Taming Maggie’s Temper
She slapped his face with a resounding smack. His comment warranted her reproach.
Drawing back surprised, he eyed her heaving chest and flushed face.
“C’mere wench!” he bellowed, when he had his wits again, his hand firmly grasping her wrist.
“Unhand me!” she cried, trying to wrench away from him. He was very strong; yet she was on her feet and he was sitting in the chair with a pint or two of ale swimming through his veins. One brisk jerk and she was free of him, racing away from his surly form, her skirts dancing in the air, as did her yellow/gold locks cascading behind her.
“I’ll have that pretty ass of yours before I’m done,” he warned. Though she heard him, she was already out of the room heading for the stairs.
Marcus Oldham sat back in his chair, his cr
