Free Defiant by Jessica Trapp

dark brows drew together and he touched a finger to his goatee. “I’ve been waiting for Irma. Where is she?”
    Irma? He was asking for Irma?
    “I thought you might like a tankard of ale.” She made her voice sound flirtatious, slightly shy, just as Irma taught her.
    He didn’t reach for the cup. “I just want Irma and a bath.”
    Perhaps she should take the ale back to the kitchen. Nay, that would make her look dim-witted. She set the tankard on the table in front of him.
    “Irma’s coming,” she assured him, changing her tactic slightly. “She was the one who wanted me to bring this to you because of the delay in her coming to you.” There. That should set his mind at ease. “There is no charge for this tankard tonight. ”
    His gaze flitted from her eyes to the patch on her cheek to her hood and back again. “Do I know you?”
    Panic shot through her. If he had seen her before, recognized her, she could be ruined. “Of course not. I have just arrived.” Too late, she realized that she’d let aristocratic haughtiness creep into her voice.
    She turned her face away, thinking to head back into the kitchen.
    He reached up as if to flip her hood down.
    She gasped, jumping back and barely checking the urge to slap him for his impertinence. How dare he! But of course he would dare. He thought she was a harlot.
    “I like to see who is serving me.”
    “It is unnecessary to remove my cowl.” Gwyneth drew her hood even farther over her head.
    He stared at her suspiciously. “Are you truly a whore? The way you speak …”
    Fluttering nerves clustered in Gwyneth’s stomach. Surely if he knew who she was, he would have said something by now. She licked her lips, determined to bravado through their encounter.
    His eyes went wide at her motion. They were not black at all, she realized. Green. Moss green. An interesting green. The familiar male reaction brought her a measure of satisfaction, and she felt her confidence grow.
    “I’ll jes take this one,” she said boldly, plucking the mostly empty tankard from his grip, “and go see about Irma.” Careful to keep her hair covered, she let her cape slide open at the neck and stuck out her bosom in the manner she’d seen other girls do.
    He released the tankard easily and relief poured through her.
    Victory.
    With what she hoped was a disarming look, she turned, gazed at him over her shoulder, and sauntered back toward Irma, who was standing, holding Kiera, and waiting for her near the door of the back room, only slightly out of sight.
    He lifted the herb-laced tankard.
    “Perfect,” Irma cooed when Gwyneth reached her. “Give ‘im some time and ‘e’ll be passed out cold.”
    Sheer giddiness settled on Gwyneth. Even with all her ploys at the jail, she had never done something so utterly shameful or bold. A lofty sense of female power flowed through her.
    The abbess walked by and gave them both a good hard glare. Gwyneth pulled her hood back up so that her face was again in shadows and mulled over the possibility of marriage to a man she could control. She would be mistress of her own properties. She would have a place to take Kiera and Irma and Elizabeth and others as well. She would have gold of her own. She would have freedom.
    At long last, the man’s head began to droop.
    Irma scrambled to her feet, pulling Gwyneth from her thoughts. She sent Kiera over to play in a corner with two other children.
    The abbess looked in his direction, a severe frown on her pinched face. Men were not allowed to sleep here; it was against brothel rules, bad for business.
    They rounded on Jared, who let out a loud sigh.
    “You’ll ‘ave to go,” Irma coaxed him, “on yer feet.” She swung her arm around his shoulders and tried to lift him.
    He didn’t budge.
    With her eyes, Irma guided Gwyneth to take the other side of his large body.
    Nervously, Gwyneth wrapped her arm around his waist and they lifted. The movement felt vaguely reminiscent of the last man they had