The Devil of Nettlewood (The Anarchy Tales) by Louisa Trent Read Free Book Online Page B

forward,” he muttered, scowling.
    “Aye, my lord,” she said again.
    Jesus, but her sweet voice irritated him. So much so, he removed his helm and flung it up ahead. The metal headgear clattered against a rock several feet away. “Return that to me.”
    “Why toss the helm if you required its return?”
    “To show you how expansive is my authority over you.”
    “A fruitless endeavor. I already recognize your authority. I am wearing a prisoner’s restraint, after all. The real question here is—do you recognize your vulnerability to ambush?”
    He raised a disbelieving brow. “You worry over my safety?”
    “I most certainly do, for how will you defend me without full armor? If you die, I die.”
    Selfish minx!
    But there was truth in her selfishness. He wanted something from her, and she wanted something from him the same, two coconspirators in the subversive act of staying alive. She needed his sword and his steed to get away from here. He needed the name of her mercenary lover and the royal who paid him so he could safeguard his territory from future attack.
    Half vexation, half admiration, he swatted the round curve of her bottom, done with the flat of his sword this time. “Fetch the helm.”
    “Aye, my lord.”
    Going forward a few steps, she began to modestly squat.
    “Knees straight,” he barked.
    He knew the exact moment she realized the crudeness of his directive, for she visibly cringed, every muscle in her reed-slender body gone tense.
    A traitor and a whore could not afford such transparency, nor should a woman leading such a life as hers exhibit a tendency to cringe. Yet, she did. Proving what?
    That she knew how to play a part. That he could believe neither her words nor her actions. That she lacked any reliable credibility. And that he dared not trust her.
    Whilst he observed her every move, she carried out the instruction. Dropping downward from her trim waist, she rounded—knees unbent. He could almost see everything.
    “Legs well parted,” he instructed so that almost became in truth.
    “Of course.” Thighs spread, she reached for the metal helm.
    “Hold,” he called.
    In absolute obedience, she steadied in her bent pose.
    He gazed between her thighs, taking in her everything.
    Projecting from between the folds of her genitalia was her rosebud. Never had he seen a nubbin so large. And plump. Amazingly beguiling. In back—located deep within the seam between her buttocks—was the forbidden egress. The puckered ring looked lamentably tight. And dainty. Frustratingly unapproachable. Though where there was a will, there was always a way. Every fortress had its protective walls and its assailable vulnerabilities. Some bastions simply took longer to seize.
    After drooling awhilst, he sauntered forward.
    He had never bedded such a compliant female, never bedded a female under his lordly jurisdiction. All his previous lovers, royal ladies to a one and primarily widows older than himself, were a willful, demanding lot, who saw to their own pleasures first, last, and always. True, this female’s submissiveness was involuntary—she was a whore, a peasant, and his prisoner, so what choice did she have but to do as he told her? Still, her unquestioning obedience excited him.
    How would her meekness carry over to the furs?
    Whilst wondering, he peered over her shoulder, noting again her tender young breasts, one tip bruised, one tip not, both uptilted despite her rounded pose.
    He kicked the helm slightly beyond her present reach.
    “The task was far too easy,” he explained.
    Her downcast gaze prevented her from seeing his face, but he could see hers. Color rushed to her cheeks, and not from her down-turned position. Clearly she was fuming. To infuriate her even more, he patted her head, then swaggered to his former position behind her.
    Christ’s stones, but his were heavy!
    “Now you may retrieve the helm,” he mumbled. “But without taking another step.”
    To do so would required a