Midnight's Bride Read Online Free

on her neck. The stables! She leapt through the doorway into the dark interior.
    A large callused hand clamped on her shoulder and jerked her to a halt.
    â€œWhy do you flee, girl? What have you taken?” The words held a harsh thread of warning.
    She recognized that voice. It belonged to the man in the great hall. Ugh. She smelled him too. Blood. Sweat. Chain mail and horse. In great quantities. He held her like a grouse meant for the cook’s pot, by the neck with feet dangling in the air.
    â€œI have taken nothing. Unhand me,” Netta gasped out.
    â€œNay. Not until I know you have not stashed the baron’s coins on your person.” He allowed her feet to rest on the floor, her back to him, but he did not release her.
    Feeling his hands rove over her body looking for the stolen goods, she fought to defended herself. She scratched, hit, pinched and did everything possible to make the odious man release her. She gasped. He had thrust his hand down the front of her loose tunic and inspected her breasts! His roughened palm grazed over her nipple, sending shock waves through her.
    â€œCease, oaf.” Outraged, she struck his hand so hard she flattened it further against her tender skin.
    He did not stop. What he did do was close his fingers around her quivering flesh and squeeze gently. Deep sounds came from his chest. Much like a giant cat’s purr. Horrified, Netta’s arms came back, and she rammed her sharp elbows into his body as hard as she could. She yelped, not he. His stomach was like stone.
    â€œYou hurt only yourself when you grapple with me, girl. Come. Baron Wycliffe will determine what you have taken.”
    His deep voice and his warm breath on the back of her neck made her knees weak. Was she turning into a coward? Her father was still furious with her; she could not let the man give her over to him. She had told Mary she did not care if Father beat her again. Heaven help her. She lied.
    The man grasped her shoulders and spun her around. She flinched, and a whimper of pain escaped her lips.
    â€œWhat is this, girl?” His voice held displeasure.
    Sensing what she had to do, she allowed fear to show in her eyes. She had no need to pretend; her voice quavered on its own.
    â€œPlease, sir. Do not give me over to the baron. He is cruel beyond measure. He likes beating the servant girls, he does. The more we cry out, the more the master enjoys it.” She guiltily sent a quick prayer to her favorite saint, Saint Agnes, to forgive her the lie. Father only enjoyed beating her .
    She looked up at him and shuddered. Not only was he a giant of a man, he was a hairy one, too. He had painted half his face blue! She could not see the rest of it for all the hair that dwelled there. Many Saxon men wore beards, but this man had enough hair on his face to make two men proud. She tilted her head back to see more of him and met his eyes. Beautiful green eyes that searched her own. Their beauty was not only in their color, but in their expression.
    Sympathy? How could that be? Confused, she kept silent.
    â€œWhat would you have me do, girl?” He frowned down at her. “You heard your master demand I seize you. I cannot hide you behind me and pretend you are not there.” His brows arched.
    Not hide her? Aye, he could. As mighty as he was, another man could disappear behind him. Was that a smile behind his whiskers?
    â€œSir, can you not tell him you lost me amongst the people in the bailey?” She hoped the lout would take her suggestion.
    â€œHe called you by name. He will easily find you.”
    Rats and fleas! She had best be away afore her father became impatient and followed the giant. “Release me and I will join my mother. She works in the kitchens of Ridley Castle, just over the next rise.” Saint Agnes received another prayer begging forgiveness for such a lie. “She will aid me.”
    â€œWhat if they deny you entrance?”
    He sounded worried.