Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down (Vikings Underground #2)(25)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

His wrist snapped like a chicken bone. He cried out in pain, falling to his knees.

And all hell broke loose.

“Subdue the bitch!”

Two of the auctioneer’s guards responded to their over-seer’s cry.

When Ronda had broken the sadistic Nothrum’s wrist, admiration and pleasure had glinted in Nikolas’s eyes. Now he tensed as he watched the two henchmen approach her.

Her feet were shackled. What could the wee, defenseless wench do? The guards were big and brawny, ’twas an unfair match. Enraged, he started toward the platform.

In a movement so fast it seemed inhuman, Ronda flipped over into a handstand, her palms on the platform’s dirt floor, and scissored her legs. On a guttural “Hiya!” sound, she un-crossed them with enough brute force to break both of her ankles.

The shackles snapped instead.

Total silence engulfed the arena. “Holy son of Odin.” Nikolas’s jaw went slack, his eyes unblinking.

The first guard bellowed as he charged her.

Ronda countered with a jump in the air that was high enough to make the crowd gasp. She whirled around midair and kicked the guard’s face in six pummeling strikes that sent him flying onto his back. When he slowly regrouped and came up to his knees, she kicked him again, this time square in the face, breaking his nose.

Seizing the crowd’s shock to her advantage, she jumped down from the platform and ran—but her victory was short-lived. Where one or two men could not subdue her, ten could. And it took about that many to get the job done.

As Nikolas roughly pushed through the crowd to get to her, Ronda’s eyes found his—wild, desperate, and pleading. It all but broke his heart. There was nothing weak about this woman.

As the guards and a few of Toki’s men took her down to the ground, Nikolas ruthlessly shoved others aside and finally reached Ronda. They had her facedown, her wrists and feet being tied behind her back. One man laughed and reached out to stroke her bu**ocks, and Nikolas erupted in rage.

Roaring, he flung Toki’s trusted overlords off Ronda. The other men immediately backed away. All stunned eyes turned to him.

“Hunter’s Right!” Nikolas bellowed, his lethal stance defying any man to approach him. The vein at his neck bulged. “I claim her for my own! Does any warrior here dare challenge me?”

Silence followed the echo of his booming voice from the arena’s walls. Nikolas’s angry stare sought out Nothrum who had enough sense to look away. ’Twas a good thing, for Nikolas’s fury was powerful enough to kill any man who tried him.

His eyes narrowing into menacing blue slits, Nikolas turned his attention to the men near Ronda who sat gawking up at him.

“Lämna min fru i fred,” he said quietly.

The men scattered. Wasting no time, Nikolas knelt and began untying the knots that held Ronda painfully bound.

“What did you say to them?” Ronda whispered, her scared brown eyes wide.

“I told them,” Nikolas said as he continued undoing the knots, “to get away from my wife.”

Ronda Tipton was married.

She’d spoken no words of commitment, given no pledge of love and devotion, yet by the laws of New Sweden she was now the legal wife of Lord Nikolas Ericsson. Just like that. She was so stunned that she didn’t say a word as he slipped his tunic over her head to cover her body.

Then she followed quietly and without protest as Nikolas took her by the hand and led her from the arena.

Chapter Eight

One week later

Ronda lay in her bed way past the time when she would normally get up and start the day. So much was on her mind, so many questions, that she didn’t have the energy to force herself up from the animal hides.

She had been Nikolas’s wife for a week now. His wife! More shocking still was that she’d barely seen him since the night of the auction. He’d made few attempts to even talk to her, let alone touch her.

The night of the auction still seemed a daze. She remembered her captor-turned-savior slipping his tunic over her head and leading her away from the arena. She recalled not speaking as they’d entered the caged elevator and taken it down thirteen levels to where his surprisingly lavish home was. Misleadingly small on the outside, it was palatial on the inside. With all the silk pillows and harem-style beds, it brought to mind the home of a medieval sultan. Most of the rooms even had several skylights, allowing the sun to penetrate during daylight hours. That certainly explained Nikolas’s bronzed body and how the people remained in good health despite living below the ground.

Ronda had expected Nikolas to rape her, for Myria had warned her that warriors consummated their marriages on the evening they became wedded. That had not happened. In fact, he’d been surprisingly gentle and understanding as he gave her a tour of what he called “our dwelling.” He explained that she was free to roam its rooms and make use of them, but asked her not to leave the home without his escort because it wouldn’t be safe to do so.

Escape, he had told her, was impossible. Armed guards lined every possible way out of New Sweden, and now, since she’d stumbled upon their world by accident, they were also positioned at the upper level of the mountain.

After that quiet lecture, he’d escorted her into this bedchamber, told her it belonged to her, and bid her good-night. That had been the most he’d spoken to her at one time in over a week. In fact, that had been the most she’d seen of him all week. He’d spent most of his time away from the dwelling, while Ronda stayed in her bedchamber, grieving the loss of freedom she’d once taken for granted.

Ronda sighed. Now she was growing bored and lonely. Other than the two servants who cajoled her into eating a few times daily and who had finally got her to enter the dwelling’s bathing pond yesterday so they could scrub her down, keep her mons shaved, and rub mint oil into her skin, she didn’t really have any contact with anyone.

That bath had been more embarrassing than relaxing. Bathing with two nak*d female servants was something she’d never before done.

Other than maid one and maid two, both of whom spoke no English, there was nobody to talk to. She couldn’t take much more of this sitting in isolation, nor could she endure any more grieving for what would never again be.

Ronda was a realist. Common sense dictated that these underground dwellers had never been discovered in over a thousand years because they guarded their turf with an iron fist. Which didn’t bode well for escape. Not now and not ever.

That left two choices: try to escape at every turn and grow more depressed, if not dead, from lack of success, or try to carve out some sort of meaningful life for herself down here. It had taken her a solid week to arrive at this conclusion, but she’d finally gotten to where she needed to be, mentally speaking.

In that way, she was glad Nikolas had left her alone these past seven days. It had given her time to cry over the freedom she’d lost, come to terms with the situation for what it was, and make a profound choice. Ronda had decided that she wanted to find some kind of happiness, even if that came at the price of living out the rest of her life in Lokitown.

But what about Nikolas? What had he given up to save her? For the first time, Ronda found her thoughts turning to his predicament rather than her own.

Did he have a love he’d wanted to marry, but had wedded Ronda out of some sense of duty to protect her? Had he given up someone special? Why had he claimed her for his own?

She could easily see any number of women falling for Nikolas. He was not only politically powerful in this underground world, but he was also handsome as sin. With the body of a well-honed warrior and the ruggedly masculine face of an avenging god, no woman from Ronda’s world wouldn’t worship at his feet.

So many questions. So few answers.

Ronda forced the heavy animal hides off her body. Taking a deep, cathartic breath, she decided it was time to rejoin the living.

Nikolas studied his logbook, his mind distracted. He needed to concentrate on determining how many bottles of oils were ready for bartering in New Norway, yet his thoughts kept returning to his wife.

He wondered if she’d ever remove herself from the guest bedchamber—now her bedchamber—and at least attempt to have peace between them. Nikolas had left her alone this past week when he’d wanted to do anything but that. Talk with her, eat with her, make love to her. Anything but leave her alone.

Still, he recognized that she needed time to settle into the way of things. He could well imagine the myriad emotions he’d be experiencing were their roles here reversed. ’Twould be difficult at best and mayhap impossible to accept that he’d never again lay eyes on all that was familiar to him.

He sighed, hoping such would not be the case with Ronda. He found himself praying to the gods more oft than usual, focusing on his wife. Prayers of a peace between them. And mayhap, if he was lucky, even an eventual love.

When Otrygg loudly barged into the den, Nikolas glanced up. The older, fuming warrior was accompanied by his thirty-three-year-old, equally irate nephew, Erikk.

“You will not believe this, milord,” Otrygg bit out.

“He’s a perverter of the law,” Erikk chimed in.

Nikolas raised an eyebrow. “Toki? One of his regime?” He frowned. “And speak in English. Toki and his idiot imbeciles never learned it.”

Otrygg’s face was beet red with his fury. He was so worked up that it took him a moment to get his words out. He did, however, switch the conversation to the Outsider tongue. “Toki is forcing my sister, Froda, to the auction block.”

Nikolas stilled. “ ’Tis impossible. She—”

“ ’Tis true, milord,” Erikk said bitterly. “Toki’s soldiers came to my mother’s dwelling last eve. They gave her a fortnight to say good-bye to her old life and prepare for her new one.”

“But she’s a widow,” Nikolas said, stunned. “And a widow beyond childbearing years, at that.”

“Nothrum covets her,” Otrygg informed him. “The sadistic little bastard always has. And what Nothrum wants, Toki gives him.”

Nikolas stood up. For as long as the Underground had existed, widows of all clans in all three kingdoms—New Sweden, New Norway, and New Daneland—had enjoyed a protected, sacred status. ’Twas up to them if they wished to remarry or even dally with another warrior once their husbands left this realm to join the gods and goddesses in Valhalla.

“The time to take New Sweden is now,” Nikolas said quietly but forcefully. The agreed-upon date for the coup was still a month off, but the seizing of power couldn’t wait. “Already public opinion sways to our side. When word of this spreads throughout the colony, chaos might very well reign!”

“Agreed. This is about more than my mother, milord. This is about the stability and sanctity of our entire way of life. All families will fear that their matriarch will be taken from them.” Erikk’s nostrils flared. “If you are prepared to lead, then I am prepared to fight.”

The two warriors locked eyes and Nikolas nodded. To save Erikk’s mother from Nothrum’s vile hands, the time to overthrow Toki’s regime was coming upon them in a mere fourteen days. There was much preparation to do.

“Maintain control here whilst I voyage to New Norway with some of my men to barter for more weapons. Can you do that?” Nikolas waited for both uncle and nephew to nod their agreement before continuing. “Call upon the three elders we know to be loyal to Toki’s dead sire and the impending coup. Round them up and tell them in secrecy what is to become of Froda. Tell them not to tell anyone in Lokitown yet.”

Lord Ericsson continued to pace. “Instruct them to ready their nobles—all of them from all five of our clans. Lokitown is positioned at the middle of New Sweden, so besieging from without as well as from within is key.”

“ ’Tis also important that word of the coup not spread to the New Norwegians or the New Danes,” Otrygg added. “They would seize the opportunity to envelop New Sweden while she’s vulnerable.”

Nikolas agreed. “Other than my first in command, I won’t even tell my men why the urgency behind this voyage.”

“You will win, milord,” Erikk murmured. “And, at last, you will be our king.”

“The balance of power has been shifting to your side in greater numbers these past several months. I stand behind your decision that this is the time,” Otrygg affirmed. “I hereby pledge my life and loyalty to you and your house.”

“As do I.” Erikk inclined his head.

Nikolas had waited many moon-risings to hear those words from Otrygg’s lips. The elder warrior was wise and experienced. He had known the time for the coup would be right when at last Otrygg had given him his oath.

“I thank you.” Blinking, Nikolas cleared his throat. “And now I must ask you to leave me, that I might get the voyage to New Norway in progress with all speed.”

Otrygg patted him on the back. “Who will you take with you, Niko?”