“Aye, Your Grace, I do,” she said. She wanted to ask why they would not be taking a shuttle, for Viridian was a good twenty miles from Sciath Keep, but he was already through the door, his boot heels ringing on the polished marble of the corridor.

  Ruan shoved his hands into the pockets of his britches as he stomped down the hall. So, he thought, a muscle working in his jaw, the chit was going to play hard to get. Well, that was something new. But it certainly hadn’t been in his plans for the day. Just staring at her had given him a rock-hard erection that needed easing and he had no intention of riding all the way to Viridian in that condition.

  Lucia, the Spáinneach maid who at that moment was cleaning his quarters, had offered herself earlier. If she was still there, he knew relief was but a fumble away.

  And the dusky, doe-eyed beauty was still in his quarters, her shapely rump in prominent view as she bent over his bed, rearranging the coverlet. She glanced around as he came into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

  Ruan’s hands were already on the buttons of his fly, working through them with speed and purposefulness. Lucia smiled at him and turned her back, bracing her hands on the side of his bed as he stepped up to her, pushing her down over the edge of the bed with one hand as he continued to work his fly with the other.

  Pushing the skirts of the servant’s gown up her back, Ruan freed his cock from the restraints of his britches even as he nudged Lucia’s feet farther apart with his booted feet.

  With the Spáinneach beauty’s rounded ass in the air, Ruan shoved his cock into her cunt with more force than he intended, for she cried out. He mumbled an apology—which surprised him since such behavior was not normal for him—then slid one hand up her back to grip her shoulder as he began thrusting into her.

  Closing his eyes to the ebony hair of the woman rocking beneath him, Ruan replaced it with the pale gold of Chastain Neff’s long braid. Instead of the scent of harsh soap and furniture polish that clung to the servant, he imagined the delicate scent of gardenia that he had smelled on Chastain. Instead of the guttural grunts coming from the body under him, he replayed the soft sighs that had issued from Chastain’s lips as she lay unconscious after he had brought her to Sciath.

  Ramming himself into Lucia’s willing body had always satisfied him, but at the moment, he was straining to come and having a problem doing so. She was tight enough still to give him pleasure and accommodating enough that he had nothing more to do than smile at her for her to drop to her knees before him. Well-trained in the arts of a whore, Lucia’s lips were talented and her mouth was a wet, warm cavern that suckled better than any he’d ever known. Perhaps it was that muscle rather than the nether one he needed.

  He pulled out of her and stepped back. “Suck me,” he ordered.

  Lucia didn’t question his command but sank to her knees and turned around to face him. She reached for him and took him into her mouth. Wrapping her lips over the throbbing head of his cock, she looked up at him through her lashes as her experienced tongue lathed his straining flesh.

  It was pale hair he wrapped the fingers of his hands into. He rocked his hips against questing lips that were not painted scarlet red but rather tinted a sweet shade of coral that needed no artifice to make them delectable. His hands moved through coarse strands of hair, but in his imagination that hair was silky soft.

  The servant drew Ruan’s cock down her throat until the tip of him could feel the slight protrusion of her uvula scraping along the frenulum. His breathing was harsh, quick, but the satiation he sought seemed just out of his reach. He groaned, needing something he wasn’t getting and not understanding why.

  Lucia reached between Ruan’s spread legs and cupped his balls, working them gently. Tugging lightly, cupping then releasing, she slid her middle finger to the slight indention at the base of his cock and pressed upward.

  Ruan had started to sweat, beads of perspiration standing out on his forehead and upper lip. He felt overheated, in need of a bath, but he kept at it, striving for a release he’d never had trouble having before now.

  It wasn’t until Lucia slipped her finger into his ass that he exploded in her mouth. But the satisfaction he normally felt was not there, and when he pulled away from her, he hung his head, drawing in shallow, unfulfilled breaths.

  Lucia never seemed to mind not receiving her own satisfaction. She swallowed his cum and turned her head to wipe her lips on the shoulder of her gown. Remaining where she was, she looked up at the prince, awaiting his orders.

  Ruan gazed into the servant’s black eyes and knew a moment of shame that was so unlike him he flinched. He could not stuff himself back into his britches quickly enough, his fingers flying over the buttons. Turning his back on the kneeling girl, he hurried to the door and yanked it open with enough force to wrench his right wrist. Cursing at the sharp pain, he nearly ran down the corridor, walking so quickly he stumbled a few times.

  Chas looked up to see the Gaelach prince striding toward her. His eyes were cold, his jaw set, and when he passed her without a greeting, her eyebrows shot up. She knew rage when she saw it, and the man who grabbed the pommel of his saddle and vaulted atop the prancing stallion’s back was bristling with that raw emotion.

  “Milady,” the head groomsman said, offering Chas a hand up.

  Frowning, for she would be required to ride sidesaddle—a position she neither enjoyed nor looked forward to—she accepted the groomsman’s hand and put her foot in the stirrup, clumsily propelling herself up into the saddle and hooking her right leg between the pommels on either side of the seat and balancing herself, centering her weight through the right thigh.

  “You don’t like riding sidesaddle,” Ruan snapped.

  “I prefer not to,” Chas replied.

  “You want to ride like a man,” the prince taunted, “but that’s rather hard to do in a frilly skirt like that, eh?”

  Chas lifted her chin. “I’ll do well enough with the sidesaddle, Your Grace.”

  “If you fall your ass off, don’t expect me to stop and pick you up,” he told her and kicked his mount into motion.

  Chas sat where she was for a moment, and then looked across to where a horse awaited a rider. She pointed to the stallion. “Is that horse prepared for someone?”

  The groomsman frowned. “It is one of Prince Ruan’s horses. We never know which one he will prefer to ride and…”

  Before the groomsman completed his explanation, Chas was off her horse and striding purposefully toward the prince’s roan stallion.

  “Milady!” the head groomsman complained as he watched in disbelief while Chas reached up, grasped the pommel and pulled herself into the saddle. Without giving the groomsman another look, she clucked to the stallion and set it racing after its master, who had a fair-size lead.

  Ruan glanced to the side as the thundering hooves overtook him. He blinked—recognizing his own beast—then looked up into the steady eyes of the woman sitting astride it, the skirts of her gown tucked up so a goodly portion of her shapely legs were showing. He arched an eyebrow at her but said nothing, merely kicking his mount lightly in the ribs to make it go faster.

  But the woman riding beside him—leaning forward over her mount’s neck—kept pace with him, their horses matching one another stride for stride as the miles disappeared behind them. By the time the signpost announcing Viridian came into view, the two riders were galloping along in tandem, neither looking at the other.

  Chas could sense the anger roiling in Ruan Cosaint’s brawny body. A white line streaked alongside his mouth and his eyes were narrowed. Although his hands were loose on the reins, she could see the coiled tension that had him sitting straight as an arrow in the saddle.

  Slowing her pace as they entered the coastal village, Chas took a deep breath of the salt-sprayed air. Unlike Gaillimh Bay with its heavy scent of marine life, Viridian had a pleasant scent and the waters beyond were a lush turquoise blue. Beside her, the prince had reined his mount to a light canter and it was then she realized they had outdistanced his guards, leaving them far behind. Looking back, she saw the five-man escort bearing down on them, dust flying.

  “Are you always so disdainful of your safety, Your Grace?” she asked, but received only an ugly snort for an answer.

  Ruan led her to the inn where they would be staying the night. He halted his mount then flung a leg over the horse’s head, sliding down with a gracefulness Chas could not help but admire. She dismounted before he had a chance to help her, and when she stood facing him—for he had come around his mount to assist her—she saw his lips twitch. Whether it was in amusement or annoyance she couldn’t tell for his blue eyes were hooded as he spun around and headed to the inn.

  The guard arrived as Chas reached the inn’s door, frowning when she realized he was not going to hold the portal open for her. It had already closed behind his entry. She entered the establishment in time to hear the prince ordering two adjoining rooms.

  He ignored her as she joined him at the innkeeper’s desk. She could feel the stares of those sitting about the common room and heard a smattering of whispers that included the word doxy among them. Apparently, Ruan had heard the snide label as well, for he turned to survey the room with ill-disguised contempt.

  “The lady accompanying me is of the royal house of Cosaint. Is there one among you who would like to repeat your insult aloud so I might deal with it?”

  Shocked silence greeted the prince’s challenge and eyes were cast down as faces turned red or white…depending upon the sex of the gossip. When no one spoke, Ruan Cosaint nodded, his eyes narrowed into thin slits of coldness.

  “I thought not,” he said and turned around to spear the innkeeper with a stony glower. “See to the lady’s bath then prepare one for me. We wish to dine alone, so if you have guests who wish to use the dining room this eve, I suggest you discourage them.”

  “At your command, Your Grace,” the innkeeper agreed, his head bobbing up and down as he twisted his hands before him.

  Ruan spoke to the guards who had entered right behind them. “Contact Mayor Cronin and tell him we will meet with him at nine of the clock tomorrow. I expect a hearty breakfast be waiting when we rise. Is that clear?”

  The Chief Guard clutched his fist and struck his chest over his heart. “At your command, Your Grace,” he too, agreed.

  “T-This way, milady,” the innkeeper offered as he skirted the desk and held out a hand to show the way.

  Chas glanced back as she followed the innkeeper up the stairs and saw Ruan entering what she knew must be the taproom. She frowned, for it was far too early in the day to partake of strong beverages. One sweep of her well-trained eyes around the room found no glaring threat to the target to whom she had been assigned and she relaxed somewhat, knowing his guards would bar entrance to the taproom and see to his safety while she washed off the road dust.

  It was while she was lathering her long hair in the wide, deep copper bathtub that the door to her room crashed open and she gasped to find the prince standing in the opening, his white lawn shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest. Standing beside him under the draped protection of his arm was a woman any reasonable person could see was nothing more than a common trollop.

  “Chastain, meet Chastity,” Ruan said, his words slurred. He grinned and lifted the bottle he had in his free hand to his lips and took a long pull.

  “I doubt the name is fitting, milord,” Chas replied. She locked eyes with the strumpet.

  “Me name’s Charity,” the girl corrected.

  “Help and assistance to those in need,” Chas defined the name. “That fits, I imagine.”

  “I do what I can,” the girl said with a giggle, and threw back her head as the prince’s hand molded over her breast to fondle her.

  Continuing to lather her hair, Chas ignored the duo in the doorway. The lush suds from the bubble bath hid her from the shoulders down, and unless Ruan came right up to the tub, he could see nothing more than her slender arms.

  “How do you feel about a threesome, Chas?” the prince inquired with a leer.

  “I prefer my men one-on-one, Your Grace,” Chas replied. “Send the whore away and we’ll discuss the matter.”

  “Look here!” Charity hissed. “Who you calling a whore?”

  “Either take her to your room and hump her, Your Grace, or send her on her way. I don’t share my body even for a Caitliceachs prince.”

  Ruan was well on his way to being rip-roaring drunk, but he wasn’t drunk enough yet not to grasp the challenge in Chas’ light tone. He cocked his head to one side and though the tub swam as though sitting under water, he screwed up one eye and studied the lovely woman reclining amidst the foamy bubbles. She was ignoring him and when she slid down into the tub to rinse her hair, he felt his cock go rigid with need.

  “Go find my Chief Guard and tell him to pay you well for this afternoon, Chastity,” Ruan said, sliding his arm from the strumpet’s shoulders. He slapped her playfully—though a mite too hard—on her ample rear then left her standing in the doorway, her mouth a round “O” of surprise as he kicked the portal shut in her face.

  Chas’ head came up from beneath the water along with her shoulders and a goodly amount of creamy white bosom, the nipples barely hidden below the suds. “Her name is Charity,” she said, not looking around at him as he staggered to the tub.

  Ruan hunkered down beside the copper vessel and wrapped his hands over the curled rim. He lowered his chin to the back of his right hand and stared at her as Chas soaped a fleece rag and ran it down the length of her arm.

  “You are beautiful,” the prince whispered as he tried to see beneath the foamy bubbles.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Your Grace,” she said, casting him a quick look. She didn’t like what she saw, for his eyes were red-rimmed with a sheen of sweat dotting his upper lip.

  “I want to fuck you,” he said.

  “I don’t like that kind of language,” she informed him and when he snaked his hand out to grasp her wrist—belying the condition of his reflexes—she felt the strength in his grip and her heart thudded, for drunken men could be hard to control.

  “Now, wench,” he stressed, and tried to pull her toward him.

  The slap was loud in the room and made even more so by the wetness slicking Chas’ palm. There was enough power behind the hit to knock Ruan off center and he crashed backward to land partially on his ass and partially on the wrist he had wrenched earlier that day. He yelped, grabbing his arm as tears of pain flooded his eyes.

  “No one manhandles me, Your Grace,” Chas said between clenched teeth. “No one! Not even you!”

  He stared at her, unable to speak as she rose from the water to stand over him. Dripping from head to toe, patches of foamy suds clinging to her lush form, she was an embodiment of the goddess rising from the sea. With her long golden hair curled around her shapely hips, her green eyes flashing, she was a sight to behold.

  “I…I’m sorry,” he heard himself say and the words surprised him, for apologies did not come naturally to Gaelachuan men, and especially not to members of the royal family.

  She lifted one long, perfectly formed leg and stepped out of the tub, sloshing water on his legs. Standing over him, she locked her stormy gaze with his astonished one.

  “If you want to make love to me, you ask and you ask in a gentlemanly fashion. I will not be spoken to like a common tramp, and I detest the word you used to describe the interaction with which you would like to engage my person. Never, ever use that word to me again. Is that clear?”

  He could do no more than nod, for his attention was glued to the triangular patch of crisp golden curls at the juncture of her thighs. Tapered as though it were a silken arrow pointing to that part of her he desired the most, it beckoned him like a siren’s call. He longed to reach out and touch it, but he feared she’d break his hand if he tried.

  Though Chas was trembling from head to toe, she refused to allow him to see her condition. She walked elegantly past him, trailing soapsuds as she trod. Her bare feet slapped lightly against the wooden planking as she lifted her dressing gown from a peg and wrapped it around her, belting it about her slender waist.

  Ruan managed to push himself up with the elbow of his left arm for he was cradling his right wrist in his left hand. He sat there with his knees raised and gawked at her.

  “I want a man who will court me, not rape me,” he heard her say and lifted his gaze to her beautiful face. She was standing there now with her arms at her sides, the lush, round globes of her breasts outlined against the pale green silk. The gown clung to her wet body and the prominence of her nipples made his mouth water. “I may not be of Gaelach royalty as you told the people in the common room but I have pride in myself, Your Grace. I know my own worth.”

  He ached to take her into his arms and hold her. He was shivering with the need of it, and the erection that had plagued him for most of the day was back in stony form. His palms itched to touch her. He wanted to kiss her until she swooned into his arms and then he wanted to…

  “Perhaps you should leave now, Your Grace,” she recommended. When he hesitated, she reiterated her suggestion.

  It was difficult to get to his feet but he was able to do so with only a slight groan. His wrist was throbbing almost as much as his cock, but at least she wasn’t looking at that stalwart soldier waving his bayonet at her. Her scrutiny was fused with his bewildered stare. Though his cheek stung and his tailbone ached from the hard landing he’d taken on it, he felt the pain of his embarrassment more than any other discomfort.

  “I had too much to drink,” he said and could have screamed as he staggered like an untried youth.

  “Aye, Your Grace, that you did,” she agreed as she walked to the door and opened it.

  “Forgive me,” he mumbled as he passed her on his way out.

  “I already have, Your Grace. Have someone see to your hand,” she said.

  He turned once he gained the corridor and opened his mouth to say something else, but she shut the door in his face.

 

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