The Quest

Still crouched on the floor, Rolf pivoted on his heels to look at Annice. Sprawled on her side, propped up on one elbow, she faced him defiantly, eyes glittering with reflected flame. The hem of her gown was twisted beneath her, midway up her legs. Silk garters held up white hose, and her silk undertunic wadded between her knees in a tangle, restricting her movements. A bound rope of hair snaked across the stone hearth, dark-red strands glowing in the light like a line of fire. The tip of her hair was within a handsbreadth of the toe of his boot. Nothing was said as they stared at each other, he furious, she as poised and tense as a she-wolf. Tension vibrated between them like the taut string of a lute. Beneath the shadowed fringe of her lashes, Annice's eyes were a clear, calculating blue that regarded him with speculation. Meeting her gaze, Rolf read her intention and reacted swiftly. He dropped the parchment to the floor, one hand shooting out to grasp the end of her hair just as she moved to leap to her feet. He began to draw her toward him by the simple expedient of using her hair as he would a rope. Slowly he wound it around his fist, forcing her to come to him on her hands and knees when the pressure grew too great to resist. There was fire in her eyes and in the epithets she flung at him, but in a moment she was at his feet. Still kneeling on the stones of the hearth, Rolf stared down at her. There was little pleasure to be gained from crushing a foe already vanquished, yet this woman seemed not to know of her defeat. Battle lights sparked in her eyes, and a hot flush stained her cheeks with anger. Though the long, trailing cuff of one sleeve had somehow become entangled with the free rope of her hair, she still resisted his effort to draw her up to her knees. "JUsu," he muttered, "have you so little sense that you would still fight me?" "'Tis not a question of sense," she shot back as she jerked at the offending hair and snarled cuff, "but of pride. If you must wed me, so be it. But l shall not yield to you easily, my lord of Dragonwyck, no matter how you try to force me." A faint smile tugged at his mouth. "I have always enjoyed the contest more than the victory, milady. 'Tis sweeter, indeed, when the prize is hard-won." "But is it so sweet to lose?" she mocked, freeing at last the cuff from the loosened strands of her hair. "I think not. For you, anyway. Those men more confident of their prowess know that even the best man can ofttimes be conquered if the circumstances dictate." Rolf still held the other rope of hair in his fist. As if she were in her own chamber before a mirror, Annice began to comb her fingers through the flowing locks of her free hair. The ribbon wound through the loose tresses was a brilliant green silk; calmly twining it back around the thick strands, she rebound her hair as if he were not there. Flipping it over her shoulder to fall down her back she looked up at Rolf with a bold gaze. "Do you fear I will escape you, my lord? I am but a woman, by your own words. I can fight such a fierce warrior as yourself with but pitiable weapons. My tongue and my wits are all I have as resources--would you deny me those?" "At times," he said tightly, "'twould be advisable to silence that waspish tongue before I am tempted to remove it for you. And the wits you boast of would be better used to contemplate ways to keep me in a better humor with you, rather than seek ways to annoy me. Even a caged bird sings sweetly for its super." Her lashes lowered and he saw a faint shudder pass through her body. He did not allow sympathy for her plight to move him. It would be kinder in the end to accustom her now to accepting him as lord and master. Tightening his hand in the hair he still held, he slowly pulled her head bacJuliana Garnett is the author of 'The Quest', published 1995 under ISBN 9780553568615 and ISBN 0553568612.