he said. His empty stein made a loud thud on the table as he slammed it down and then belched loudly. Alva didn’t turn around immediately, occupied as she was with lighting the candles in the wall sconces. In a few minutes the sun would be down, and it would be too dark to see. “Did you hear me?” he bellowed. She still said nothing, but walked to the table and took Lord Duncan’s mug. As she leaned over the table, just slightly, Lord Angus, sitting to Duncan’s right, cupped her ass in one hand. Alva did nothing. What could she do? She was fairly certain that the repulsive, cruel Lord Duncan wanted her maidenhead for himself, a fate that she could feel growing closer by the day. “Aye, that’s ripe,” said Lord Angus. He gave her an extra squeeze, his hand traveling lower, the layers of Alva’s skirts the only thing separating his thick, dirty fingers from her flesh. The long table full of men, most at least fifteen years older than her, laughed and leered at Alva. She grit her teeth together, but did her best to ignore it.
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