Christina Phillips - [Forbidden 02] Read Free Page B

exactly what was going through her mind. Curse her despised gods, but how she would relish plunging her dagger into him, castrating him before ending his miserable, misbegotten existence.
    He rolled off her, kneeled beside her and contemplated her as if she were his own personal property. She refused to smooth down her crumpled gown or wipe her hair and the filth from her face. Let him look long and hard at how his compatriots had mistreated her.
    “I’ve no intention of taking you in the open forest, Celt, where anyone could stumble upon us.” He raked his glance over her and she gritted her teeth, refusing to acknowledge the foul ripple of disappointment that shuddered low in her gut at his words. “I’ll wait until you beg me.”

Chapter Two

    Ignoring the bone-deep ache in her wrist, she pushed herself upright. Beg him? She would sooner tear out her tongue than ever admit such a treacherous desire.
    “Since you have no use for me”—and the way his cock had burned her tender lips proved how much of a lie that was—“then let me go.”
    He stood up. She had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact but it was all she could do for the moment. She didn’t yet trust her legs to support her. She’d rather remain seated on the ground than stumble to her knees before him.
    “Let you go?” He appeared to contemplate her words. “Alone, in occupied territory? I don’t think so.”
    Air hissed between her teeth. “I can take care of myself.”
    He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. The disbelieving glance said enough.
    She flexed her fingers, blocking the pain of her abused wrist. She was so close to the heart of Caratacus’s resistance. She could feel the call of freedom vibrating in the air, enticing her, if only she could find the right path.
    And this Gaul intended to drag her with him to—wherever his cursed duty took him.
    Without warning he hunkered before her and she glowered into his face, ignoring without success the harsh line of his jaw and high, aristocratic cheekbones. In another lifetime, before the Romans had invaded Cymru, she might have looked twice at this warrior. Might have invited him into her bed, enjoyed his charms and battle-hardened body.
    But now he was a creature of Rome. And no matter how her deprived clit ached for fulfillment she would never lower herself so irredeemably as to slake her need with one such as this.
    Because she had no intention of ever slaking such need again.
    Breath gusted. Of course she hadn’t. She had made a vow; she would honor that vow. It was no hardship. She was simply disorientated by the attack and this Gaul’s unexpected denial of his base urges.
    His arrogance.
    Yes, his arrogance. To assume she would ever beg for his touch. Crave his possession.
    “I don’t have time to return you to your village.” His voice punched her back to the present. “Or escort you to the garrison. And I won’t leave you here at the mercy of any passing legionary.”
    “It wasn’t a legionary who murdered my fellow Dru—traders.”
    Heat flared through her at her error but he appeared unaware she had almost given herself away.
    “No. But on your own and in your current state, you’re fair game for any man wanting a rut.”
    She staggered to her feet, ropes of fire searing her thigh where the other filthy auxiliary had kicked her. “And you don’t want to rut ?”
    He stood also and deliberately examined her dagger, as if it held great interest to him, before sheathing it beneath his chain mail. “I’m not that desperate.”
    Not that desperate? Pride snaked through her, stiffening her spine, momentarily obliterating the burning pain in her thigh, the throbbing ache of her ribs.
    “Then you have no reason to encumber yourself with my presence. I’ll return to my village and relay the bloody murder of my countrymen.”
    He shrugged as if he no longer wished to discuss the matter. “You’re coming with me whatever your personal thoughts on the matter. You