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Maria Ling
The Norman held out his palms to her, empty. Then unstrapped his belt and placed it very carefully on the table, sword and knife and all. Held out his palms again.
Well, she hadn't imagined he was taking her here for a knife-fight. And he was unarmed now, she could - no, she couldn't strike at him, that was a ridiculous idea, he wore a mailcoat that covered his chest and arms and reached to his knees. If he were asleep she might get close enough to stab him in the eye, but he wouldn't sleep for a while yet, no, she understood that well enough. He spoke again now, in that hated Norman tongue, it made her want to spit. But his tone was mild and low, not curt as it had been with the men, she could almost believe he was pleading rather than commanding. Which was absurd, of course, he could order her as he liked and force her to comply, no one would defend her.
He mimicked the sheathing of a knife. Oh yes, that would suit his purpose well. Anger flared up within her, dissolving the worst of the fear.
When a Norman knight captures her as she flees her abusive home, Saxon peasant girl Leofe knows exactly what she faces. But Roland proves to be unlike any man she's ever met - and since her survival depends on pleasing him, she resolves to do so fast.
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