Read Online Pleasurably Undone! by Christine Merrill - Free Book Online
Authors: Christine Merrill
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herself perfectly still. Don’t breathe.
But he only reached behind her and grasped the ropes that bound her. His hands curled around her wrists as though he could snap the bones without any effort at all. The heat of his palms penetrated her skin, chaining her in his grasp.
“I’m going to cut these.” He grasped a single rope, tightening it against her skin. “Don’t move.”
With him so close, she could feel the muscles of his upperarm pressing against her. The contact was accidental, but the heat of his body warmed her cool skin. Aisling took a deep breath to push back the rising panic.
The greater danger was being alone with this man. Fierce and forbidding, his strength could easily overpower her.
His thumb edged her palm, and the touch sent a rush of apprehension through her. A faint spiciness rose from his skin, a scent reminiscent of faraway lands to the East. In the firelight, his silhouette dominated her own.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. “Am I now your slave?”
His knife sliced the ropes in a swift, lethal move. Tharand sheathed the blade, never taking his eyes from her. His gaze was discerning, as though he were trying to measure her worth.
“You will be a gift to King Magnus,” he said at last. “He has returned to Erin.”
A gift? Her lips tightened at the thought. “And what makes you think he would want another slave?”
He reached out and took a length of her dark hair, running his fingers through it. Gooseflesh raised upon her neck, her heart hammering.
“You would not be another ambatt ,” he said. “A woman such as yourself has more value than that. If you are fortunate, you might warm his bed.”
Words of outrage tempted her lips. I am not that sort of woman , she wanted to shout. But that was what she’d become, wasn’t it? Her freedom was gone, stolen away.
She rubbed her raw wrists, trying to will sensation back into the numbness. The warrior stood before her, and she longed to cut him down for what he’d done. And for what he was about to do.
“What will you receive in exchange?” she demanded. “Gold? Thirty pieces of silver?”
His expression chilled. “You should be grateful for your life.”
“Why me? Why not some other woman?” Inside, she wanted to scream. Nervous energy roiled within her skin, trying to claw its way free.
Tharand shrugged. “You are of noble Irish blood, and that will make you suitable to serve his needs.”
Serve his needs? Aisling gritted her teeth. Not very likely. She wasn’t about to stand meekly aside and let herself suffer such a fate.
But the winter season made an escape even more complicated. She would need shelter, as well as a horse and supplies. She couldn’t simply run, not without careful planning.
Aisling rubbed her wrists again, trying to relieve the pain. Her jaw ached, the skin swelling up. But the discomfort was not only physical. Her imagination had run wild with thoughts of what this raider would do to her. Though he had not forced himself upon her yet, perhaps he was biding his time.
She needed a weapon. The gleam of steel against the back wall of the dwelling caught her eye.
“Eat,” Tharand interrupted, handing her a wooden bowl. His large frame blocked her line of sight, making her scramble backwards upon the bed.
At the sight of the salted fish, her stomach rebelled. “No, thank you.”
“I won’t have you starving yourself.” The command was lined with steel. He dropped the bowl in front of her and folded his arms across his chest. Against her will, she found herself staring at the tattooed runes that seemed to writhe against his skin.
“It isn’t that.” She held her breath against the offensive odor. “It’s that I don’t care for fish. Or anything from the sea.”
And right now, the idea of eating made her stomach twist. She was long past hunger, hardly remembering the last time she had eaten.
“Prisoners should be grateful for any food at all.”
She drew her knees
But he only reached behind her and grasped the ropes that bound her. His hands curled around her wrists as though he could snap the bones without any effort at all. The heat of his palms penetrated her skin, chaining her in his grasp.
“I’m going to cut these.” He grasped a single rope, tightening it against her skin. “Don’t move.”
With him so close, she could feel the muscles of his upperarm pressing against her. The contact was accidental, but the heat of his body warmed her cool skin. Aisling took a deep breath to push back the rising panic.
The greater danger was being alone with this man. Fierce and forbidding, his strength could easily overpower her.
His thumb edged her palm, and the touch sent a rush of apprehension through her. A faint spiciness rose from his skin, a scent reminiscent of faraway lands to the East. In the firelight, his silhouette dominated her own.
“What do you want from me?” she asked. “Am I now your slave?”
His knife sliced the ropes in a swift, lethal move. Tharand sheathed the blade, never taking his eyes from her. His gaze was discerning, as though he were trying to measure her worth.
“You will be a gift to King Magnus,” he said at last. “He has returned to Erin.”
A gift? Her lips tightened at the thought. “And what makes you think he would want another slave?”
He reached out and took a length of her dark hair, running his fingers through it. Gooseflesh raised upon her neck, her heart hammering.
“You would not be another ambatt ,” he said. “A woman such as yourself has more value than that. If you are fortunate, you might warm his bed.”
Words of outrage tempted her lips. I am not that sort of woman , she wanted to shout. But that was what she’d become, wasn’t it? Her freedom was gone, stolen away.
She rubbed her raw wrists, trying to will sensation back into the numbness. The warrior stood before her, and she longed to cut him down for what he’d done. And for what he was about to do.
“What will you receive in exchange?” she demanded. “Gold? Thirty pieces of silver?”
His expression chilled. “You should be grateful for your life.”
“Why me? Why not some other woman?” Inside, she wanted to scream. Nervous energy roiled within her skin, trying to claw its way free.
Tharand shrugged. “You are of noble Irish blood, and that will make you suitable to serve his needs.”
Serve his needs? Aisling gritted her teeth. Not very likely. She wasn’t about to stand meekly aside and let herself suffer such a fate.
But the winter season made an escape even more complicated. She would need shelter, as well as a horse and supplies. She couldn’t simply run, not without careful planning.
Aisling rubbed her wrists again, trying to relieve the pain. Her jaw ached, the skin swelling up. But the discomfort was not only physical. Her imagination had run wild with thoughts of what this raider would do to her. Though he had not forced himself upon her yet, perhaps he was biding his time.
She needed a weapon. The gleam of steel against the back wall of the dwelling caught her eye.
“Eat,” Tharand interrupted, handing her a wooden bowl. His large frame blocked her line of sight, making her scramble backwards upon the bed.
At the sight of the salted fish, her stomach rebelled. “No, thank you.”
“I won’t have you starving yourself.” The command was lined with steel. He dropped the bowl in front of her and folded his arms across his chest. Against her will, she found herself staring at the tattooed runes that seemed to writhe against his skin.
“It isn’t that.” She held her breath against the offensive odor. “It’s that I don’t care for fish. Or anything from the sea.”
And right now, the idea of eating made her stomach twist. She was long past hunger, hardly remembering the last time she had eaten.
“Prisoners should be grateful for any food at all.”
She drew her knees
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