Virgin Slave, Barbarian King. Louise Allen
lord splashes a great deal.’ Julia emerged from behind her curtain, her creased clothes clinging to her, her gaze scornfully averted from Wulfric as he stood there up to mid-thigh in cooling, dirty water. ‘I was surprised to find him so clumsy.’
With a flick of her skirts she picked her way around the mud, past the gaping youth and out of the tent.
Wulfric balled the towel up in his hands. ‘Empty the tub, get some straw for the floor and sort something out with that hell-cat for dinner.’ He climbed grimly out of the tub onto the stool and from there to dry ground.
Berig swallowed audibly. ‘What are you going to do to her?’
Wulfric stood where he was, hands on hips, and considered his tactics. He saw the shadow slide under the tent flap and raised his voice. ‘Do to her? Why, nothing. Nothing at all. If she wants to eat, then she must cook. If she wants to drink, then she must fetch water, and, if she wants to sleep on a bed, then she must wash the linens.’ And if she wants to tempt and torment me with those red lips and those soft curves, those big brown eyes—then she will find I am as much a rock to her wiles as to her temper.
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