Page 6 of Wolf's Redemption

Amusement danced on his tongue. “Where is it you think you are, sweetness?”

She rounded on him. “Sweetness?Really? I’m trying to help you here. Could you possibly be more condescending?”

She crossed her arms over her bosom, pushing up her already ample cleavage. His gaze fixed on the inviting creamy skin revealed by the low neckline of her tunic and his cock thickened.Merde,he could not wait to get his hands on those. His mouth watered.

“Hey.” She pointed to her face. “Eyes up here.” She threw her hands in the air. “What did I expect? You’re chained to awall.That doesn’t happen to nice, respectful, help-grandma-cross-the-street kind of guys.”

Ulrik swallowed his indignation at her slight to his character. He wanted out of this place and he would need her help. Having her in the clutches of the guards would serve neither of them. If there was one thing Ulrik knew a lot about, it was women. And getting them to do what he wanted was something he excelled at.

He stepped as close to her as his chains would allow. Though she stood her ground, the catch in her breath gave her away. She was not as unaffected by him as she would like him to believe. She broke eye contact, and her gaze strayed to his biceps. Ulrik repressed a smile and shifted his body so the torn remnants of his tunic hung loose at his sides, leaving his chest bare. She rewarded him with the heat of her gaze burning across his abdomen. Lower still, it slipped to his groin. His cock hardened. He angled his hips forward, showing her what he had to offer her.

Her mouth parted and her breathing quickened. Then she scrunched her face up in a frown and shook her head. “Get a hold of yourself,” she muttered, then turned from him and moved toward the steps.

Ulrik gaped at her. Had his intentions not been clear? Was seduction so different in the future she had not recognized his signals? It must be so, for no woman hadeverturned him away. Not in his inexperienced youth. Not in his time in Bretaigne. Not when he had returned to Frankia. Notever.

She climbed the first step.

L’enfer.He had to stop her.Whatever it takes.“My name is Ulrik Voclain.” He searched around for the right words in Anglo-Saxonne. “SirUlrik Voclain.”

She halted, turning to take him in. Good. He bit back his grin. He had recaptured her attention. Then she arched her eyebrows, threw back her head and laughed. At him.

“Knighted by the Queen.” She snorted. “Right. And I’m a princess, heir to the throne of England. Huh!”

She climbed another two steps.

Stubborn, obtuse woman.

Oh, how he had laughed when Erin had challenged Gaharet, refusing to do his bidding. He wasnotlaughing now.

He bit down on his frustration. “Listen to me,sweetness. We are not below this…Spicy Dragon.You are in an underground chamber beneath Langeais Keep. In Frankia. It is the year of our lord, nine hundred and ninety-nine. Lothair de Anjou is the Comte—Count—of Anjou. And if you reveal yourself to the guards above, you will be in more danger from them than you are with me.”

Pity glimmered in her dark eyes. “Oh, my God. How long have you been down here?”

He threw his head back and let out an explosive breath. “Long enough,” he said through gritted teeth. “But I have not lost my wits, as you are suggesting.”

A stream of rapid Franceis split the air from above. She gaped up the stairs. The jingle of keys proceeded the screech of the grate hinges. Her eyes darted to him. The guards had heard them and were coming to investigate.

“L’enfer.”

Any moment now, a guard would appear. Shackled to the wall, he could do nothing but watch. Dressed like she was, he had no doubt what the guards would do with her.

“Come stand behind me and I will keep you safe. Trust me, woman.”

More Franceis—a heated debate over who would descend the stairs first—cautious steps and a flicker of candlelight. Indecision warred across her features.

“I give you my oath. I will not hurt you. They will.”

A muttered curse from above, and she made her choice, retreating from the steps. And from him.

Merde.

Her light winked out, and she pressed herself into the corner as a guard stepped into the chamber, a candle thrust out and his sword brandished in front of him. Ulrik snarled and rattled his chains. If he could keep the focus on him, she might escape detection.

A second guard stepped into the chamber, also armed, and holding a bunch of keys. The glint of silver caught Ulrik’s attention. The key to his shackles.

“There is no way anyone could have gotten in here, Clement,” said one guard to the other. “Not without us opening the grate. I think I would have noticed a woman.”

“I know what I heard, Gael,” said Clement, his gaze darting about.

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