The King's Pleasure by Shannon Drake & Heather Graham

Author:Shannon Drake & Heather Graham
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

SHE’D BEEN INSANE, SHE thought, trying to reach him. She spun from the door, staring into the fire as she felt the chill of fear sweep around her. What was she going to do? She needed time to think, to get a hold upon her fear.

No! No! What she needed to do was to pray that the door would remain closed upon her forever, that the miracle of an escape would suddenly show itself …

What a coward she was! What about Simon? She had to help him.

But the door had barely closed before it thundered open again. Her hand flew to her chest, as if trying to still her heart from beating itself to death.

Hands on hips, he filled the doorway. She stared at him for what seemed an eternity, and yet no time at all. He strode into the room, slamming the door behind him with a vengeance.

Simon! she reminded herself.

“What—what have you done?” she demanded, trying to remain still and straight, to keep her voice strong and a pretense of courage about her. “What are you—going to do?” Despite herself, she faltered.

“I should kill you!” he hissed softly, his voice disturbingly quiet. “Wrap my fingers around your neck and strangle you. But then, I would cost myself a wife. At the very least, I should beat you until you scream for mercy.”

“I’m not afraid of you!” she told him, eyes narrowing. But she was afraid; her heart still hammered and she could scarcely draw breath. “You’ll not threaten me, and you will answer me! What have you done to Simon? If you’ve harmed him—”

She broke off because he was striding toward her with such swift menace that she couldn’t move until he was almost upon her. A gasp tore from her throat and she tried to run. She hadn’t a prayer. His fingers curled into her hair and over her arm and he wrenched her back around to face him with such a force that she lost her breath. Both his hands fell tight upon her shoulders as he snapped her straight. Her head fell back, her eyes rose to meet his, and she wanted to cower despite all her most stalwart pretenses. She had never seen him so angry, not even that day in the woods when he had been convinced she had nearly killed him by loosening the girth on his saddle.

She didn’t know whether to scream or weep. His fingers were brutal. “Let go of me!” she cried out, trying with all her strength to wrench free. “Arrogant, domineering, wretched, grasping Englishman!”

“Scotsman,” was his brief reply. He lifted her from her feet and threw her down upon the bed. Her sheer silk nightdress snagged beneath her. Her legs were bared, she was naked from the waist down. Delicate ties had broken at the bodice, exposing her breasts. Winded, she gasped for breath and tried to rise, tried to hold the flimsy fabric together. She made it up to her elbows, but then fell back and met the dark fury of his features.

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