done since your cursed king set foot in our land—yield lands and pride and even our lives to William the Bastard and his marauding knights. Allegiance is expected, but must I yield my maidenhead, as well, to satisfy Norman justice?”
Behind her panting defiance he recognized fear. She expected to be raped. Tempting, he admitted, but he had no intention of obliging her. He preferred his women warm and willing, not biting, scratching, and exhausting a man so that any chance of pleasure was destroyed. But why tell her that when it would be to his advantage to leave her quivering in apprehension?
“Une pucelle?”
He laughed softly and shifted back to English. “Even if you are truly virgin, you value yourself too highly to think your maidenhead is adequate payment for the damage you have caused.” She hissed at him, trying to pull free, but he held her fast. “Nay, do not think to escape me. When I want you, I will take you. For now, your oath will serve my needs.”
Her eyes were sharp as daggers as she glared up at him. “I will not swear to you or to William—and you will have to kill me before you can take me.”
“Will I? You cannot even free yourself from my hold. Can you thwart me from doing whatever I will?”
“Aye—”
Provoked as much by some obscure emotion as by her tart challenge, Luc curled one hand into her hair to pull her head back, tilting her face upward. Panic clouded her eyes.
“You said you wanted only my oath—”
“Aye, and I also said I would take you when I want you, princess.”
“Don’t call me that! Curse you—” The words came out in a husky, strangled sob. “Don’t ever call me that again.…”
Her knee came up in a slashing jerk, and he barely avoided the blow. His hand splayed against the small of her back to press her close against him. He could feel her muscles knotting beneath his palm. His lips slanted across her mouth in a punishing kiss, and the blood began to beat hot and swift through his veins. It was a contest of wills that he meant to win, but by the Rood! he began to wonder if he had underestimated the effect she had on him. He had bedded his share of women in the past, but not like this one. None had ever bested him at anything. Most of the women of his experience were rather pale, simpering creatures who grated on his nerves with sighing professions of everlasting love, exhausting him with their expectations.
Not this one. She was fire and ice, defiance and hatred, a contradiction and a challenge that would stir any man. Still, he did not expect the potency of his response to her, a raging need that clouded the memory of other women.
Jésu
, her mouth was soft, honey-sweet and as hot as the fire that raged through him. His entire body was a throbbing ache. He wanted her. He wanted to push her down to the waiting bed and spread her beneath him, plunge inside her toward that sweet release that only a woman could give him. Yet he would not, and he knew it even as he kissed her into limp submission, felt her weight sag in his arms and her body drape into that curious boneless compliance that oft preceded a woman’s surrender.
Only then did Luc lift his head and allow her to take a stumbling backward step away from him. Hot color stained her high cheekbones, yet her lips were strangely bloodless, her eyes like wide blue bruises beneath straight brows. She was trembling, and she put her arms around her body as if chilled.
In a shaky voice, she snapped: “I see Normans are as bestial as they are reputed to be.”
“So we are. And you will see just how bestial I can be if you do not swear to me as your new lord,
demoiselle
.” Slowly, he began to unbuckle the wide leather belt around his waist.
“You … you would not!”
“Better leather than steel, but do not deceive yourself into believing that I would withhold my hand from delivering Norman justice where it is warranted.”
“Justice, or tyranny?”
When he said nothing, but looped the
Behind her panting defiance he recognized fear. She expected to be raped. Tempting, he admitted, but he had no intention of obliging her. He preferred his women warm and willing, not biting, scratching, and exhausting a man so that any chance of pleasure was destroyed. But why tell her that when it would be to his advantage to leave her quivering in apprehension?
“Une pucelle?”
He laughed softly and shifted back to English. “Even if you are truly virgin, you value yourself too highly to think your maidenhead is adequate payment for the damage you have caused.” She hissed at him, trying to pull free, but he held her fast. “Nay, do not think to escape me. When I want you, I will take you. For now, your oath will serve my needs.”
Her eyes were sharp as daggers as she glared up at him. “I will not swear to you or to William—and you will have to kill me before you can take me.”
“Will I? You cannot even free yourself from my hold. Can you thwart me from doing whatever I will?”
“Aye—”
Provoked as much by some obscure emotion as by her tart challenge, Luc curled one hand into her hair to pull her head back, tilting her face upward. Panic clouded her eyes.
“You said you wanted only my oath—”
“Aye, and I also said I would take you when I want you, princess.”
“Don’t call me that! Curse you—” The words came out in a husky, strangled sob. “Don’t ever call me that again.…”
Her knee came up in a slashing jerk, and he barely avoided the blow. His hand splayed against the small of her back to press her close against him. He could feel her muscles knotting beneath his palm. His lips slanted across her mouth in a punishing kiss, and the blood began to beat hot and swift through his veins. It was a contest of wills that he meant to win, but by the Rood! he began to wonder if he had underestimated the effect she had on him. He had bedded his share of women in the past, but not like this one. None had ever bested him at anything. Most of the women of his experience were rather pale, simpering creatures who grated on his nerves with sighing professions of everlasting love, exhausting him with their expectations.
Not this one. She was fire and ice, defiance and hatred, a contradiction and a challenge that would stir any man. Still, he did not expect the potency of his response to her, a raging need that clouded the memory of other women.
Jésu
, her mouth was soft, honey-sweet and as hot as the fire that raged through him. His entire body was a throbbing ache. He wanted her. He wanted to push her down to the waiting bed and spread her beneath him, plunge inside her toward that sweet release that only a woman could give him. Yet he would not, and he knew it even as he kissed her into limp submission, felt her weight sag in his arms and her body drape into that curious boneless compliance that oft preceded a woman’s surrender.
Only then did Luc lift his head and allow her to take a stumbling backward step away from him. Hot color stained her high cheekbones, yet her lips were strangely bloodless, her eyes like wide blue bruises beneath straight brows. She was trembling, and she put her arms around her body as if chilled.
In a shaky voice, she snapped: “I see Normans are as bestial as they are reputed to be.”
“So we are. And you will see just how bestial I can be if you do not swear to me as your new lord,
demoiselle
.” Slowly, he began to unbuckle the wide leather belt around his waist.
“You … you would not!”
“Better leather than steel, but do not deceive yourself into believing that I would withhold my hand from delivering Norman justice where it is warranted.”
“Justice, or tyranny?”
When he said nothing, but looped the
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