulders bravely before looking him directly in the eye.

He dropped the bar in place across the door, refusing admittance to any outsider. Her whole body jolted when the wood made contact. He was in no hurry; he had all night to do as he wished with her. Noting she hadn't touched the food provided, he sat at the table, poured himself a cup of mead, and watched her wordlessly.

They’d come to an impasse.

“You look much better cleansed,” he commented wryly.

“Of course I do!” she snapped, obviously affronted.

He couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Ah, so you do have a voice. You've not touched the food.”

“And owe you more? I think not. And let's get this straight between us from the beginning; the innkeeper had no right to sell me to you. I simply came in to ask for help and he…started auctioning me off, he—” She cursed low under her breath as she pricked her finger with a needle. She put her finger to her lips.

“What is your name?” He didn't try to hide his obvious appraisal. Her story might have some merit. Her pampered hands were not those of a working maid.

“Would it matter?” Obviously frustrated, she drew in a deep breath before lifting her gaze. “You were the highest bidder.”

“Was my bid not high enough?” He laughed as she calculated her next move. “It matters not. You're mine for the night. Might as well eat, the food's been bought.”

He nodded toward the table, and she finally moved closer to it, selecting only an apple from a tray before quickly moving back beside the fire, trying to hold his cloak closed over her naked body. She ate the fruit quickly, as if she hadn’t been fed in months.

“Now, what is your name?” Ulrich moved from the chair and poured a second cup of mead, handing it to her. He topped off his cup and sat back, knowing he made her anxious. Standing abruptly, he took the core from her fingers and tossed it into the fire beside her.

“Esme. And you are?” An edge sharpened her voice.

“I'm Ulrich Valda.”

Comprehension swept over her features. “Ah, the Viking trader, I've heard stories of you, sir. Are they true?” She softened, curiosity filling her fine, dark eyes.

“That depends on the story. What do they call you besides Esme?”

“Esmeralda, sir. Esmeralda Handrian.” She seemed frustrated when he showed no recognition. “Esmeralda Handrian—as in Lord Gehard Handrian's niece. Surely you've heard of him?”

He frowned. “Anyone who knows the coast knows of Lord Handrian. His trading center is run well, fair prices for goods.”

She only nodded her head at his words.

“If you are his blood, what have you done to disfavor yourself?”

“What do you mean?”

“You had to have done something to wind up being bid on in the inn tonight.”

“I did nothing, sir. And if you'll let me explain, it's not as you might imagine.”

He inclined his head for her to continue, and she finally sipped from her cup.

“I was on my way home from the convent. We left three days ago, and my companions were paid to see me home. Only yesterday morning I awoke to find they'd abandoned me, taken the horses and all our supplies, including my clothing and money.”

“Why not stay at the inn where you spent the night and send word ahead to your uncle?”

She looked at him as if he was a complete dolt. “I would have, except that my companions forced us to go further than the planned stop last eve, making me believe we could make this inn by night fall. We couldn't and were forced to camp. When I awoke they were gone and so was everything else we had with us.” Her slim fingers rose to stroke the back of her neck. When she saw him watching, she dropped her hand.

“I see.”

“Do you?” She stood, glaring at him in the dim light.

Ulrich wondered if she realized the portrait she made, her hair glowing in the firelight, her long slender legs peaking from his cloak with each step she took, her slim fingers holding the wrap closed around her.

“I knew it was only a half day's travel to this inn. It seemed wiser to make my way here, closer to Uncle. But in the last year, the innkeeper has changed. He did not know me and wouldn't allow me time to explain before the men started bidding on me. You walked in and—” She shrugged. “I'm not going back to the convent. Anything I find further on my journey would be better.”

They were both quiet for a while, and Ulrich finally tried a different approach. His mind reeled with possibilities, now that he knew who she was. Lord Handrian was not a man to anger if you wanted to continue trading in his port. If this was truly his niece, he'd best tread carefully.

“You did not appreciate your schooling?”

“It's not the schooling I dread; it's the monotony of time, sir. I didn't always board at the school. While my father was alive I lived at Handrian. I was free there, to ride and wander the fields, to shop the docks and stroll among the traders. I had friends and we were happy, we laughed…”

He groaned silently. She was beautiful, and Ulrich didn't need a beautiful, spoiled woman on his hands.

“Why send you away?” He shifted in his chair, watching her every move. She was a bit thin for his taste, but she was young. She'd fill out with a few years behind her.

“My uncle felt it best. He wanted me educated. I don't think he understood taking me from one life and putting me behind the convent walls would be so…” She stood and started pacing once again.

“Stop wandering, girl. You make me tired watching you. Come closer so I can see you clearer.”

She hesitated then sat beside the fire once again.

“I'm not an animal,” he snapped, losing his patience. “Come here!”

With a defiant lift of her chin, she slowly approached him, leaning over his chair to bring her face close to his. When he lifted his hand to touch her, she pulled back quickly, moving to the other side of the room. He laughed at her retreat, thinking it was a good thing her uncle had put her in a convent. She was beautiful and strong-willed, a temptation to any man’s good sense.

Best not to let himself get involved with Lord Handrian’s niece. Better men than he had been tied to the land because of women who weren’t nearly as beautiful as Esme. He’d not let her beauty bind him to the mistake of his lifetime.

A woman of Esme’s background would be expected to marry a man who would enhance her stature. Ulrich was not that man. On the other hand, he accepted that her plight had become his. If she was truly Lord Handrian’s niece and he didn’t help her, his trading days in Port Handrian would cease.

Esme knew if she stayed close to the Viking, she'd want to touch him. He was larger than life to her. The stories she'd heard of his conquering ways had always amazed her. He'd found trading to his liking and was successful beyond anyone's dreams. He was known to be fair when dealt with fairly and quick to conquer when angered. All she wanted to do was touch him, to feel the width of his shoulders under her fingers, to know what his blond hair felt like against her skin. The entire time she’d been in the convent, her private dreams had always been about the fair-haired, green-eyed warrior who would come and take her away and make her his own.

Now that she stood in the same room with such a creature, confusion vexed her mind. What was right and what her body told her she wanted were two different things. Suddenly she wondered if she might not have both—Ulrich for the night and a way home. For the first time since waking that morning and finding she'd been abandoned in the woods, she smiled.

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