Free The Conquest by Julia Templeton Page B

and Rhiannon had to walk fast in order to keep up with Adelstan’s long strides. Someone called out his name, and she felt him lift his free hand in greeting. He pulled her closer. “We shall be at the tower shortly.”
    With each step toward the tower, the more she savored the feel of his touch…until the memory of what she had seen moments before in the bakehouse flashed in her mind.
    Her emotions were in turmoil. Part of her wanted to tell him exactly how she felt about him, and the other wanted to berate him for having been with Machara just hours after she had all but thrown herself at him. If he longed to be with a servant, then he had every right to be, and there was nothing she could do about it.
    It might take time, but if she could keep Adelstan at Castle MacKay, then perhaps she could, little by little, win him over.
    But to what end?
    Nothing would change her future. She would marry Malgor de Cion, even if Adelstan did become her lover. And what then? Would they spend their lives always looking for a bakehouse or some other quiet building in which to make love?
    “Good night, Rhiannon,” Adelstan said, stopping at the base of the tower stairs.
    “Ye come no further?” she asked, her brow lifted in surprise.
    “I would hate for your father to wake and find the two of us alone together.”
    She lifted a brow. “Ye are afraid of my father?”
    His eyes narrowed. “Nay, I am not afraid of your father.”
    “Then walk me to my room.” She ascended the steps, not waiting to see if he followed. Feeling his gaze on her back, she smiled inwardly.
    Stopping at her chamber, she turned back to look at him while opening the door. “Would ye like to come in for a moment?”
    He swallowed hard, and shook his head. “I cannot.”
    The cloak slid from her, and she tossed it over a chair, aware his light eyes followed her every movement. “Come in for just a moment. I swear I shall not bite.”
    “Where is your maid?” he asked, taking a step in, but the door remained open.
    “With her lover.”
    He flinched as though she had struck him.
    “Does that surprise ye?”
    “No, but hearing you say it does.”
    “Ah, ye think me unladylike.”
    His lips curved softly. “Nay, I do not think you unladylike, Rhiannon.”
    She straightened her shoulders, and pressed her hands to the small of her back, knowing full well the stance pushed her breasts out. “My back aches from this morning’s ride.”
    She could tell he fought to keep his gaze at eye level. “Is that why you missed supper?”
    “Aye,” she said, despite the fact it was not the truth.
     
    * * *
     
    Liquid fire rushed through Adelstan, and it was all he could do not to pull Rhiannon into his arms and kiss the coy smile from her lips.
    The moment he’d walked out of the bakehouse and found her standing there, he had been consumed by guilt.
    But why?
    She was hardly his woman, and yet he felt compelled to put her mind at ease, to let her know that Machara—or any other woman for that matter—could not hold a candle to her.
    Her long hair licked at her high buttocks, the chemise hiding absolutely nothing from his gaze. Now she walked toward the fire, standing before it, her slender back taunting him as she held her hands out to the flames.
    He trembled with his need for her, and here, after he had just had his cock sucked by another. But in his mind it had been Rhiannon who had pleasured him, her mouth, her tongue, her hair he had fisted in his hand, not Machara’s.
    Dear God, she had bewitched him, this woman who was to marry another man. This woman he had sworn to keep from harm.
    “Tell me something of my betrothed,” she said, turning to face him.
    The breath left his lungs in a rush.
    He could see the outline of her body clearly through the white linen. Rose-colored nipples topped firm, full breasts, the small nubs poking at the material. Her waist was tiny, her hips flaring slightly. He could clearly make out the hair between her thighs, and