Free Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] by Captive Page B

from the source, where it gushed unpolluted from the earth.
    Silence stretched between them, yet it wasn’t a silence of animosity nor did it crackle with resentment or fear. If circumstances were different, he’d think it companionable.
    Her head dropped against his shoulder and need blazed through his groin, igniting the embers, reawakening his lust. He looked down at her, expecting a sultry smile or at least eyes reflecting the extent of their mutual desire.
    Only the top of her head was visible as she slumped against him, and he snatched her goblet before it tumbled from her slack fingers.
    She’d fallen asleep. It had nothing to do with how much she trusted him, because he knew she didn’t trust him at all, and yet still an odd pain split through his chest at how vulnerable sleep had rendered her.
    Without shifting the arm upon which Morwyn rested, he piled their plates and goblets onto the timber chest. He was sweaty and filthy from their ride and now, while she slept, was the perfect moment to visit the bathhouse.
    Stealthily he slid from her unconscious embrace and lowered her head to the pillows. She curled into a ball, hair spread around her like black flame, oblivious to how the damp cloth barely covered her enticing breasts or luscious buttocks.
    It would be so easy to leave her as she was. But if she awoke, she’d take instant advantage to escape. And it wasn’t safe outside for a woman alone, no matter how skilled with a dagger she might be.
    But even as the thought slithered through his mind, even as he made sure she’d be unable to leave him without his consent, the harsh truth bubbled like acid through his lies.
    He didn’t want her to disappear in the night because her quick tongue and tempting body relieved the stark reality of his existence.

Chapter Eight

    From the depths of slumber, Morwyn stirred. Various points of her body throbbed and disjointed memories tumbled through her mind.
    She was with the Gaul. She didn’t recall falling asleep and stealthily peered through her lashes but he wasn’t lying by her side. Surely it wasn’t morn already and he’d risen?
    Before irritation could flood her at the possibility he’d slept by her side all night without touching her, she realized the light was all wrong. The lamps were still burning. The remains of their meal still cluttered the top of the chest.
    Perhaps he’d merely gone to the bathhouse.
    Heat flickered low in her womb and a smile tugged at her lips. Gaining his trust had been easier than she’d thought. If she wasn’t so desperate to see Carys, there would be nothing to stop her from escaping her captor while he luxuriated in his Roman masters’ bath.
    But even though she had no intention of escaping, she most certainly needed her medicine bag. It had been many moons since she’d bothered with the contraceptive teas. Not since the Druids had fled Cymru and Carys had chosen her Roman lover above her people. There had been no need. From that night she’d no longer welcomed Gawain into her arms and there had been no other man since.
    The heat speared from her womb, tingled through her already damp pussy. It would be easy enough to persuade the Gaul to procure her hot water. Even if he did now work for the enemy, he was still Celt-born. Would know how a woman needed to protect herself against unwanted pregnancy. But in case he’d been tainted by the foul Roman view of femininity, she’d tell him the infusions were for some other womanly complaint.
    She smiled again, well satisfied by her plan, and ignoring the protests of her abused muscles stretched languorously, arms above her head, flexing cramped legs.
    Unaccustomed weight dragged the ankle of her uninjured leg and she froze, momentarily stunned into stupidity, unable to comprehend the obvious reason for such constraint.
    He wouldn’t dare. She wouldn’t believe it. But still she remained prone on the bed, unwilling to see the evidence with her own eyes as rage thundered