His Harlot: A Midsummer's Sin by Natasha Blackthorne

Author:Natasha Blackthorne [Blackthorne, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hearts Aflame Press
Published: 2015-12-26T05:00:00+00:00

* * * *

Sally’s snoring drove Rosalind out of the narrow bed they shared and into the barn. She spread a blanket over a pile of hay then sat there to slowly savour a cup of Thomas’ rum.

Thomas.

She was sick of the sight of him.

The sooner she returned to Goody Wilson’s, the better.

She drained the cup and dropped it to the soft hay. On a weary sigh, she lay back on the pallet, wrapping her cloak about her. Sleep drifted over her.

The sound of the barn door coming open startled her awake.

Thomas stood there, holding a lantern. He was clad in his nightshirt.

She pulled the edges of her wrapper tightly together. “Can’t you give me any peace?”

He walked over and picked up her discarded cup. He sniffed. “Up late, drinking rum. Is this what you do at Goody Wilson’s whilst she sleeps?”

She frowned at him. “You shameless lecher, who are you to criticise me?”

He dropped the cup. It landed with a dull thud on the packed dirt floor. “You think because I’ve fucked you that you can disrespect me?”

Shock washed over her at his blunt words and held her speechless for a moment. But she wouldn’t let him think he could play the ruffian and make her cow. She stuck her tongue out at him.

His expression turned stern.

“By God, I have had enough of your sauciness and your sharp tongue,” he growled.

A strange mix of fear and excitement brewed in her belly. He took a step towards her and emotions tingled through her, to the very ends of her fingers and toes. She turned and began to run.

He wrapped his arm about her waist, stopping her, and pulled her back. He bent and brought his face so close to hers his stumble scraped her cheek. “Oh no, you’re not going anywhere. You temptress. You witch.”

His breath wafted over her, an ethereal kiss. Rum-scented.

“You’ve been drinking yourself!”

“You would lead any man to drunkenness.” He pulled her along. The movement seemed exaggerated. The barn swept dizzily by. He fell back and took her with him, leaving her stomach behind.

Her hands spread over the straw as she lay across him, waiting for the world to stop spinning.

“You crimson-haired witch. They burn witches but I know a better way to tame a witch.”

“Let me go, you bastard.” She gathered her wits enough to push against his arms as he still held her. “I’ve had scores of others, all better men than you.”

She blurted the last words in a heated rush. She’d said it to hurt him. However, it was nothing more than he’d suspected, she was sure.

Something flashed in his eyes and he tightened his grip. Then he laughed down at her, the sound cold and empty. “Truth at last. I knew you for a shameless harlot when I first set eyes on you. In that garish green gown with all your flaming locks clashing against it.”

He rose to a sitting position, quickly rolling and turning her. Once again, the barn spun by until she lay face-down over his knees, staring at the dirt floor, her heart pounding.

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