It was as if he were driven by some unseen force, some demon that would not let him rest—nor her in the process. But Bryna was determined not to lag behind. She didn’t want him accusing her of being a burden as well as a whore. She supposed it was natural for him to make certain assumptions. Beside Baal’s bumbling effort, there had been other close encounters—a soldier on the journey from Eire, one of the slaver’s minions. Only Bran’s tale and the promise of gold had kept her safe. But she wasn’t like Silva, she wasn’t one of those females to lie with a man, master or not, to gain favor. Still, the memory of his callused hand cradling her caused her breasts to go heavy. She had never experienced anything like the delicious warmth that had coursed through her body, curled in the pit of her belly. Could he do more? Could she do the same to him? She slapped an errant bush limb out of her path, ignored the sting as it hit the back of her leg. Gods, she needed to stay focused, instead of making up tales in her head.
