Submit To The Warrior

A strong arm curled about her waist, urging her up to her feet. Without thinking, she leaned into the solid muscles that supported her. Navarro’s protective touch added to her confusion. She had learned to fear such power, not seek its shelter.

‘Everyone is fatigued from battle,’ Navarro told her, easing his hold as she recovered her balance. ‘And it’s a day of funerals. There’ll be no marriage feast. I’ve ordered supper to be sent up to the bedchamber, and hot water, so I can have a bath. Sweat and dirt from the siege itch on my skin.’

‘Bath?’ she repeated, as though of a simple mind. ‘Bedchamber?’

‘Aye.’ He trapped her with another sooty-lashed look. ‘Your first duty as my wife will be to prepare me for the marriage bed.’

Hot and cold waves rolled over her, the way they did in the summer when she plunged into the chilly loch on a sweltering day. Her gaze flicked up to Navarro’s face, and she saw the look of male hunger in his eyes. Her eyes drifted downward, past his broad chest and his flat stomach, to settle on the soft leather codpiece that provided modesty beneath the hem of his short doublet.

He had no idea.

The thought raced through Morag’s mind. The King’s Arrow had married a widow, and he was expecting a woman experienced in the art of sensual pleasures. How would he react when he discovered he’d married a virgin who had never experienced anything but pain and violence from a man?