Hemlock and Honey: Highlander Romance by Elizabeth Preston

Author:Elizabeth Preston [Preston, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781682914700
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-08-15T16:00:00+00:00

It took Sybilla a moment to grow accustomed to the flickering firelight inside. The hearth was roaring, and in any other circumstance, she’d have said the room was warm and toasty and wonderful. There was a generous supply of beeswax burning, the rich scent of honey flavouring the air. But that was all she liked about the place.

Five other girls were inside the den of decadence—all scantily clad, too. If she pieced all the bits of material together that each woman wore, she’d barely have enough to sew a blanket.

Then she noted a cluster of men tucked into the far corners of the room, hiding in the shadows. No doubt they had wives at home, awaiting their safe return. Ha! If only their wives knew.

Morgann wasted no time. He had one hand around a tankard and the other over a hefty bosom of a woman whose loose breasts jostled freely, begging to be snatched. Morgann smiled, forgetting that he had an ailing wife in need of rescue.

Sybilla’s face burned, and she knew she must have looked as scarlet as the rouge on the tavern girls’ lips. “You’ve brought me to a whorehouse—you really, truly have.”

“Now lass, dinnae fash so. You’re warm and dry, and you’ll get something good in your belly soon.”

A red-haired woman darted past, wearing a snippet of dried gut, the likes of which Sybilla had in her wardrobe too. But Sybilla used the gut to tie up her braids. This woman wore the skin strip across her bare bottom.

Worse still, she stopped abruptly when she recognised Gus. Her smile was blatant enough. It said, Toss up my skirts. If only she’d been wearing one or two to toss up.

“Three bowls of mutton stew, if you please,” Gus called out to no one in particular. He spoke as if they were in a regular dining hall in a castle or manor house.

Sybilla, on the other hand, could barely find her voice. She would have liked to roll her eyes, but they were glued straight ahead, fixated on the row of pallets lined up against the far wall. There was a filmy row of curtaining covering the pallets, but it was more of a token than a shield. Clearly, privacy was not valued in a place like this.

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