Page 9 of Griffin Food

“Well, we’re on the road all the time,” I say, matter-of-fact. “It’s not like we wouldn’t notice.”

His cheeks darken once again.

“Maybe she’s one of those lasses with a very light flow,” I add with a shrug. “Would have to be very fucking light… Not once since she stopped and asked for a fresh supply of womanly rags.”

“How the fuck did we get to talking about her monthlies?” he mutters through gritted teeth. “And for all we know, she is upstairs now, asking the tavern lass for some!”

I eyeball him warily. This is one of those occasions when I need to stop talking, but I also need to get it out. “Wondered if she was fertile.” I nod my head meaningfully. “You know. Maybe we are sensing it.”

He grabs me by the throat and shoves me back against the stable wall.

“I don’t care for the thoughts in your head,” he growls. “You don’t notice it. You don’t look at her. If your hands happen to go on her ass—through no fault of your own—you erase the memory from your mind. Erase it. Got it?”

He’s a big bastard. If he decides to pummel me, I’m in trouble.

“And does that work for you?” I say, despite the angry bull vibes he is giving off.

He growls, then releases me, blowing out a breath. “Not at fucking all.”

My lips curve up. “No shame in noticing a lass. Not like we’re going to do anything about it. I mean… unless she⁠—”

“Don’t go there,” he says, pinning me with a hard stare.

I hold up both hands. “I’m not. But you know… I’m just saying. It happens sometimes. If she wanted⁠—”

“She doesn’t.”

“She might,” I push. “If she really is fertile.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s rethinking his life choices, namely the ones that led to him being trapped in this stable with me, my loose lips, and wayward thoughts.

“Just saying, the lass smells nice,” I finish, because, let’s face it, he has all but admitted to finding her scent weirdly enticing and to having lusty thoughts about our pretty mistress.

Rafe

He wants to know if I’ve noticed her.

I’d have to be fucking blind not to. She’s clever. Pretty. I spanked her naked ass the first day we met, and I swear my brain’s been broken ever since.

But I’m a soldier. A man she pays to protect her. She’s a princess—even if she’s not traveling as such. I’m mindful of my place.

Now Lark’s put thoughts in my head that have no business being there.

“We could help her out if she wanted us to,” he says, because this is fucking Lark, and he’s got no fucking filter on his thoughts.

Also, as if she would want us to help her through her fertile period, or whatever the fuck is happening that I can’t get her godsdamned scent off my mind.

I’m not ashamed to admit I’d worship her for the chance. But there are lines you don’t cross. Why the fuck did he have to bring up her scent? Why did my damn face get so hot?

“Best we put this nonsense aside,” I say brusquely. “This discussion never happened.”

Violet

Something strange is happening to me.

I don’t normally leave them quite so abruptly. Usually I at least attempt to carry my own saddlebags up to the quarters, even though they are both faultless gentlemen and insist on carrying them for me. Today I flounced off the moment the rooms had been negotiated with the tavern proprietor. Like a damn princess.

I press my fingers to my forehead. Is it hot in here? Am I coming down with something?