Wild Conquest. Hannah Howell

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      Pleasance cautiously sat down before the fire Tearlach had built. She did not think her backside would ever stop hurting. After six long days on the hard wagon seat she suspected she had bruises that would never heal.

      “We will reach my cabin by day’s end tomorrow,” Tearlach said as he handed over her share of their food. “Soon we will be able to eat something besides pemmican.”

      “And sit on something besides that cursed wagon seat,” Pleasance muttered as she chewed the strip of dried meat and washed away its taste with cider.

      “Sore, are ye? I have a salve for that.” He laughed at the disgusted look she gave him.

      The moment she had finished her meager meal, Pleasance decided to go to sleep. Using a little of their water, she rinsed out her cup and then lightly washed up. She stepped over to the bedding Tearlach had spread out near the wagon and silently cursed. One bed, one blanket—again. The man was incorrigible, she grumbled to herself as she laid down.

      She was groggy with approaching sleep by the time Tearlach joined her. Although she muttered a curse as he curled his arm around her waist, she was too tired to fight him. He touched his warm lips to the hollow near her ear and she shivered, desire seeping through her body. She struggled to grasp at the resistance she needed to push him away, but exhaustion made that impossible. A flicker of that resistance finally appeared when he gently turned her to face him, but it quickly vanished when he placed his mouth on hers.

      A soft moan escaped her as she slid her arms around his neck and gave herself over to his kiss. She parted her lips to welcome the invasion of his tongue, pressing close to him as he slowly stroked the inner regions of her mouth. Her passion flared to life, banishing her weariness and making her forget all her aches and pains. The heat of her desire made her feel renewed, strong, and vibrant.

      “Ah, lass,” Tearlach murmured as he kissed the pulse point in her throat. “We shall have some verra warm nights while ye are in the Berkshires with me.”

      His soft words were like a splash of icy water in her face. Pleasance cursed and pushed herself out of his arms. She clenched her hands into tight fists as she fought the urge to slap him.

      “So you think to use me to warm up your nights, do you?” she snapped.

      “I didnae notice any great resistance from ye. Nay, none at all, in fact.”

      “’Twas a brief error in judgment on my part. I seem to be having a lot of them lately. May I remind you that I am to be your servant, not your whore.” She flipped onto her side, showing him her back.

      Tearlach turned onto his own back and crossed his arms beneath his head. “I didnae hear myself ask ye to be my whore.”

      “Oh, you asked it clearly enough.”

      “Nay, I thought we were becoming lovers.”

      “Well, whatever your twisted mind thought, ’tis not to be. I may be reduced to servitude in your home, Master Tearlach, but I will never be reduced to servitude in your bed.”

      “Good, because servitude isnae what I was seeking. Nay, I want that passion ye just revealed in my arms.”

      “You imagine things. And your arms will remain empty.”

      “We shall see.”

      Pleasance silently cursed. The man had a right to his cockiness. She found resistance a difficult thing to muster when he held her in his arms. She closed her eyes and cursed again. It definitely looked to be a long year ahead.