Samantha James Read Online Free Page A

perhaps,” he said softly, “there is another way to silence that lovely mouth of yours.”
    Raucous laughter ensued. His men warmed to their lord and his intentions.
    “A juicy morsel, she is!”
    “Give her a taste of a Norman blade, milord!” jeered one.
    “Put her on her knees, where she belongs!” added another.
    “Ah, and just think where her mouth would be then!”
    The men roared.
    Alana’s face burned painfully. Though they spoke in French, her father had taught her well. Even if she had not understood, their leering grins bespoke far more than she was wont to know.
    And all the while, Merrick of Normandy’s gaze had yet to leave hers. “Leave us,” he said to his men. “Take the old man back to the village, then return to the keep.”
    Alana watched anxiously as two men dragged Aubrey to his feet. Relief washed through as she saw that he appeared unhurt, though he was clearly groggy and dazed. After all the soldiers had dispersed, she pressed her lips together to keep them from trembling. She remained where she was, frightened and uncertain, her arms wound around her body, as if she might defend herself thusly. But there was no escaping his gaze.
    And she had the awful sensation there was no escaping him .
    She swallowed her terror. “Why did you tell them to leave?” Her voice was but a breath.
    He smiled—a demon’s smile, to be sure! “Perhaps I will finish what my men would surely have begun, were it not for my timely arrival.”
    Alana’s mind flew like the wind across the seas. The men in the village had said no woman was safe from the ravening Normans. That very first day, at the edge of the pasture, she had seen a burly Norman rising from between the bloodied thighs of Hawise, the dairyman’s eldest daughter.
    She shuddered. “Nay,” she said faintly. “You cannot mean to—”
    “’Tis just the two of us, Saxon. You could not fight me.”
    Mayhap he was right. Mayhap she should not fight him. Yet she knew she would.
    She hesitated but an instant, then tried to dart past him. He caught her easily. Steel-gloved hands around her waist, he swung her around.
    She tried to pummel his chest. Everything within her rebelled against him. “Nay! You will not touch me!”
    Her blows fell like twigs against his shoulders. He tumbled her backward to the mossy ground. Husky laughter rushed past her cheek. “Saxon, I touch you now.”
    And alas, it was true. Alana was shocked to feel the weight of his body full and heavy upon hers. His chest crushed the softness of her breasts. The battle-forged hardness of muscled thighs lay hard and taut against her own. From breast to belly to the tips of her toes, there was nowhere they did not touch.
    His hands like iron manacles, he forced her arms back so that they lay on either side of herhead. “We are the conquerors, Saxon. Surrender to me, your Norman lord.”
    “Nay!” she cried. “I will not surrender. We will not surrender! We will fight until you are driven back to your Norman shores.”
    The grip on her wrists tightened ever so slightly. “And who would be the victor in our battle here and now? Norman or Saxon?”
    Alana gritted her teeth and sought to buck him off. He was immovable, like a stone above her. She screamed her rage. “You may have beaten us now, Norman, but we will rise against you and then we will be the conquerors.”
    He laughed. The bastard, he laughed!
    Alana went wild then, seeking to kick him, to free her hands that she might shove him away. But her struggles were in vain. He had only to press his chest against hers until she lay gasping and still.
    “I ask again. Who is the victor now, girl? Norman or Saxon?”
    Perilously near tears, she denied him yet again with a wordless shake of her head. A glimmer of anger flashed across his face. Above all else, she was aware of the power of his body, the strength of his will. She closed her eyes, fearful of the form his retaliation might take.
    But he said not a word. He made