THIRTY
Dawn burned Chase's eyelids, while some b****y minstrel had started drumming on the inside of his head. His bladder begged to be emptied, but he had no desire to release the warm, soft maiden in his arms.
Even her hair was soft, and she smelled of honey. No surprise, given all the mead they'd brewed yesterday. And the mead they'd drunk...
By all that was holy, he hadn't dishonoured her, had he?
He should have felt a stirring in his groin at that thought, but with her body pressed against him, as it likely had been for hours, he was already hard as a rock.
Oh, now he definitely needed to visit the outhouse.
When he returned, Rosa had already lit the fire, and she had a pan in her hand, ready to warm it to make breakfast. She pointed the pan at him. "What manner of mischief
