Chapter 1

My Fair Maiden

When I entered the tavern, I didn’t detect anything amiss. Despite that, I was inherently cautious. Being a woman traveling alone, vigilance wasn’t just a habit. It was also a matter of survival.

As was the swagger and the attitude. I’d learned long ago that the best way to stay out of trouble was to not invite it in the first place. In other words, don’t look like a victim…or approachable.

Body language goes a long way in taking care of that first part. So does the body. I’m big for a girl. For most men, too. I’m tall, with broad shoulders, and the sort of build that comes from a lifetime of sword work.

That helps with the not looking approachable bit, my sword. Or rather, swords. I wear two of them in a double crisscross harness buckled in the front with dual leather sheaths at my back. Two hilts, one gold and the other silver, ride high behind each shoulder, within easy reach. If the threat of twin swords wasn’t enough, the long knife sheathed at my waist and the dagger belted at my thigh offered further discouragement.

Fingers gripped comfortably about the hilt of my knife, I strode through the tavern with a sense of purpose. That was something I’d learned while in the army; always walk like you know where you’re going, even if you don’t.

Something else I’d learned was how to dress. In other words, always look the part. I was no longer in the royal guard, hadn’t been for several winters. I still had the tunic, though. The once dark material had faded to a cornflower blue. The golden yellow epaulets from both shoulders were missing, as were the two stripes on my sleeves designating rank. I’d cut the collar from the neck myself to make it more comfortable.

Not that it mattered any. The uniform of the guard was unmistakable, no matter what the condition. Most people took one look and saw what they wanted to see—whether good or bad. Either way, it usually made them think twice before starting trouble.

I passed by several men seated around a wooden table. There were no whistles or catcalls, inappropriate gestures, or attempted pats to my backside. Good. The last barbarian that had tried had pulled back his hand with one less finger attached. Barbarians are stupid cretins not easily deterred by attitude, uniform, or weapons. If anything, they seem to be even more attracted to a woman possessing a sharp blade and a sharper tongue. As for the uniform, their only concern was how fast they could get their intended lover undressed.

Thankfully, these men didn’t appear to be barbarians. None of them were heavily armed or armored, and I judged most of them to be villagers or farmers.

I felt a set of eyes watching me as I made my way to the bar. I turned and looked, seeing a lad seated alone and staring. He wasn’t a boy, yet he wasn’t what I’d term a man fully grown, either. His face held the pockmarks of youth. There was peach fuzz about his chubby cheeks, and light wisps of brown hair sprouted from his chin and lined his upper lip.

This lad was no farmer. His finer clothes, the rings on his fingers, and the feathered cap on his head indicated he was more than a commoner. His coin purse was worn and appeared to be less than half-full, revealing that he wasn’t well-to-do nobility, either. Next to the coin purse, on his belt, he wore a knife. It was long and thin, and I doubted if he’d ever used it on anything more substantial than his dinner. He saw me openly appraising him and hastily downed his eyes. I smirked, discounting him as any sort of threat.

I approached the tavern keeper, purchasing food and drink for now and a room for later. I’d had enough walking beside my horse, and there was nowhere urgent I needed to be. I decided I’d get my horse’s shoes fixed and rest up here for the remainder of the day. A good meal, a hot bath, a full night’s sleep, and I’d start out fresh first thing in the morning.

I claimed a corner table by dropping my saddlebags on one chair and my backside on the other. A barmaid brought a tray laden down with a wooden bowl, a trencher of bread, and a mug. I thanked her with a nod of my head. A bronze coin in her palm and a suggestion of more to come ensured she’d return to refill my mug as often as needed.

The venison stew tasted like it’d been left cooking over the hearth for three days. The bread was stale. The ale was bitter, lukewarm, and flat. Still, it was the best meal I’d had in over a fortnight. I leaned back in my chair, propping my boots up on the knife-scarred table, and chewed over a hunk of gristle I’d spooned up.

I sensed someone watching me. I looked up, expecting to find the lad’s eyes on me again. I was surprised to find him with his head down, his eyes locked on his bowl as he sopped up his stew with his bread. I watched for a few heartbeats to see if he was exaggerating his interest in his meal.

Juice dripping from the bread and onto his chubby fingers, he brought his hand to his mouth. He tilted his head back as he shoved his mouth full. Thick meat juice dribbled from his thin lips. Without letting loose the remaining hunk of bread, he swiped the back of his hand across his chin.

It wasn’t him. No one could pretend to be that engrossed in a meal. Still, my sword hand was itching. That was always a sure sign of trouble. I rubbed my left palm against my trousers and let my eyes search the room.

She was seated far back in a corner niche, slouched down, her body partially hidden by shadows and the table in front of her. If it hadn’t been for the intensity of her stare, I might have overlooked her completely.

I met her gaze. She hastily looked away. A heartbeat later, her eyes drifted my way again.

Oh, yeah. She’s interested.

I could tell. I have enough experience with women to know when I’ve caught an admirer’s eye. Even when she tries to hide it. And, believe me, this one was trying her best to keep her desires hidden.

She’d been openly staring at me. Then, the instant she thought I’d noticed, she quickly averted her gaze. She turned her head, making a showing of looking about the tavern, as though she were casually observing everyone, and not just me in particular.

She lifted her mug to her lips. Big, brown eyes peered over the rim of her wooden mug at me. Seeing me watching her, her eyes widened, and she looked away. We played this cat-and-mouse game for a while. She’d look at me, and I’d look back. Before our gazes could truly connect, though, she’d hastily look the other direction.

Until the time came that she moved too slowly, and I snared her with my smile. I’m very proud of my smile. It’s one of my best features. I still have all my teeth, and I keep them clean by scrubbing salt on them daily and chewing willow bark on a regular basis. I’ve been told that my smile alone can charm the breechcloth off any girl.

I’m sure the blonde hair and blue eyes don’t hurt, either. In the south, where most men and women tended to have dark hair and dark eyes, my fair hair made some consider my looks to be exotic. In the north, my looks aren’t all that uncommon. There, it’s my dimples that garner the attention.

She was still watching, so I extended my tongue, trailing it slowly over my lips, as though they were parched. She choked on her drink, lowering her mug and patting at her throat and upper chest. I waited until she regained her composure before raising my mug and tilting my head at her. She hesitated before offering a timid smile in return. I responded with a brazen wink and beckoned her with a crooked finger.

†

In truth, I wasn’t entirely certain she would come. It’s rare, but there have been an occasion or two in which a woman has proved impervious to my charms.

Twice. It’s happened exactly twice. Both times had left a decidedly bad taste in my mouth.

The girl sat motionless upon her chair, eyes unblinking as she stared at me. At last, she pushed the chair back from the table and slowly rose to her feet. She picked up her mug and clutched it tightly in her grasp. I let loose a little sigh, glad that I wouldn’t have to add the sourness of her rejection to the bitterness of the ale I was sipping.

She was tall. Not as tall as me, mind you, but she was long-limbed. Her linen skirt ended mid-calf, swirling about her legs, emphasizing just how toned they were. Rich, brunette tresses fell over her shoulders. She wore her peasant blouse off the shoulder, cut low in the front, and tucked into her skirt, accentuating the trimness of her waist. She was fit, but also buxom and curvaceous in all the right places.

I felt myself salivating and swallowed hard. She crossed the room, her hips swaying with every step. The nearer she drew, the shallower my breathing became. My eyes remained fixated even as she drew to a stop in front of me.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft. “Hello?”

I blinked and shook my head briskly, forcing my eyes from her waist and up. They lingered on her generous bosom before traveling higher. When at last I reached her face, I saw a pair of eyes, the same shade as warm honey, looking down at me.

“I’m Gwendolyn. Gwen.” She offered up a shy smile.

“Bodhi,” I said.

Her eyes indicated the chair beside me. I reacted immediately, hurriedly taking my boots off the table and my saddlebags off the seat. I used the toe of my boot to nudge the wooden chair towards her.

She slid onto the seat, scooting forward so she could tuck herself in close to the table. She propped her elbows up on the table and wrapped her long fingers about her drinking mug. Above the froth at the top of her mug, her bountiful breasts and generous cleavage were on ample display. She drew in a breath as she lifted her mug to her full lips.

My imagination whispered in my ear that if I watched long enough, she might draw in a deep enough breath that her blouse would slip and her mouth-watering breasts would be completely bared to my gaze. Spirits help me if that were to happen. I was already enraptured…and that was with her being fully clothed.

“Bodhi?”

“Hmm?”

“Bodhi? Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“Huh?” I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “Of course.”

Of course I haven’t. How could she have possibly expected me to listen to a word she’d said when I was busy ogling her? I lifted my mug to my lips in an attempt at stalling long enough to search my mind in case my ears had managed to catch any part of the conversation that the rest of my body couldn’t care a lick about. All I managed to discover was that sometime while she’d been speaking, I’d managed to drain my mug of every last drop of that awful ale.

If my obvious leering, inattention, or any of my other ill manners at all offended Gwendolyn, she gave no indication. She just looked at me with those warm, honey-brown eyes and that soft smile of hers and carried on speaking.

“I asked if you’re visiting family in the area.”

“Hm? Uh, no. Just passing through.”

“I expect you’ll be continuing on your way after your meal,” she said.

I shook my head. I spotted the barmaid refilling the pockmarked lad’s stew bowl and held my mug aloft. As she gave a curt nod of acknowledgment, I lowered my mug back onto the tabletop.

“Why not?” Gwendolyn asked. “There’s plenty of sunlight left. You could put a lot more miles beneath your feet before dusk.”

“You’re right about one thing; there’s plenty of sun left. Too much. I’m tired of getting baked by it. I’ve decided to rest here for the night and head out either tomorrow…” I purposely allowed my eyes to drift over her desirable body “…or perhaps the next day.”

“You could rest now and travel at night when it’s cooler.”

I looked at her as if she were either daft or mad and ticked off on my fingers the many reasons her suggestion was inane.

“Too dangerous. Too easy to lose your way in the dark. Could ride off the path. Horse could step wrong and go lame, toss his rider, or both. Not to mention thieves on the road.”

“You look like you could handle yourself just fine.”

I preened beneath her gaze, sitting up a little straighter, and puffing out my chest with pride.

“It’s not about being able to handle yourself.” I snorted. “Only a fool or someone on the run would go traveling about in the dark.”

“What if there was no other choice? What if it were a matter of life or…” Gwendolyn’s voice trailed off, and she lowered her gaze.

Looking up, I saw the barmaid standing beside our table with a pitcher on a tray. As she took my mug and refilled it, her eyes drifted to my companion.

“We’ve only just met and already you sound like you’re trying to get rid of me,” I teased.

“Trying to drive away a thirsty traveler?” asked the barmaid. “That would be inhospitable. You weren’t being inhospitable, were you, Gwen?”

“No, of course not, Cathryn.” Gwen’s teeth bit into her bottom lip. “Bodhi must have misunderstood my intent.”

“Ah.” The barmaid smiled widely as she turned to me. “There, you see, Bodhi? Gwen doesn’t wish you to leave. You aren’t leaving now, are you, not when you’ve scarcely begun to quench your thirst?”

Something about the barmaid calling me by name when I hadn’t given it to her rankled me. I rubbed my palm with the thumb of my opposite hand as I looked up at her. It seemed to me that although her lips were curved, there was no true warmth or sincerity behind her smile.

“As I was telling Gwendolyn, I’m heading north. I have no place urgent to be, though.” I looked directly into Gwen’s eyes. “Besides, I can’t leave now. I’ve already paid for a room.”

Gwendolyn’s indrawn breath was audible. Her eyes darted from me to Cathryn. Cathryn speared her with a look. Gwen paled, and she downed her head. Her hand trembled as she lifted her mug to her lips. She kept her gaze lowered as she drank.

The barmaid gave the buxom brunette a long, hard look and breathed heavily through her nose, her nostrils flaring with the effort. Then, as if remembering I was there, she looked to me. She gave me an odd look before reaching for my bowl of stew.

I put my hand on top of her wrist to stop her.

“Enough.”

My gaze indicated I was speaking about the stew, but I trusted she gathered from my tone that there was also a deeper meaning. I dipped two fingers into my coin purse and withdrew another bronze coin. Cathryn snatched it out of my grasp and turned on her heel and left, leaving me alone with a clearly disturbed companion.

†

The encounter with Cathryn had left Gwen quiet and withdrawn. She sat forward, with her shoulders hunched and both hands wrapped about her mug. Her gaze was riveted on the contents of her cup. She made no attempt at conversation. Indeed, it seemed as if she’d swallowed her tongue.

I drank nearly half my ale waiting for her to find her voice. When it looked as if she never would, I decided it was up to me.

“Truth. Is Cathryn the barmaid as naturally sour as the ale she serves, or is she in fact an evil faerie sent to cut out the tongues of fair maidens?”

“What?” Gwen’s head jerked up and wide, startled eyes met mine.

“That’s better.” I smiled at her to let her know that I was at least partly teasing. “Now that it’s been proven she’s not an evil faerie, who is she?”

“Just a barmaid.” Gwen released a heavy sigh. “As well as my elder sister.”

Ah. I’d thought they bore more than a passing resemblance.

My eyes flitted about the tavern. I spotted Cathryn at the bar. She was reloading her tray with more mugs. The tavern keeper was opposite her on the other side of the bar, and their heads were bent close together as they conversed. They both kept darting looks over at my table.

There was a feather-light touch against the back of my hand. I looked down to find Gwendolyn’s fingertips idly tracing the length of a bleached white scar. I’d gotten it more winters ago than I could count. The seasons had passed, the scar had faded, but the wound was one that had not easily healed. Nor would the pain of it ever be completely forgotten.

She turned my hand over, caressing the calluses of my palm. Despite having skin toughened from a lifetime of gripping a pommel, her tender touch sent a shiver right through me.

Gwendolyn’s touch drifted higher, traveling over my leather wrist cuff. Her hand stroked over my forearm. I flexed, causing the flesh beneath her fingertips to dance. Her hand slipped beneath the sleeve of my tunic and onto my bicep.

“Bodhi?” Her voice was sultry.

“Ye—” I couldn’t believe my voice cracked in reaction to hers. I took a hasty draught of my ale and spoke again. My voice came out at a much more normal, if slightly huskier, pitch. “Yes?”

She silently stared at me for several long heartbeats. Then, she wet her lips, as if they were unbearably dry. To me, they looked moist and full. She chewed her bottom lip, as if in contemplation, before finally speaking.

“You’ve had a lot of experience, with traveling, I mean?”

I nodded and took another sip of my drink.

“I’ve never been away from home,” she said. “Chatham’s a small village. Compared to other women, women from large towns, am I considered at all attractive?”

I placed my hand atop the one that had moved back down to my forearm. I leaned forward, looking deeply into her eyes.

“Fair maiden, you are most desirable.” I raised my mug for another sip.

“Desirable enough…” Her eyes searched my face, “for you to take me to your bed?”

“Wha—?” I sputtered, ale spewing from my mouth—what little bit that didn’t try going down the wrong pipe. I choked, coughs racking my body as I beat my open palm on the tabletop.

Her hand was at my back, pounding. I coughed a few more times, then signaled for her to stop. She lifted her hand away, and I drew in several gasping breaths.

Eyes watering, I looked around the tavern. Any eyes that had been staring at my embarrassment quickly turned the other way, except for Cathryn’s. She was looking at me with a hardened expression.

That’s when it hit me, like a sword right between the eyes.

“How much?” I asked.

“Pardon?” She quirked a brow and tilted her head.

“How much?” I repeated, determined to know the price before the transaction.

I openly hefted the bag of coins tied to my belt and made a gesture that indicated her.

“You think I’m some common tavern whore?” Her eyebrows rose nearly as high as her voice.

I stroked my chin as I studied her in contemplation of my answer. She made a move to get up from her chair, but resettled herself before I could reach out a hand to stop her.

“No,” I said, at last, deciding she was much too young, her body far too firm to have seen the sort of things the other women in this tavern had over the seasons. “But, start now, and you’ll be as used and dried up as your sister by winter.”

I wish I could say that I saw the slap coming. I didn’t. I felt it, though, from my aching cheek to my teeth, and all the way down to my jawbone.

I tried rubbing the stinging nettles from my cheek as I studied her some more. I’d seen it before in my travels. A young girl with no means of support, drawn into life as a tavern maid, forced to sell her body as readily as the food and drink she peddled. Harsh as it sounded, oft times, it was the girl’s own kin that had sold her into the lifestyle. Not necessarily because they were cruel or abusive, but rather out of sheer desperation. Sometimes, there were just too many mouths and not nearly enough food at home.

I’d thought that was what her situation was. I’d thought that Cathryn, being the eldest sister, was tasked with instructing Gwendolyn in the same trade.

“I’m no whore, and I don’t want your coin.” She held her wooden mug in her grasp so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her teeth were clenched even tighter, so tight that I doubted a drop of ale could slip between them.

“What do you want, then,” I asked, “if not my coin?”

“You. For a single night.”

†

There was a time, when I had more scruples, that I might have reacted slower. Now though, I was full of ale, full of lust, and a plain fool. I had her up the stairs and in my room, with her back pressed against the closed door, before common sense could deter me.

My nose nuzzled against her neck, brushing her brunette tresses aside. I nibbled, licked, and sucked at her tender flesh. I felt her hands encircle my waist.

Her words, “for a single night,” reverberated in my skull. No doubt, that phrase delivered in her seductive voice had initially stirred me to rush her upstairs. Now, it rankled me. It wasn’t that I was looking for, nor even desired, something more. If anything, I tended to avoid any pairing that appeared as if it might turn complicated. I didn’t need romantic entanglements that included a thatched cottage for two and whispered promises of forever.

A single night suited my needs just fine. What irked me was that this maiden thought that she would be the one to make the terms of our coupling. It was as if she thought she could have this instance of debauchery and then return to her unspoiled life untarnished. And, while I’m certain there’s been many a maid that’s had that same plan prior to being bedded, she was the first one to put voice to the deed.

Even though she had made her claim of only the night, I knew she would bear the mark of my passion come the morn. The thought of her dressing, standing in front of the mirror, eyes fixed upon the discolored flesh of her neck, spurred me to suck even harder. I grew determined that it would take more than one morning for my love bite to fade from her reflection. Or her memory. My teeth nipped at her tender skin.

Her arms were about me, her hands splayed across my back. She tilted her head back, arching her neck beneath my sucking lips. She gripped my shoulders. Fingers curled into my hair, pulling me in closer. As my body pressed fully against hers, a gasp escaped her lips, and her heated breath washed over me.

My lips crushed against hers. Her mouth opened for me, and my tongue thrust inside. The kiss was long and deep. She met my passion with fervor, sucking hard on my tongue. When the kiss ended, we were both left breathless, taking in heaping gulps of air.

I captured her face in my hands. Fingers caressed her downy, smooth cheeks. My thumb dragged across kiss-swollen lips. Her mouth opened, she extended her tongue, wetting my digit. My thumb slipped between her lips, past her teeth. She teased, sucking on my thumb before her sharp teeth nipped me.

I tore my thumb from her mouth and took a step back. Without thinking, I stuck the stinging pad of flesh into my mouth and sucked hard. As I caught my breath, my gaze swept over her.

There was a teasing cast to her eyes that suggested she’d intended playfulness, not malice. There was something else, too. Want. The shade of her eyes had deepened, taking on the hue of hardened amber.

Her chestnut tresses fell in waves over her shoulders and down her back. The sleeves of her peasant blouse hung off her upper arms. It seemed she, too, was struggling with her breathing. Her chest lifted with every intake and fell with every exhalation.

I gripped her by the nape of the neck and pulled her to me for a searing kiss. As the kiss ended, I gripped both her shoulders. My calloused palms caressed over her smooth shoulders and down her arms. As my fingers came into contact with the material of her peasant blouse, I tugged—hard—and shoved her blouse down to where it was tucked into the waist of her skirt.

This time, it was my turn to gasp aloud. She was…stunning. I’d already guessed that she was well-endowed. That much had been obvious, even in the dimly lit downstairs tavern. What I hadn’t guessed, though, was just how buxom she really was. Her uplifted breasts were fuller and heavier than I expected, given her slender frame. Her nipples were dusted a pale rose and were swollen to stiffness.

My gasp became a groan. I grabbed her and spun her around, away from the door. I pushed her down, and she landed with a thump on the bed. With expertise borne of experience, I lifted my dual shoulder harness over my head and hung my swords from one corner post of the bed.

She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at me. Her hair was disheveled, her lips were swollen from our kisses, and a pink flush tinted her cheeks.

I stood for a heartbeat, just staring down at her, entranced by her beauty.

Her hands closed about my waist. Her fingers gripped my hips as she tugged me closer to the bed. Nails bit through the thin material of my tunic and scraped the coarser material of my britches. She leaned forward, pressing a kiss to my abdomen. Brown eyes blinked up at me.

“Bodhi.”

That’s all it took. The spell was broken, and I was on my knees before her. My hands cupped her breasts, palms lifting, testing their heft. My mouth fell upon her, determined to devour her with my lips, my tongue, and my teeth. I sucked, licked, nipped, and bit. Her fingers twined in my hair. Her hands were pulling me impossibly closer, and the low mewling sounds she was making urged me on.

At last, I drew back. I looked up, seeing her heavy-lidded eyes looking down at me. Her palms were pressed flat against my shoulders. Still holding her gaze, I extended my tongue. I felt her hardened nipple beneath my oral digit. I licked it, then lifted it with the tip of my tongue, and then sucked it fully into my mouth. Her entire body shivered.

“Oh, Bodhi.”

I felt a smile form on my lips.

The sound of splintering wood shattered the moment. I turned my head in time to see the door being kicked open. Several men appeared in the open doorway. Gwendolyn screamed. Before I could reach for my weapons, I saw a close-up view of the sole of a boot aiming for my face.

Then, everything went black.