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Authors: Catherine Kean
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shoulder.
“God’s teeth,” she spluttered.
Squaring his shoulders, Aldwin turned to the open doorway.
Her hands pounded his buttocks. He felt little more than dull punches through his wool cloak. “I warn you,” she said, her words muffled against the fabric. “Put. Me—”
“Down?” Aldwin laughed. “Nay, Lady L. You are coming with me.”
Chapter Four
The swell of noise from the main tavern room mirrored the roar of blood rushing into Leona’s head. Being thrown over an arrogant knave’s shoulder like a sack of beans and dangling upside down was most disorienting. Not to mention mortifying.
When Aldwin moved toward the door, causing her to bounce against his back, she fisted her hands into his cloak. Oh, God. The laughter, singing, and a chorus of cheers seemed to focus right in her throbbing brow.
Nevertheless, she was not going to allow this arrogant oaf to carry her away as if he were an ogre from one of her childhood nightmares. She squirmed with all her might. The scratchy wool of his cloak abraded her cheek, as did the rope of her braid she’d looped around her neck, her only means of keeping it from dragging on the ground.
He swatted her legs. “Stop struggling.”
She tilted her face away from his cloak. “I warn you,” she yelled. “Put—”
The door creaked farther open, spilling light over Sir Reginald’s prone form.
Hammering her fists against Aldwin’s arse again, she yelled, “Sir Reginald!” Why did he not wake? And where was Twig with that accursed drink?
Aldwin strode into the corridor. His boots raised a cloud of dust . . . or whatever lay on the floor in a fine coating. He paused, clearly deciding whether to proceed through the crowded main room or find another way out.
A draft edged up under the hem of her gown, as if a ghostly sot tried to peep at her undergarments. Kicking her legs, she glared at Aldwin’s back. How galling for the tavern’s patrons to see her bottom up.
His arms tightened around her thighs, restricting her struggles. She punched him again and raised her head. “Twig!”
Hearty laughter swarmed from the bar, followed by a chorus of “Down in one! Down in one!” A drinking contest. No wonder Twig hadn’t returned with the liquor.
“ Twig! ” she screamed again, hoping he heard her over the din.
Aldwin pivoted, and she guessed he now faced the rear door, the source of the draft. Turning her face, she caught a glimpse of the main room. Past the tables where two men were arguing over a whore, she spied Twig. Clutching an earthenware mug in one scrawny hand, holding it high above the crowd so it wouldn’t spill, he elbowed his way through the throng. Intent on dodging the drunkards, he hadn’t seen her.
“Tw—” she began with all the breath in her lungs, but before the screech broke full force, Aldwin jostled her again. “—ig!” she groaned.
With brisk strides, Aldwin headed down the corridor toward the back door.
Thrashing her legs, Leona inhaled another breath. “Tw—” Aldwin shifted her weight on his shoulder. She started sliding toward the ground. Headfirst. Her scream died on a frightened squawk.
She fell the space of one gasp before Aldwin grabbed secure hold of her again. Not that she would have hit the floor. Her hands firmly gripped his cloak.
He laughed softly, and her gaze clouded with fury. He’d almost dropped her on purpose. To let her know she was wholly in his control.
The cool air in the corridor intensified. He approached the area where the tavern keeper received deliveries of ale and other goods. Barrels, topped by folded cloth sacks, were propped against the wall.
Leona gnawed her lip, for she would not be hauled outside into the darkness with Aldwin. They might have met when they were children, but she didn’t know this warrior Aldwin at all. Who knew what he intended for her in the grimy yard, beyond the watchful eyes of the revelers and her father’s men?
Mayhap he planned to carry
“God’s teeth,” she spluttered.
Squaring his shoulders, Aldwin turned to the open doorway.
Her hands pounded his buttocks. He felt little more than dull punches through his wool cloak. “I warn you,” she said, her words muffled against the fabric. “Put. Me—”
“Down?” Aldwin laughed. “Nay, Lady L. You are coming with me.”
Chapter Four
The swell of noise from the main tavern room mirrored the roar of blood rushing into Leona’s head. Being thrown over an arrogant knave’s shoulder like a sack of beans and dangling upside down was most disorienting. Not to mention mortifying.
When Aldwin moved toward the door, causing her to bounce against his back, she fisted her hands into his cloak. Oh, God. The laughter, singing, and a chorus of cheers seemed to focus right in her throbbing brow.
Nevertheless, she was not going to allow this arrogant oaf to carry her away as if he were an ogre from one of her childhood nightmares. She squirmed with all her might. The scratchy wool of his cloak abraded her cheek, as did the rope of her braid she’d looped around her neck, her only means of keeping it from dragging on the ground.
He swatted her legs. “Stop struggling.”
She tilted her face away from his cloak. “I warn you,” she yelled. “Put—”
The door creaked farther open, spilling light over Sir Reginald’s prone form.
Hammering her fists against Aldwin’s arse again, she yelled, “Sir Reginald!” Why did he not wake? And where was Twig with that accursed drink?
Aldwin strode into the corridor. His boots raised a cloud of dust . . . or whatever lay on the floor in a fine coating. He paused, clearly deciding whether to proceed through the crowded main room or find another way out.
A draft edged up under the hem of her gown, as if a ghostly sot tried to peep at her undergarments. Kicking her legs, she glared at Aldwin’s back. How galling for the tavern’s patrons to see her bottom up.
His arms tightened around her thighs, restricting her struggles. She punched him again and raised her head. “Twig!”
Hearty laughter swarmed from the bar, followed by a chorus of “Down in one! Down in one!” A drinking contest. No wonder Twig hadn’t returned with the liquor.
“ Twig! ” she screamed again, hoping he heard her over the din.
Aldwin pivoted, and she guessed he now faced the rear door, the source of the draft. Turning her face, she caught a glimpse of the main room. Past the tables where two men were arguing over a whore, she spied Twig. Clutching an earthenware mug in one scrawny hand, holding it high above the crowd so it wouldn’t spill, he elbowed his way through the throng. Intent on dodging the drunkards, he hadn’t seen her.
“Tw—” she began with all the breath in her lungs, but before the screech broke full force, Aldwin jostled her again. “—ig!” she groaned.
With brisk strides, Aldwin headed down the corridor toward the back door.
Thrashing her legs, Leona inhaled another breath. “Tw—” Aldwin shifted her weight on his shoulder. She started sliding toward the ground. Headfirst. Her scream died on a frightened squawk.
She fell the space of one gasp before Aldwin grabbed secure hold of her again. Not that she would have hit the floor. Her hands firmly gripped his cloak.
He laughed softly, and her gaze clouded with fury. He’d almost dropped her on purpose. To let her know she was wholly in his control.
The cool air in the corridor intensified. He approached the area where the tavern keeper received deliveries of ale and other goods. Barrels, topped by folded cloth sacks, were propped against the wall.
Leona gnawed her lip, for she would not be hauled outside into the darkness with Aldwin. They might have met when they were children, but she didn’t know this warrior Aldwin at all. Who knew what he intended for her in the grimy yard, beyond the watchful eyes of the revelers and her father’s men?
Mayhap he planned to carry
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