Free Samantha James by My Lord Conqueror

endured—and with the utmost horror, from the look of her. But when next her eyes opened, they were full of blistering hatred.
    Nor, it seemed, would she come willingly.
    He was suddenly filled with a black rage. She thought him such a beast; mayhap it was time he acted one.
    He flicked a hand at the shoulder of her bliaud. “These clothes offend me, Saxon. Remove them.”
    The delicate line of her jaw fell open, then it closed with a snap. “I-I cannot! I will not!”
    “And I say you will, lady.” He was as grim as she was stubborn.
    “And if I do not? Will you beat me the way your men beat Radburn?”
    Merrick gritted his teeth. “By God, wench, you tempt me sorely. And you will do as I say. Because I ask it. Nay, because I command it.”
    “Nay—”
    “You deny me the pleasure of your body—” Ruthlessly he squelched the denial that sprang to her lips. “Aye, you did. You do, and well you know. ‘Please’, you said. ‘Please do not.’ Well, you may withhold your body but you will not withhold the sight of it from me.”
    Her lips trembled. She had to force the words around the knot in her throat. “God will judge you, Norman.”
    “God? Ah, coming from you, that is rich. My men think you a witch, and you Saxons think me the devil himself. Quite a match, is it not? But for now, Saxon, your clothing—and be quick about it, lady.”
    There was that in his tone that demanded she heed him. Slowly, stiffly, she bent, pulling the garters from her knees, and then her hose. Her bliaud came next, and all too soon her threadbare chemise. Her hands were shaking as she threw aside that final barrier, until at last she stood naked before him. Naked…and ashamed.
    There was no escaping the touch of those crystalline eyes. For timeless seconds he looked his fill, a scalding exploration that left no part of her untouched. In all her days, none but her mother had ever seen her so exposed. She closed her eyes, shamed beyond anything she had ever known.
    He smiled.
    “What would you say, Saxon, were I to ask that you do the same to me?”
    Her eyes flew open. “What!” she gasped out. “Undress you?”
    “Aye.”
    Some sound escaped her, she knew not what. The thought of stripping the clothes from his warrior’s body, skimming her hands along his muscled flesh…Her stomach clenched oddly. She shivered, unaware that her hands came up to shield the softly rounded curves of her breasts.
    “No? Another time, then.” She was shocked to feel his knuckles against the fiery heat of her cheeks. “You will bend to me, Saxon,” he said softly. “For now I would demand a kiss only.”
    “A kiss? You do not fool me,” she cried softly. “You will do what you will—”
    “Ah, but if I were to take you now, you would but martyr yourself. You would be the wounded one, and I the great despoiler.”
    “Is that not what you are?” It was her turn to quote him. “’We are the conquerors, and you the conquered.’ Those were your words, Norman. And I—I hate you for them.”
    He ignored this last. “And I am pleased you remember, sweet witch. But for now, I would claim the kiss we’ve yet to share.”
    There was no time to protest, no time to even think . Strong arms locked hard around her back. His mouth captured hers. She was caught full and tight against him, so close her legs were caught tight between the ironlength of his. Struggle was impossible. Her breasts were crushed against the soft wool of his tunic. Her hands were fisted against his chest, trapped between their bodies. She did not fight him, for she knew she could not win.
    Sheer panic kept her frozen in place, and then something else, something she had never expected. But one thought scattered through her brain as his lips claimed bold, blatant possession of hers.
    She had thought the feel of his mouth upon hers would be abhorrent, as he was abhorrent. His lips were not cold and hard, as he was cold and hard. His kiss was not brutal and harsh, as he was