Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] Read Online Free PDF Page B

finally borne fruit, and dozens of legionaries were convinced Charon waited in the shadows to ferry them across their cursed Styx. Added to the usual numbers of injured and sick, the Legion was severely undermanned. And so he, because of Dunmacos’s reputation from the past and his own actions in the present, had been given the honor.
    He swiftly dealt with the formalities of changing horses and didn’t miss the furtive glances the post house master shot Morwyn’s way. It was obvious he thought Bren responsible for the woman’s battered state.
    Another outrage to add to Dunmacos’s foul reputation. Gods, he loathed the man, even though the man had been dead these last three years. The identity he’d assumed clung to him like a cloud of putrid flies. Sometimes he doubted he’d ever be able to scrub the residue from his soul.
    When the fresh horse was ready he once again mounted first and hauled Morwyn up in front, her fingers strong as they gripped his arm, her luscious lips compressed in uncompromising disapproval.
    And once again she held herself rigid and proud, as if his slightest touch repelled her.
    He dumped the bundle of bread and dates between her thighs and she stiffened further, as if he’d attempted to grope her. Irritation, edged with raw lust, knifed low in his gut. He’d told her he wouldn’t touch her unless she wanted him to. But then, why should she believe him, when she thought him a traitor to his own people?
    His irritation magnified, steamed through his blood, melded with the molten lust sizzling through his veins. If they’d met under different circumstances, would she still repulse his proximity? Still shoot him such disdainful glances? Or would she embrace the heat that flared between them and welcome him into her arms?
    “Eat.” It was a harsh command. “There’ll be nothing else until we stop for the night.”

    Morwyn gripped the saddle with both hands and gritted her teeth. How much longer did this barbarian intend them to travel? The sun was sinking on the horizon and she was in sore need to relieve herself. But she’d rather bite off her tongue than confess to such weakness.
    Twice they’d changed horses since leaving the forest. He’d scarcely uttered two words to her. Not that she wanted to converse with him. But curse the gods, she would do almost anything to abandon riding and rest her head for the night.
    Except before she could rest, she would have to submit to his bestial cravings. Anticipation shivered through her womb, tightened the muscles in her thighs, dampened her sensitive core. Her fingers dug more securely into the timber-framed saddle and she glared at the handful of circular wattle-and-daub huts in a village some distance from the newly constructed Roman road.
    She would enjoy multiple orgasms this night with the enemy of her people. And each one would be a spear through the heart of the Morrigan. Each one would mock the twisted soul of Aeron.
    Gawain would never know .
    Heat, heavy and languorous, bathed her tight channel, licked her sensitive clit. She tensed the muscles in her legs, fought the overpowering urge to squirm, to relieve at least one pressure, because soon she wouldn’t have to ignore her body’s demands anymore. Soon, this Gaul bastard would take her and she could slake her pent-up lust without guilt or shame.
    The Briton village receded and up ahead she saw Roman-built dwellings, and relief washed through her as she felt the horse slow. Her spine was fit to splinter. How often during this interminable journey had she battled against the desire to relax her muscles and sink back against the Gaul’s unyielding chest?
    As he pulled up outside the largest building she slashed her treacherous thoughts. She would have him. But she would never show him the slightest weakness. An enemy used vulnerability for his own gain.
    Limbs stiff to the point of inflexibility, she allowed him to help her dismount. His hands were surprisingly gentle, as if he