Free Knight In My Bed by Sue-Ellen Welfonder Page A

as if to prove her hunger. "You'll surely agree I need all my strength, and my wits, to properly deal with t-this situation that's been thrust upon me."
    " Thrust upon you ?" For once both of his brows shot upward.
    "Aye." She gave him a sharp look, daring him to claim otherwise.
    But despite her best efforts to occupy herself with finishing her meal, ill ease pursued her with unflagging persistence. A pulsing heat inched its way up her throat, and became more bothersome with each moment she was forced to endure his disturbing perusal.
    "Must you stare?" She set down her spoon, her raging hunger insignificant next to the turmoil his brazen scrutiny unleashed inside her.
    "You are disturbed by my looking at you?" His brow furrowed but a hint of pure devilry gleamed in his dark brown   eyes. "Do correct me if I misunderstood, but that which you would have me do for you, namely take you to wife, if I was wont to oblige you, would involve much more than merely gazing across a table at you."
    Isolde's patience thinned. "I told you, I seek an alliance, not marriage."
    "A pact that must be negotiated behind a barred bedchamber door? With me attached to your bedpost?"
    "Are you not hungry?" she quipped.
    Another of his lazy smiles slid across his face. "Ne'er have I been more ravenous."
    'Then eat your fill, there is naught stopping you."
    For a moment, he looked close to laughter again, but then the smile that had been playing across his sensuous lips faded, and a dark, somber look settled over his features. "You err, Isolde of Dunmuir," he said, the rich timbre of his deep voice oddly stirring. "There is much that prevents me from staving the hunger consuming me this moment."
    Undaunted, she shoved the platter of roasted seabird toward him. "The gannet is plump and tender ... delicious.”
    "Plump?" He eyed the platter skep-tically, his gaze skimming first over the gannet's crisp-roasted, golden breast, then boldly lighting upon her own. "I would not say plump." He narrowed his eyes then, and she could almost feel the heat of his gaze upon her flesh.
    With deliberate slowness, he lifted the tankard in sardonic toast. "But of a certainty, well formed, tender, and succulent ."
    Pretending not to have understood the ribald undertones in his silkily spoken words, nor to have noticed his brazen stare, Isolde lowered her own gaze to the spread of victuals Cook had undoubtedly taken great care to prepare.
    Rather than scoff at her voracious appetite, Donall the Bold ought be grateful. If those in Dunmuir's kitchen weren't aware of her appreciation of fine and plentiful viands, there would be less food to share with him.
    In addition to the roasted gannet, Cook had sent up a steaming mazer of leek soup and a goodly portion of soft green cheese delicately flavored with herbs. Precious little remained of the cheese, but she hadn't yet touched the small spiced cakes and the large ewer of honey-sweetened mead was more than ample for two.
    Certainly not a noble feast, but the repast, though humble, had been carefully prepared and was the best Dunmuir's kitchen could presently conjure.
    Those who supped below-stairs had contented themselves with the leek soup, of necessity much watered-down, coarse black bread, and simple ale.
    Indeed, she'd rather down bitter ale and suffer through watery soup along with everyone else, but Cook enjoyed providing Dunmuir's chieftain with the best victuals he could. His pride would be sorely dented if she bade him to serve her the meager fare doled out in the great hall.
    Swallowing her resentment at the deprivations her people had to bear and at having to endure the MacLean's taunts and stares, Isolde dipped her spoon into her soup. A delicious aroma rose from the mazer, and much to her dismay, her too-long neglected stomach gave forth another low grumbling noise the instant the fragrant steam reached her nose.
    "Do keep eating. I enjoy watching you." The MacLean's voice, rife with undercurrents, sliced through