"I'll beg you for nothing," She growled back, "except perhaps to have your wine-stinking hands off of me." The fire of cold conviction flashed in her eyes, despite the fact that those hands had roused a horrible, unquenched heat deep in her belly, to the point the she was welcoming the pain he so grimly promised.<br/><br/>In a matter of a day she'd lost a battle, and in it countless compatiors; she'd lost her weapons and her freedom. She'd lost the hope of an ally, as despite the other captive's cautions to wait till the boat for escape the woman had submitted to the deck irons. She'd lost her freedom. She had only her maidenhead - which he promised would be ripped from her by that Quintus -  and her pride.<br/><br/>It was that last she retained, in her stubbornness, her refusal to give in nor to beg.