Slaves of Love
Night after night, in the depths of his dreams, he felt her soft, white skin beneath his fingers, heard her delicious moans of pleasure, and he exploded in passion. And every morning, he awoke to wet evidence of his folly.
He had started to hate her, as much for his primal, loathsome longing as for her callous actions.
He would forget her. With time.
Today had been Jordan’s wedding day. Tomorrow, they’d be back on the road. Once he was home again, he would find a way to get Shena out of his mind.
* * * * *
Shena awoke with a start as someone ripped back her covers and hauled her out of bed. As her bleary vision focused, she realized the rough-handed man dragging her along the cold marble floor, barely waiting for her stumbling feet to keep up, was Bahrd, the most brutal of her father’s men. He always leered at her as though waiting for the opportunity to strip her naked and violate her. The skin on her arms pebbled in goose bumps, and her chest constricted so tightly she could barely breathe. Oh, God, had that opportunity arrived?
A semi-toothless grin claimed his face as his gaze raked across her, as though he read her thoughts.
“Yer father wants te see ye.”
Her anxiety did not diminish at that revelation. As he dragged her down the corridor, she wondered if this had anything to do with Keern.
Four painful days ago, she had left Keern with that dreadful, but necessary, lie. She’d felt violently ill as she’d raced home. She’d stolen up to her room and curled into a ball on her bed, sobbing.
Over the next few days, the image of Keern’s handsome face, filled with loathing, remained burned in her memory.
Yet in her dreams, he bound her in a web of sexual desire and took out his anger in beautiful bouts of passion.
Bahrd pushed open the door to her father’s study, and she cringed as he shoved her inside.
“There you are, daughter.”
Her father sat in the tall brown leather chair behind his shiny ebony desk. He removed his glasses and placed them on the book he’d been reading. A fire blazed in the marble fireplace, radiating a warm glow. He rubbed his well-trimmed beard, then tapped his long, elegant fingers on the desktop as he watched her, light dancing across the navy silk of his
vest.
His composure didn’t fool her. In his ice-grey eyes, she saw danger. He hid it well from others, but she had learned to read the intensity of his anger within the calm depths.
“I’ve heard you’ve been meeting with a man.”
She remained silent, unable to utter a word. How had he found out about Keern?
He pushed himself to his feet and strode toward her. “You were seen at Sersa’s pond with a man who claimed you were his woman. Is this true?”
She glanced at the floor.
He struck her swiftly, a bone-jarring blow to the jaw, knocking her off her feet. Pain jolted through her hands as they hit the hard stone floor, breaking her fall.
“Is it true?” The tone of his words, strung taut as a tightrope, demanded an answer.
She straightened her arms, pushing herself onto her hip, legs curled to one side.
“No, not exactly. I --”
He kicked her in the ribs, knocking her to the ground again. Blinding pain shot through her, and she could barely suck in enough air to keep from passing out.
“Not exactly?” he sneered. “Does that mean you’re not exactly a virgin anymore?”
“I am,” she choked, then coughed, trying to catch her breath. “I am still a virgin.”
His eyes narrowed as he glared down at her. “Even if you are, Drakemont doesn’t believe it. He’ll never wed you now.”
Her father had been intending to marry her off to Reginald Drakemont? He was a foul-smelling miser of a man. Cruel and demanding. He frightened her almost as much as her father.