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squeezing, sliding up his hard shaft and back down again.
    She removed her tunic, letting it slide from her fingers to the rug. For the space of a heartbeat he saw her naked back, the slender lines, the indentations just above the curve of her firm buttocks. And then her long hair swung, hiding her from him. He could see her tremble as she slid the braies down her legs and made quick work of the garters, chausses, and boots. He released a groan and shifted his hips. She was beautiful, and she was his.
    The edge of the tub was high enough that she would not know he stroked himself. At this point, he didn't care if she did. He needed release, because he would not spend himself the moment he touched her. Nay, he would savor the taking—caress her until she writhed beneath him. "Turn around and let me see you, Aleysia."
    With a muttered curse, she turned, her green eyes flashing with hatred as she met his gaze.
    His heart missed a beat. She was breathtaking.
    Full, firm breasts with rose-pink nipples gave way to a small waist and softly curved hips. Her stomach was flat, the curls of her womanhood slightly darker than the hair on her head. His stroke increased as he stared at the soft, tight curls there, imagining the treasure hidden within. A virgin, an untouched prize. How hot and tight she would be. He grit his teeth as his blood quickened, his climax coming on, fast, strong. Aleysia reached up and ran her hands down her arms as though to warm herself. The motion made her already full breasts look even more so. He envisioned his cock there, between the soft skin of those ample mounds, thrusting.
    Trembling, he closed his eyes and jerked harder, once, twice—and came with a low-throated moan.
    Long seconds later his heart slowed a little, and only then did he open his eyes to find Aleysia still standing there, watching him with a confused expression. Did she guess what had made him groan? Would she even know of such things?
    Whatever the case, soon the mystery would be over. Virgin she might be, but certainly she knew her power over men. In fact, if she was betrothed to a Scottish laird whom she addressed so intimately, who said she was still virgin?
    Suddenly, he had to know the truth for himself.
    "Prepare yourself for me now," he said, nodding toward the bed.
     
    Aleysia's heart pounded as she awaited the Norman, regretting the moment she had offered her body to him.
    He washed himself with the soap, scrubbing every inch of his hard flesh. Long minutes passed, but still he did not come to her. She had been suspicious as to what had caused such a moan earlier, his head fallen back on the tub's edge, his eyes closed, the thick cords of his neck strained as though in pain. Perhaps the wound she had inflicted upon him?
    Nay, he had suffered far worse.
    He would not be touching himself, would he? That thought did nothing to help her shattered nerves.
    What in God's name took him so long now?
    She wanted to get this over with. Hold up her end of the bargain and be done with it. Then she would go on with her plans. She could bear anything if she knew her brother would be safe.
    Which meant she must be strong. She must please the Norman, if she and Adelstan stood a chance at escaping. Hopefully, Duncan was on his way with an army. When he arrived, she would leave and never come back. Not as long as de Wulf held Braemere.
    All thoughts evaporated as she heard the Norman stand from the tub. Fear rippled through her as she glanced at him. Water sluiced down his powerful body, and over that part of him that would soon be within her. Her stomach tightened. It was as she feared. His manhood was thick, long—and far too large to fit inside her. How could she bear it?
    Pushing aside her apprehension, she shivered under the covers and awaited him, praying for the strength that would get her through the night. Remember Adelstan, she chanted over and over in her mind. You will escape and this will be nothing but a horrible memory.
    A minute