Ondine by Heather Graham, Shannon Drake

through the brush, reaching Ondine before she could back away, barely holding his anger in restraint as he pulled her forward.
    “How long have you been there?”
    “I just came—”
    “Liar. Lady, I tell you this once. I will not be spied upon, by you or anyone else.”
    “You’ve nothing worth spying upon!” Ondine raged out indignantly, and she flushed, for she did like Jake, very much, and she was heartily embarrassed for him to be witnessing the episode.
    Jake jumped to his feet and uneasily balanced his weight from one foot to the other.
    He cleared his throat, knowing from his master’s eyes that an explosion was in the brewing. “Milord! We shouldn’t tarry if you have a mind to reach the crossroads tonight!”
    Warwick cast his gaze upon Jake, then upon Ondine once more. He seemed to relax a bit, but then he caught her chin between his thumb and his forefinger. “I don’t care to warn you again. I’ll not be harped upon by a lying, thieving chit of a girl!”
    “Don’t harp at me, milord!” she retorted, mindless of his touch upon her. “And I’ll not harp at you.”
    He threw up his hands in disgust and swung on Jake. “She’ll need your championship, old fool, if she remains determined to have the last word. And if she can’t learn to mind her manners, she will have something of which to be afraid—me!”
    He stalked off through the brush for the stream. Jake looked at Ondine and shrugged his shoulders.
    ” ‘E’s really not such a bad sort, really, milady.”
    Ondine laughed dryly, but hadn’t the heart to fight Jake. She came to him and sat in the grass where Warwick had been and looked into the food basket
    “You’re the one who warned me he was a beast, Jake, I’ll not let you change your tune now!”
    “Nay—”
    “Never mind, Jake. I am here because I ‘suit his purpose.’ I have now decided that he suits mine.” Smiling, she bit into an apple. Jake returned that smile uneasily.
    The carriage stopped so late that night that she had long been sleeping; indeed, she did not even wake when it stopped. She was vaguely aware that the door opened, that there was an annoying light all about her.
    “We’re here,” Warwick said.
    “Where?” she murmured.
    “Another inn. Come on—nay, don’t bother, I’ll get you,” he muttered.
    She did wake when his arms came around her. “I—can walk,” she told him, her thoughts dazed, stolen from the mists of sleep to confront the alarming strength of him, the golden glitter of his eyes, shadowed and shielded by the brim of his hat.
    He shrugged. “This is not like Meg’s, but a meaner place. Tis probably best this way.” He led her in and procured a room.
    The bed was clean—at least the room and the linen smelled fresh. Warwick, still holding Ondine, surveyed it sternly beneath the meager glow of the lantern. Then he placed her on the bed.
    He snuffed out the lantern and the room became as dark as pitch. She heard him shed his own things in the darkness, and she felt his weight when he climbed into the bed. She heard then the oppressive silence of the night.
    Nervously she disrobed to her shift. She thought that sleep would elude her, but it was morning when she opened her eyes again. Warwick was not beside her, nor was his clothing anywhere to be seen. There was a large tray of food awaiting her, filled with fresh meat pies and a large pewter tankard of fresh milk. She dressed quickly and then ate, amazed once again when she consumed everything in sight. She mused that she was perhaps still afraid that there might not be another meal for days.
    There was a sharp rap on the door just as she had washed her face and rinsed her teeth in the room’s chipped washbasin.
    She dried her face quickly and rushed to the door. It was Warwick, resplendent and regal once again in a black cloak and plumed hat. “Are you quite ready?”
    “Aye.”
    He caught her hand and led her down a flight of stairs. The tavern was quiet this early; only