Free Master Of Surrender by Karin Tabke Page B

secret.”
    Isabel set her jaw and closed her eyes. The warmth of his breath against her ear startled her in its intensity. As he softly spoke, he made her body react in a way she was not comfortable with. But his words were enough to cool her ardor. For he spoke of something she held precious.
    “The proof will be on the sheets on my wedding morning.”
    “Not all maids bleed.”
    Her cheeks warmed to hot. She turned to him, beseeching. “Sir, please, such a topic is too personal to speak of.”
    He raised his hand to her, and she flinched, moving so far from him she bumped into Rorick, who was more than happy to right her.
    Rohan’s eyes narrowed. But he continued to move toward her. In a surprisingly gentle action, he rubbed his knuckles against her cheek. “I will keep my oath to you, damsel. While I look forward to pleasuring myself with your body, I will not breach that thin piece of skin you cling to so churlishly. You will remain intact for your husband.”
    “Rohan,” Wulfson called from across the table, “what have you planned for the morrow?”
    Rohan took a long draught from his cup. “When we slake our hunger, we will gather and speak of the morrow. Until then?” Rohan glanced over to a serving maid, who was more than buxom and who eyed him coquettishly from below dark lashes. “Enjoy the fruits of our labor.”
    Wulfson laughed and took a long pull from his cup. When the girl, Lyn, came around, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her across his lap. She squealed and made as if to be gone from him, but her eyes smiled. “A wench to warm my pallet this eve?” He poured half of his cup of wine into the deep valley between her breasts and drank deeply from her. The table erupted in cheers as Wulfson lapped up every drop of wine covering her full breasts.
    Isabel turned her head away, not wanting to watch what would undoubtedly be her turn next. She just prayed Sir Rohan would have more courtesy for her and ravage her behind closed doors.
    It seemed that with Lyn’s ravishment more girls appeared and found the knights to their liking. Rohan called for another barrel of wine to be tapped, music erupted, and the bells from dancing girls chimed in tempo to the lute and the pipers’ tune.
    The hall came alive as the knights imbibed the hospitality of Rossmoor. When Sarah, the daughter of Edwin, her father’s deceased gamekeeper, came forward, dancing in a tempting way before Rohan, Isabel lost all yearning for food. Rohan turned from Isabel and relaxed back into his chair. She could not see his face, but from the smiles on Sarah’s winsome lips and the way she pressed her bosom in his face, she knew the knight enjoyed the show. When Sarah pressed her hands to Rohan’s knees and pushed them apart, then moved between them and continued to dance like Salome, Isabel felt as if she would be sick. How could Sarah be so brazen? Isabel looked around to the other village girls. Some of them were recently widowed. Were they so desperate to survive that they would prostitute themselves to these invaders?
    Isabel swallowed hard. Had she not done the same? Had she set the example for these girls? Sacrificing her body for Russell’s life? Did they feel they must sacrifice themselves as well to stay alive?
    A wave of self-revulsion crashed through her. Her stomach rose as if rancid meat festered there. Pressing her hand to her belly, Isabel turned to Rorick, who was the only man at the table not besotted with one of the village girls. She placed her hand on his forearm. “Sir knight, I don’t feel well, would you—” Before she could utter another word, he pulled her up.
    “Say no more, milady. The fresh air will clear you.” He led her to the now repaired front portal and opened it just enough to let her slip through. She saw him turn to look back into the hall, no doubt at Rohan. Rorick’s face hardened. Isabel turned and caught her breath. Rohan stood tall, dark, and angry at his chair, poor Sarah