Free Midnight Warrior by Iris Johansen Page B

as Malik had advised him to do? She was no virgin who would faint at the touch of a man. She had been trained to please Richard of Redfern, and he’d wager that whoreson’s tastes were as twisted as his morals. Rage instantly seared him at the vision the thought brought to mind. Jealousy, he wondered incredulously. Impossible. He had never been jealous of any woman.
    “Have you nothing better to do than stand there,gaping at me?” she asked without looking up from the brew she was stirring.
    Irritation jabbed at him. Her words were always sweet and soft for Malik; even with LeFont she was polite. It was only Gage who received the rough edge of her tongue.
    “What are you doing?” Gage grimaced as he saw her tear up leaves and drop them into the pot. “You’re not going to rub that slop on Malik?”
    “Every bit of it.” Brynn stirred the mixture with renewed vigor. “And you need not watch me every minute of every day. Do you think I’m going to poison him?”
    “No.” He shrugged. “But he may think so when you force that on him.”
    “He knows I do only what’s good for him.” She glanced down at the pot. “Even if you doubt me.”
    “How can I doubt you?” Gage asked mockingly. “When Malik assures me you’re either a saint or an angel?” He sat down on the ground and wrapped his arms about his knees. “It would be sacrilege and I would instantly be cast down into hell.”
    She snorted. “I would not think hell would hold any great terror for you.”
    “Does that mean you believe I’m an archdemon?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    “But then, you don’t say much of anything, do you? Except to order me about.”
    “I order you about only when it’s necessary for Malik’s well-being. You wanted him cured and I cannot do everything myself.” She moistened her lips. “I want to move him from this place.”
    “He’s not strong enough yet.”
    “I have no intention of moving him any great distance. Just a few miles.” She gestured to the north. “Perhaps to the forest over there.”
    “Why?”
    “It is best.”
    “For Malik?”
    “No.” She hesitated for a moment and then said reluctantly, “For me. This is a bad place. Can’t you feel it?”
    “Feel what?”
    “If you cannot feel it, I can’t explain. I just want to be gone from here.” She paused and then whispered, “Please.”
    He looked at her in surprise. “This must mean a good deal to you. You’re more given to commands than pleas.”
    She didn’t answer.
    “What if I give you what you wish?” He lowered his voice to silky softness. “Will you give me a gift in turn?”
    “I’ve given you a gift. Malik is alive. Isn’t that enough for you?”
    “It should be.”
    “But it isn’t?”
    “Malik will tell you I don’t know the meaning of enough. The prize just over the horizon is always the sweetest.”
    “So you reach out and take it,” she said flatly.
    “Or barter for it. I prefer the latter. It suits my merchant’s soul. I suppose Malik has told you that I’m more trader than knight?”
    “No, he said you were the son of a king and capable of being anything you want to be.”
    “Which obviously did not impress you.”
    “Why should it? It does not matter their station, men are all the same.”
    He smiled. “Certainly in some aspects. You didn’t answer. Will you barter with me?”
    “I have nothing with which to barter.”
    “You’re a woman. A woman always has great bartering power.”
    She straightened her shoulders and turned to look directly at him. “You mean you wish me to be your whore.”
    His lips tightened. “Your words lack a certain delicacy.”
    “They do not lack truth.” She looked down into the pot. “You wish me to part my limbs and let you rut like a beast of the forest. I wonder you even seek to bargain. You think me your slave. Isn’t a slave to be used?”
    “Yes,” he said curtly. “A slave is to work and give pleasure. And you’re right, I don’t have to bargain