Free Always Mine by Sophia Johnson

body.
    She had not worn a smock under her green tunic. The thought stirred his blood.
    “Were ye so anxious to meet yer lover ye did not take time to don proper attire?”
    “Why, you nasty-minded Scot.” She threw the words at him like darts, and with each one, she poked his chest with a finger.
    “Of course I was meeting a lover. I planned to meet a legion of lovers. Couldn’t you tell? Didn’t you see all those men with me?
    They were to keep me from getting lost . . .”
    “Dinna be knotty-pated, lady. Ye well know what I mean.
    Whom did ye race to meet? Do ye have a tryst with Galan?”
    His lips curled in a snarl, and he gave her a light shake.
    “What the he—, uh, devil’s a knotty pate? Whatever it is, I’ll soon be one if you don’t stop rattling my brains.” She shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge. She shoved all the harder. When he released her, she tottered.
    He grabbed for her arm, missed and grasped her breast instead.
    Before he could react, Brianna struck at his wrist and yelped in pain. He flushed and drew back, dropping his hands at his sides.
    “That’s twice you’ve grabbed me there.” Her voice wavered. “I won’t have it.”
    “’Tis sorry I am, Brianna. I did not mean ye harm. If ye
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    would act as ye should, we wouldna so oft be at odds.” His voice softened as he tilted her face up to study it.
    “Now it’s my fault you grabbed me? Act as I should ? How is that, pray tell? Bow and grovel and beg for you to squash parts of my body? You’re a bleeding tyrant, that’s what you are.”
    “Ne’er have I hurt ye apurpose. Had I done so, ye wouldna long be standin’, ye fashious henny.”
    “Don’t yell at me, you medieval chauvinist pig!” Brianna’s nostrils flared. Clutching his arm, she rose to the tip of her toes and made a vigorous swing at his face. Before her fist could reach his jaw, he caught her wrist.
    “Enough!”
    Frighted by the thunder of his voice, birds squawked and flew out of the surrounding trees.
    His patience was at an end. Pulling both her hands behind her back, he hauled her close. He didn’t understand her wit-less chatter. Or her willful manner.
    Where was the demure, obedient bride William had described? If he did not know better, he would think she was an imposter and not Brianna of Sinclair, the king’s ward.
    Studying her flushed face, he admitted she was far more beautiful than he had expected. He felt the softness of her back and, when his hands started to roam, he resisted the overpowering urge to cup her bottom in his palms.
    Had another man already done so? Thinking to find answers there, he stared into her eyes. Beautiful. Those eyes so dark a brown and fringed with lush, thick lashes that would surely feather his cheeks when they kissed.
    Ah. Kissed.
    Gazing at her mouth, he swallowed. Full and luscious.
    Ripe. She must have sensed his growing desire to taste her there, for the tip of her tongue peeked out to dampen her lips.
    At that moment, she looked delicate and sweet, the perfect
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    maiden William had described. His sex stirred and hardened against her stomach.
    Until now, he had seen only the strange-talking lass who did not know her place, who mistakenly thought herself his equal. That lass who aggravated him, yet quickened his heartbeat. As he dipped his head preparing to satisfy his craving, he caught himself.
    He would wait until he learned what was between her and young Galan. He would not take another man’s leavings.
    Disgusted with himself for wanting her, he grasped her waist and deposited her astride Sweetpea.
    Brianna’s clothing clumped around her hips as she landed with a thud. More than ever, she was acutely aware of her bare bottom. Well, hell, even her racy red thong would be decent right now. Flushing, she snatched the bottom of her tunic and jerked it down over her legs.
    When Damron placed her feet in the stirrups, she saw his gleam of satisfaction. She grabbed the reins,