Her Lord and Master by Alexa Cole Read Free Book Online Page A

chug.
    “Can you remove this?” she pointed to the rope about her neck.
    He shook his head vigorously.
    “May I have a knife, then?”
    “No,” the lad shook his head again. “I am sorry, my lady.”
    “I am a noblewoman, Jordan,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “They have no right to keep me here, trussed up like a hare.”
    “This is Dane law,” he answered. The young man looked uncomfortable and almost blushed “You are a slave now. Even under Anglo-Saxon law, you are the spoils of war.”
    “May I leave the tent?” Elizabeth questioned.
    He hooked his thumbs on his belt, and scuffed his boots on the ground for a long moment.
    “The Viking men,” he began. “Well, they always...share,” he paused. “They always share....everything.”
    Elizabeth gulped. The boy shuffled his feet again.
    “They plan to share me?” she squeaked.
    Her eyes went wide with horror.
    “Yes.”
    “All of them?” she gasped.
    He paused again, searching for the right word. “Eventually.”
    Elizabeth almost fainted. It was only by sheer force of will that she managed to continue to breathe and to remain upright. Damn them all to hell, she would not give them the satisfaction of fainting and making it easier for them to pass her around. She would kill them, God forbid, if she had to. Even with no knife.
    “Thank you, Jordan,” she managed to croak, nodding toward the door to dismiss him before she lost all control of her emotions. “Good bye.”
    “Don’t worry, my lady,” he added, trying to smile to reassure her. He realized his error too late. “Ragnor of Lejre will not share you, of that I am certain.”
    “Very well,” she nodded again curtly, not at all reassured. “Good day.”
    Finally, he left.
    ––––––––
    B y the time the work was done, the sun was beginning to set. Ragnor donned a dinner shirt from his ship, and fastened his new seax dagger to his belt. Then, he hurried across the beach, whistling to himself. He couldn’t explain why he was excited to see Elizabeth again. Ah, well, that was easy. She was a woman. She was his captive, and she was alone in his tent, practically naked beneath her cloak. That was reason enough to be eager to return. But there was something else, something he dared not acknowledge, not even to himself that made him impatient to be with her again.
    When he opened the tent, Elizabeth was sitting on the tree stump, waiting for him. He grinned upon seeing her. Tonight was going to be memorable for them both. He would make sure of it.
    “I will not be a whore for your men!” she flew at him, clawing at his face and kicking at his shins.
    Ragnor deflected her attack easily, despite his momentary surprise. In an instant, she lay flat on her back on the ground, arms pinned above her head. She tried to lash out with her feet, but the weight of his body atop hers pinioned her to the dirt. She shoved with her hips, trying to dislodge him, but the frantic movements were pointless. The little spitfire certainly had spirit, he thought. He was going to enjoy taming her, even if it took a lifetime. He had a feeling it would.
    Elizabeth felt his firm manroot stiffen against her thighs. She shoved herself against him with alarm, laboring in vain to free herself. His staff grew again, as solid as granite against her tender feminine flesh.
    Ragnor’s eyes bore into hers. His breath grew heavy. He moved over her, spreading her thighs forcefully with his knees. His steely rod drilled down against her womanhood through her skirt. She tried to squeezed her knees together, but he held them apart with his own. The entire length of his battering ram pressed insistently against her gates, despite the meager fabric that separated them.
    But he would not take her like this. Not in anger, not in haste. He would bed her leisurely, savoring every moment, awakening her virgin senses. He wanted to see her burgeoning pleasure play across her face, when his tongue lapped up her cream