ducked beneath the tent's ceiling. His chest heaved as he stared at her.
“Woman, you are driving me to madness.”
“You knew it was me all along.” Somehow that made the whole thing easier to bear.
He wasn't just kissing anyone with such fervor.
“Finish what you started, Christiana. Or are you just a tease?”
His challenge shocked her. She took several steadying breaths while she fastened her belt at her hips. “Since it seems I will never be allowed to know the touch of a husband,” she said pointedly, “and I am not suited for the life of a nun.” She shrugged. “I will finish what I started, but I want my freedom in return. Have your way with me, then I will be on my way.”
His eyes narrowed at her sharp words. The muscle in his jaw worked, and the set of his mouth was grim. He clearly wasn't pleased with her unenthusiastic acceptance, but it didn't stop him from saying, in a very dictatorial manner, “Go up to my chambers and make yourself naked. I expect to find you waiting for me.”
She pressed her hands together and bowed in the manner she imagined of an obedient harem girl. “Yes, my master.”
“Quit the charade, Christiana. You haven't been subservient a day in your life,” he growled and flung aside the canvas door.
Leaving the noise of the faire behind, Christiana chose a narrow path seldom traveled that followed the riverbank. She feared meeting one of the performers. She had no wish for a scolding or ribald comments.
The exotic scents of wild roses and jasmine permeated the air. She took a bracing breath. Would she really allow herself the sinful experience of sharing a bed with the master of Dareford? Had it been her desire for independence, or had his kiss emptied her head of all sense? Why on earth had she agreed so readily to his demands?
Christiana stopped to pluck a wildflower and heard a rustle in the bushes. There was a shout followed by cackling laughter, and then she was knocked to the ground, her face pressed into the dirt. She tried to buck her assailant off her back, but the person dug a knee into the base of her spine and yanked hard on a handful of her hair. She attempted to strike sideways at her assailant's thigh, but another person took hold of her wrists, bending her arms and pinioning them to her upper back. A piece of cloth was stuffed into her mouth, muffling her cries. The sickening sound of her hair being sawed off made her weep. Her tears turned the ground beneath her cheek to mud.
Christiana pulled the cloth from her mouth, but she lay without moving long after her attackers had disappeared. Finally, she heaved herself to her feet, staggered to the river, and contemplated her fate. The setting sun glimmered on the surface of the river.
Kneeling on the mossy bank, she peered into the water, but she couldn't make out her reflection. She drew her fingers through the tufts of her hair and cried some more. She imagined she could hear her tears hitting the water. Mayhap, she should thank Maud and her accomplice for helping make her decision for her. It wasn't to Beckett's or any man's bed she would be going to tonight. It would be back to the servant's quarters for her.
Christiana splashed the icy water over her face and scrubbed away the dirt. She had a fleeting thought of running away, but knew she wouldn't survive. From her leather purse, she took her linen head-wrap to cover her shame and trudged toward the castle.
Exhausted and heartsick, Christiana navigated through the keep, stepping gingerly over men slumped against the benches and strewn among the rushes. It was hardly necessary to be so careful, considering that their brains were probably soaked in spirits.
The smell of sour ale and vomit made her gag. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
Someone roused at the end of the room, and she hurried her pace fearing that a man might take advantage of the situation and leave his knightly honor behind. A big hand wrapped around her wrist, and she looked up to
“Woman, you are driving me to madness.”
“You knew it was me all along.” Somehow that made the whole thing easier to bear.
He wasn't just kissing anyone with such fervor.
“Finish what you started, Christiana. Or are you just a tease?”
His challenge shocked her. She took several steadying breaths while she fastened her belt at her hips. “Since it seems I will never be allowed to know the touch of a husband,” she said pointedly, “and I am not suited for the life of a nun.” She shrugged. “I will finish what I started, but I want my freedom in return. Have your way with me, then I will be on my way.”
His eyes narrowed at her sharp words. The muscle in his jaw worked, and the set of his mouth was grim. He clearly wasn't pleased with her unenthusiastic acceptance, but it didn't stop him from saying, in a very dictatorial manner, “Go up to my chambers and make yourself naked. I expect to find you waiting for me.”
She pressed her hands together and bowed in the manner she imagined of an obedient harem girl. “Yes, my master.”
“Quit the charade, Christiana. You haven't been subservient a day in your life,” he growled and flung aside the canvas door.
Leaving the noise of the faire behind, Christiana chose a narrow path seldom traveled that followed the riverbank. She feared meeting one of the performers. She had no wish for a scolding or ribald comments.
The exotic scents of wild roses and jasmine permeated the air. She took a bracing breath. Would she really allow herself the sinful experience of sharing a bed with the master of Dareford? Had it been her desire for independence, or had his kiss emptied her head of all sense? Why on earth had she agreed so readily to his demands?
Christiana stopped to pluck a wildflower and heard a rustle in the bushes. There was a shout followed by cackling laughter, and then she was knocked to the ground, her face pressed into the dirt. She tried to buck her assailant off her back, but the person dug a knee into the base of her spine and yanked hard on a handful of her hair. She attempted to strike sideways at her assailant's thigh, but another person took hold of her wrists, bending her arms and pinioning them to her upper back. A piece of cloth was stuffed into her mouth, muffling her cries. The sickening sound of her hair being sawed off made her weep. Her tears turned the ground beneath her cheek to mud.
Christiana pulled the cloth from her mouth, but she lay without moving long after her attackers had disappeared. Finally, she heaved herself to her feet, staggered to the river, and contemplated her fate. The setting sun glimmered on the surface of the river.
Kneeling on the mossy bank, she peered into the water, but she couldn't make out her reflection. She drew her fingers through the tufts of her hair and cried some more. She imagined she could hear her tears hitting the water. Mayhap, she should thank Maud and her accomplice for helping make her decision for her. It wasn't to Beckett's or any man's bed she would be going to tonight. It would be back to the servant's quarters for her.
Christiana splashed the icy water over her face and scrubbed away the dirt. She had a fleeting thought of running away, but knew she wouldn't survive. From her leather purse, she took her linen head-wrap to cover her shame and trudged toward the castle.
Exhausted and heartsick, Christiana navigated through the keep, stepping gingerly over men slumped against the benches and strewn among the rushes. It was hardly necessary to be so careful, considering that their brains were probably soaked in spirits.
The smell of sour ale and vomit made her gag. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
Someone roused at the end of the room, and she hurried her pace fearing that a man might take advantage of the situation and leave his knightly honor behind. A big hand wrapped around her wrist, and she looked up to
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