Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror Read Free Book Online Page A

well.” He raised the chalice high in a mock salute. “To Normans. To Saxons. To a union of the two…indeed, a coupling methinks should begin this night.”
    Alana gaped. Oh, but he was cruel to taunt her so, and when she thought his mood had eased…She could not help it. Her eyes skipped to the door.
    He smiled—oh, a demon’s smile, in every way!
    Alana swallowed, her mouth as dry as parchment. She could feel the heat of the fire, warm upon her back. Yet in all her days, she could not think when she had been so utterly cold inside, as if her veins were rivers of ice.
    Then all at once he was there before her. She jerked as strong hands descended upon her shoulders. Alana stood like a captive doe, waiting for she knew not what.
    His cold whisper touched her cheek. “I ama man of patience, Saxon, but you test mine sorely.”
    His smile had vanished. His jaw might have been hewn of oak; his expression was hard and unyielding. She made a curt, jerky movement, as if to wrench herself away.
    His hands slid swiftly down to clamp around her hips. “Be still,” he hissed.
    Alana’s heart leaped to her throat, for the air was suddenly seething. He held her fast, yet though she was bound tight within his embrace, there was naught of hurt in the way he held her. Yet she hated the way his eyes raked boldly over her, as if he stripped her naked…With naught but the touch of his eyes he leisurely sampled what his hands would soon claim.
    His touch seemed to burn her flesh, both inside and out. Those devil hands swept up the incline of her ribs…and lingered. Her breath came in sharply, for his thumbs hovered there, at the swelling peaks of her breasts. Did he touch her nipples—or was it but her imagination? Hot shame roiled within her.
    She made a choked sound low in her throat, a plea of desperation. “Do not do this,” she whispered. “Please do not.”
    If anything, his expression grew ever more hard. The arms tight around her back were suddenly like iron manacles. He spoke through lips that barely moved. “You will not run from me again, Saxon.”
    His gaze was starkly commanding. Shaken beyond anything she had ever experienced before, Alana found herself incapable of speech, of even moving. But alas, he mistook her silence for rebellion.
    He gave her a little shake. “Are you afraid of me, Saxon?”
    “Nay!” she cried.
    The word emerged quickly enough. But her eyes gave the lie to her claim. They were huge, wide and dark, endless pools of deep green. Merrick felt his anger recede, only to be replaced by something else, something far different…
    It was impossible to touch her like this and feel nothing. He found it no hardship at all to see beyond her ragged clothing to her beauty. Her lips were parted, as softly pink and moist as an English rose. Desire pierced his middle like the shaft of an arrow. All that was hotly primitive and male surged high within him. He was acutely aware of the feel of her in his arms. She was so slight his fingertips nearly touched at the base of her spine. So small. Almost defenseless…
    Grimly he reminded himself that for all she was poor and ragged, the wench was scarcely humble. Nay, she was far too proud for her own good.
    Oh, he knew he would not take her, not now. But it gave him a measure of satisfaction that she did not know that. He smiled as he saw the fear leap high in her eyes. Though she sought to mask it swiftly, her efforts were in vain.
    Ever so slightly, his grip on her waist tightened. “You say you will not have me. Well, I say this, Saxon. If I so chose, you would even now lie beneath me. You know that, don’t you?”
    She did not dally this time. “Aye,” she said jerkily.
    He released her. “As it were, I am weary and would seek my bed for the night. Were I you, I should do the same.” With that, he picked up a pile of furs from the bed and tossed them at her.
    Alana caught them instinctively, still uncertain what he expected of her. He paid her no heed,