Page 48 of Tamed for Her Pleasure

What follows is nothing short of a melee. Fists fly, furniture smashes—the handsy bastard’s nose breaks under Poach’s fist. The tavern proprietor wades, assisted by his two barmen.

By the time Poach has delivered a beating to his satisfaction, the tavern patrons are roaring approval, and the four men who accompanied the handsy fucker have likewise been bloodied.

“Get the bastard out of my tavern,” the proprietor calls to his men. “You’re barred, the lot of you. No man touches my barmaids unless it is by their choice!”

A cheer goes up. Evie is well-liked here, by all accounts.

The furniture is righted. There are calls for more ale.

I swipe under my bloody nose with the back of my hand and grin from ear to ear. My knuckles are split. While I have taken a few hits, I have landed considerably more. Wendle stands to my right. He has a thick lip and a rapidly blackening eye. Dick is to my left and has a bruised cheek, his floppy hair in disarray.

Poach, who can barely open one eye and has blood trickling from his temple, is inspecting his Evie for damage. “Are you alright, lass? Did he hurt you? I will thump the fucker again!”

“Oh, please don’t, Poach!” She cups his face, bringing his frantic inspection to a stop. “You did not need to do that. I can handle a stupid lout too deep into his ale. That was very brave of you! And there were five of them. You could have been hurt!”

Dick turns to me, his lips twitching with humor. “Would this be considered wooing where you hail from, Alfred?”

I grin and nod at the couple, who are oblivious to the crowded tavern and only have eyes for each other. “Aye. The best kind of wooing.”

We leave Poach and Evie to reconcile, returning to the castle and parting ways at the barracks.

“Oh, what has happened to you?” Penelope demands as I join her in her fancy day room.

“Nothing,” I say, trying to sound casual and wishing I had thought to wash up.

“It is not nothing. You are covered in blood, and your nose is very puffy!” She walks me back until my legs butt against the seat of her chaise longue. I sit.

She rings a bell on the nearby table—a maid appears.

“Margot! Fetch some water and cloths!”

The maid scurries off.

“It is—ah—naught.”

“You smell of beer!” Her eyes are narrow as she leans in to brush my hair back from my forehead.

“I had a couple of pints at The Blue Boar with Dick, Wendle and Poach.”

“The Blue Boar? That is a ridiculous name for a tavern.”

“Aye,” I agree. Her tits are in my face, and it is having a predictable effect.

The door opens to admit the maid, who places down a bowl of water and some cloths on a nearby table before curtseying and leaving again.

Penelope bristles with agitation as she dips the cloth in the water and wrings it out. “Did you get into a fight?”

I feel like this is a trick question. “Yes.”

“Why?” She dabs under my nose.

I want to tell her it will clean up a lot quicker if I just dunk my head in the bowl.

“Poach is sweet on a tavern lass there. Some bastard put his hand on her. Poach put a thumping on him. The bastard’s companions decided to wade in.” I shrug. “It was not a fair fight. We waded in, too.”

She leans back, and her eyes search mine. “Is the young miss okay?”

“Aye. I reckon they will be wedded before the end of the week.”

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