Read Online Warrior's Princess Bride by MERIEL FULLER - Free Book Online Page B

you!’ she shouted into the soft wool of the tunic that covered his chain mail, furious at his rough man handling. Steel-clad arms braced her waist, making any escape at tempt impossible. ‘Let me go!’ she ordered, imperiously.
    ‘If I let you go, then you will fall straight out of the tree,’ he advised her quietly. ‘I am the only thing holding you at the moment.’ The mellow timbre of his words had a curious effect on her, generating a weird fluttering sensation in her belly.
    ‘You push the boundaries of common decency,’ she threw back waspishly. ‘This is no way to treat a princess! Even captured knights are treated better than this. Just wait until I tell King Malcolm about you!’
    Laughter rumbled deep in his chest; the vibrations pushing the muscled breadth of his torso against her own softer curves. Holding her with one arm, he yanked the curling end of her braid sharply, bringing tears to her eyes as he forced her to lift her chin, to look at him.
    ‘You’re no more a princess than I am,’ he announced, the smoke-grey of his eyes grimly assessing.
    Tavia licked her lips nervously, a dryness scouring her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest. Was he going to kill her?
    ‘Are you?’ he said again, jerking the end of her braid once more.
    ‘Of course I am,’ she replied. Her voice echoed lamely.
    The breeze ruffled through the sable smooth ness of his hair, hair that gleamed like the polished skin of a hazelnut. A few strands fell across his forehead, softening the raw-boned angularity of his features.
    ‘So I’ve never met you before.’
    ‘Correct.’
    ‘Liar.’
    He would know the maid anywhere: the proud, defiant tilt of her chin, the huge eyes of cobalt blue and that hair, her beautiful wine-dark hair that pro claimed her identity like a flag.
    ‘How did you ever think you would pass as a princess?’ His tone mocked her.
    To admit her true identity would be to fail. And she was not about to do that! This man had to believe her! For the sake of her mother, for this whole plan to work, she had to convince him! Sticking her chin imperiously in the air, Tavia addressed him in prim tones, trying to ignore the proximity of his big body pressed up against her own soft curves.
    ‘Because I am a princess, you fool!’
    His eyes narrowed, spark ling chips of granite. ‘Oh, so it’s usual practice for a princess to run around her own city dressed in peasant clothes; it’s usual practice for a princess to shoot a crossbow with unerring accuracy?’ He lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘Credit me with some intelligence, my lady!’
    One finger picked nervously at the nail on her thumb squashed into her side by his big arm. This wasn’t going to be easy. ‘I admit that my behaviour is unusual for a lady of rank,’ she ventured, refusing to let his mocking stare intimidate her, ‘but Malcolm taught me to shoot from an early age, and sitting in the woman’s solar all day is boring! It’s fun going around the town dressed in peasant clothes.’
    ‘Not so fun when you’re nearly raped by English soldiers, I suspect.’ A stinging wryness entered his tone.
    She shuddered slightly at the memory, heart thrilling at the note of doubt creeping into his voice. Benois sighed, momentarily allowing himself to enjoy the maid’s soft curves against his own hard frame. He stared at her intently, drinking in the lush, perfect oval of her face, trying to read her mind. What if the maid spoke the truth?
    Tavia schooled her features into an expression of stern chastisement. ‘Mayhap we could discuss this further on the ground?’ She tilted her head in question. ‘I don’t feel entirely safe up here.’ Without thinking, she flicked her blue, long-lashed eyes up to his, trying to impress on him the need to descend, willing herself to ignore the strange, flickering excitement that jolted upwards through her belly and chest at the alluring proximity of his body.
    Benois’s arms tightened imperceptibly around her;