by Lisa Shea
Her soldiers deposited her down by the table again, and Sean slowly stood. He held out a hand in friendly defeat.
“That was well played, Morgan,” he commended with a smile. “I have not seen it done better. You have my congratulations.”
Morgan put her fingers in his palm, watching as he lowered his head to her hand, brushed his lips sensually over the skin of her knuckles. An answering tremor ran through her, and she gave a soft chuckle. Two could play that game. Her thumb was on the underside of his hand – she ran it slowly, seductively along his skin, her lips pursed with promise. A flush of heat rose into his face, and his grip tightened on her fingers.
Christian pulled her back against him. “All right, Morgan,” he joked, his red curls bouncing around an even more rosy face.
Oliver chimed in with a low voice. “Time to get you home, Morgan, or your parents will tan my hide.”
Morgan smiled. “Even worse, my father will not deliver your new sword for another month in punishment,” she teased, allowing her fingers to slip free from Sean’s grip, allowing herself to be drawn along by her friends. Together they made their way out into the lightening world, weaving their way along the village’s one main road. Here and there they saw other of the bar’s patrons making their way home.
They got to the sturdy oak door of her house in only a few minutes, and Morgan gave each man a warm hug in farewell. “I will see you at the keep tomorrow,” she promised with a wink. She glanced up at the gentle tracery of light drifting across the sky. “Oops, I suppose I mean today,” she amended. “Keep the fires warm for me!”
Christian nodded. “We will,” he vowed with heat.
She gave a wave, then turned to move along the lavender-lined side alley of her house toward the back fence.
Gazing in a low window, she could barely make out her mother, a mug of ale near to her hand, sprawled on the bench in the main room of the forge. Her father was sitting on the sturdy side chair, his head down against his chest, snoring in steady rhythm. Morgan had no interest in waking the pair and being drawn into whatever fight had consumed them this evening.
She grabbed the ladder from its nook, laid it up against the side of the house, and scrambled nimbly up to her bedroom window. Once inside, she gave the ladder a kick, sending it back into its corner with a soft thud. She waited a long moment, but there was no answering sound from below.
Chuckling with pleasure, she made her way over to her bed, flinging herself onto it with satisfaction. She had won. She had taken down and bested a Londoner. Now there was an achievement to be proud of!
Her mind went back to that last glass of mead, the moment when she had allowed Sean a glimpse into her soul, when she had felt a connection with him that went beyond words, beyond any man she had ever met before. Her heart kindled …
She pushed the warmth away, rolling herself under her blankets, pulling them up over her head with a firm tug. Tomorrow he would be gone, and she would return to her carefree life. No man alive had yet put the yoke on her, and with God as her witness, no man ever would.
Here’s where to learn what happened next!
Seeking the Truth
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