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“We saw her first,” Kelvan said without turning. “Find your own to play with.”
Murdoc closed in, palming her buttocks through the rough fabric. She spun, jabbing his ribs with her elbow, and bolted.
Bad move.
He caught her easily, hauling her into his arms.
And Griff slammed into Kelvan, hooking one arm around his neck and grabbing his balls in the other hand.
“Drop it,” Griff barked. “Or your friend will never use these again.”
Murdoc grinned. “You must be joking.”
Kelvan clawed at the arm around his throat. His bare feet scrabbled against the floor. “He means it,” he said hoarsely. “Let her go.”
“Why should I?” Murdoc asked. “They’re your stones.”
“Yours next,” Griff promised grimly.
He could not fight Murdoc as long as there was a risk to the woman. But as soon as the other bull let her go…
Veins popped out on Kelvan’s forehead.
The woman held as still as a doe surrounded by dogs. At least she had the sense not to struggle and aggravate the situation.
Murdoc sighed, glancing down at the woman in his arms. “Pretty hair. I suppose she is Conn’s.”
He should say yes, Griff thought. She would have Conn’s protection. And she did belong to the prince, after a fashion. Conn had brought her here.
“No,” Griff said. “Mine.”
THREE
Emma’s heart beat like a frightened rabbit’s. She wrapped her arms around her waist, tucking her hands under her armpits to hide their trembling.
She was a teacher in a girls’ school. She was not used to violence. Male violence. The men’s casual assault and her rescuer’s swift reprisal had shocked and shaken her.
The bigger man—the one who had grabbed her—led his limping companion away. Emma fought a shiver of reaction. Revulsion. They were no worse, really, than the men in the boardinghouse she had learned to lock her door agains
t each night or the ones who called and whistled after her on the street. No worse than Paul.
They had not raped her.
Although they could have.
Another shudder shook her. Thank God she had been rescued. He had rescued her. Again.
He stood planted, unmoving, his eyes narrowed as the other two men staggered from the hall. Emma’s gaze slid over the hard slabs of his torso to the ridges of his abdomen and felt a clench in her stomach that might have been fear. He wasn’t even breathing hard. If not for the dark hair covering his powerful chest, the breeches clinging to his thighs, he might have been a statue.
“You,” he barked.
Emma jumped.
But his attention was on the boy, the one with the odd-colored eyes. The only one who hadn’t run when those two men cornered her.
“What in Llyr’s name were you doing?” the big man demanded.
Emma moved instinctively closer to the boy. He was only a child. He—
