The Mermaid's Knight

“Cold?” He raised a black eyebrow at her mockingly. “You can have something warm to wear the moment you speak.”

She resisted the urge to flash him the middle finger and scowled instead.

He reached over again, and Leah stiffened automatically. To her surprise, he grabbed her hand and took it in his own. Warmth shot through her cold fingers at the touch of his hand, and Leah felt a blush creep over her cheeks again. It felt rather disconcerting to have a massive knight cradling her hand as she sat in front of him, wrapped in nothing but a blanket.

His thumb stroked across her palm. “Well, you’re no common girl from the village. Though I had my doubts about that to begin with.” His dark eyes focused intently on her face.

Leah found herself trapped by his gaze. She glanced down at the hand in question, then back up at his face, her eyes inquiring.

The baron’s thumb stroked across the soft meat of her palm again. “Too soft,” he explained. “You haven’t done a day’s worth of hard work with these hands. These are a lady’s hands.” He lifted the palm of her hand, as if he would kiss it. “A lady or a whore,” he amended.
Leah snatched her hand from his and curled her fingers into a fist, aiming for his nose.

He caught her hand easily, laughing at her efforts. “So, the little mute is a spitfire. I’ve heard Rutledge prefers his women fiery.” His free hand reached out to touch a lock of the thick bangs that fell over her forehead. “Though why he would mangle your hair is beyond me. Did you displease him in some fashion?”

Confused, Leah pulled her hair from his hands and shook her head. What on earth was he talking about?

“Still refuse to talk, eh? You’re a very loyal wench, then. What did he offer you to infiltrate my camp? Money? A name for your son? Jewels?” He reached out and gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Love? Surely you know that Rutledge was born with a black soul. He has no love for anyone but himself.”

Her senses tingled at his soft touch, and Leah jerked away again, shaking her head over and over again. He was all wrong. He thought her some lord’s whore, paid to come and infiltrate the enemy’s camp? Was he crazy?

Leah looked the baron in the eye and tapped her throat with her fingers again.

Anger flared in his dark eyes, and she watched his jaw tighten. He stood, looming over her, and she instinctively backed away, the cloak clutched close to her body. “What would it take to make you talk, woman?” He was on Leah in two seconds, his hand wrapping in her hair and angling her face before his. “Would you speak if I kissed you?”