Highland Knight
Authors: Hannah Howell
Just what form of revenge was he going to take, Avery wondered. He certainly looked big, dark and dangerous, yet she felt no sense of impending peril.
“What do ye intend to do to me?” she demanded.
Cameron opened one eye and looked at her. Sitting as she was, her face barely topped the edge of the bed. “I intend to seduce you,” he answered.
“Do ye now,” she drawled. “And ye being such a braw handsome laddie, ye expect me to just swoon at yer feet? I would prefer ye dead, but we cannae all get what we wish for, can we?”
“Such” violence. A wee lass like yourself shouldnae be so quick to promise mayhem and murder. ’Tis clear ye need to be tamed. Someone has let ye run too wild. Ye snarl and hiss at me now, but I will soon have ye purring.”
“Such arrogance.”
Glancing down at her mouth, Cameron decided he wanted to kiss her. As he started to lower his mouth to hers, he felt her tense, saw her beautiful eyes start to widen, and knew she had guessed his intent.
“Dinnae e’en think about it,” she warned.
“Ah, but I
am
thinking about it.”
Before she could say anything else, he covered her mouth with his….
Hannah Howell
Copyright © 2001 by Hannah Howell
Published by E-Reads in cooperation with Zebra Books. All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 0-7592-8754-6
ISBN-13: 978-0-7592-8754-9
Dear Reader,
Many of you have written to ask me what happened to HIGHLAND HEARTS, which was to have been published in March 2000. In a word, the Murrays happened—the brothers and then their spirited, can’t-stay-out-of-trouble daughters. I decided to focus on the trilogy, to give Elspeth, Avery, and yes, little Gillyanne, all of my attention.
The good news is that HIGHLAND HEARTS, Tess and Re”an’s tale, will be published in February 2002. Little Gillyanne Murray will have her moment in the sun in October 2002, fully prepared to torment and delight her chosen hero with her unique charm in HIGHLAND BRIDE.
Many thanks for your interest and patience,
Hannah D. Howell
PS: The book you’re holding in your hand, HIGHLAND KNIGHT, was originally entitled HIGHLAND RING, but my editor and I decided to change the title.
France Spring, 1458
“Why have you brought the girl here?”
The hefty Sir Bearnard idly shifted his thickly muscled arm so that he could more firmly hold the limp girl he had captured, and warily eyed his liege lord, Sir Charles Deveau. “I captured her on the raid,” he answered.
“I did not send you out against the Lucettes to collect women. There are plenty lurking about the demesne who will readily serve the needs of any man.”
“We did all you asked of us, my lord. I but found this woman as we rode away from the burning ruins of the Lucettes’ keep, and I thought she could be used to pay a debt I owe.”
“What debt?” Sir Charles rubbed his sharply cut chin with the long, ringed fingers of his left hand and tried unsuccessfully to get a better look at Sir Bearnard’s captive.
“A wager I lost to Sir Cameron MacAlpin.” SirBearnard frowned when Sir Charles laughed softly.
“Not only is the woman not much bigger than a child, dirty, and bruised, but have you forgotten that our large Scottish knight has taken a vow of chastity?”
“I did notice that he has nothing to do with the women, although many beckon to him.”
“Well, do as you wish, but I think you will find that Sir Cameron would much prefer the coin.”
“Mayhap if I offer him both of the women.”
“Two women? I see but one.”
“The other one was even smaller than this one, only a child. Sir Renford took her, for he has a liking for such tender ones.”
Sir Charles shrugged. “Go. Try your luck. The man leaves us soon. He may be amiable to some bargain, may even know of some way to get coin for the wench. Just remember, if she causes any trouble, it will be you who pay the price.”
Avery felt her captor bow slightly. Her insides were so twisted with fury, it was nearly impossible to remain limp as Sir Bearnard took his leave of the cold-eyed man he had been talking to and started to walk out of the great hall. This brute had just tried to destroy her kinsmen and all they held dear, and now he meant to use her to pay off some debt.
She could not believe how swiftly her idyllic visit with her mother’s family had turned tragic and bloody. How many of her cousins had died beneath the swords of the DeVeaux? Had everything been destroyed? And where was her cousin Gillyanne? Gillyanne was just a child, barely thirteen. All these questions burned on the tip of her tongue, but she knew the brute carrying her to her fate would never trouble himself to answer them.
When Sir Bearnard finally paused before a thick wooden door and pounded on it, Avery winced. Each thud added to the painful throbbing in her head. The door opened and she softly cursed as the man walked into the room, callously banging her legs against the frame of the door. She tried to catch a look at the room he was entering, but her tangled hair obscured her vision. Then Sir Bearnard tossed her down onto a thick sheepskin spread before a hearth. The abrupt fall left her dazed, increasing the pain in her head until she feared she would swoon.
“And what is that?” a deep, rich voice asked in heavily accented French.
“A woman,” Sir Bearnard replied.
“I can see that. Why should you attempt to give her to me?”
“I have brought her to you to pay my debt,” Sir Bearnard explained.
“Even if I was of a mind to take her in trade,” that cold, deep voice drawled, “she does not appear to be worth even half of what you owe me.”
Avery gritted her teeth at that calmly delivered insult and decided she had feigned unconsciousness long enough. She brushed her tangled hair off her face and nearly gasped. The man standing next to Sir Bearnard and scowling down at her was huge. It was not that he looked so big just because she was sprawled on her back on the floor at his feet, either.
He wore soft deerhide boots and brown woolen breeches on his long, well-shaped legs. His white linen shirt was undone, revealing a taut, rippled stomach and a broad, smooth chest. It also revealed that his skin was as dark as that of many of the Frenchmen he served with. Avery mused that even she would look fashionably pale next to such a man. There was no sign of interest on his dark, lean face, no hint of any emotion at all. Framed by thick, raven hair that fell in soft waves to just below his broad shoulders, it was, however, an almost beautiful face. He had a firm jaw, high, wide cheekbones, a long, straight nose, and a mouth that even she found tempting despite the stern line it was pressed into. What truly held her attention was his eyes. Set beneath dark, gently curved brows and rimmed with disgracefully long, thick lashes, were the darkest eyes she had ever seen, black as coal and nearly as hard. She saw little chance of mercy or aid reflected there. Finally, she let him see her fury and watched his dark brows lift ever so slightly in reaction.
“I heard that you and your men were soon to leave us, Sir Cameron,” said Sir Bearnard.
“In two days,” Sir Cameron replied.
“I fear I cannot gather the coin I owe you by then.”
“Then you should not have made the wager.”
Sir Bearnard flushed a deep red. “It was ill-thought of me. But, you can gain something from the woman. Use her, ransom her, or sell her.”
“You captured her in the attack upon the Lucettes?”
“
Oui
, just outside of the gates.”
“Then she could be a peasant and worth nothing in ransom.”
“
Non
, Sir Cameron, look at her gown. No peasant woman would wear such clothes.”
When Sir Cameron bent down to examine her gown more closely, Avery gave in to the rage building inside of her. She kicked out at him, aiming to catch him squarely beneath his firm jaw, but he was quick—alarmingly so. He caught her leg, wrapping his long fingers tightly around her calf. Her skirts fell back, exposing her legs, and, to her dismay, he held her like that for a moment. She gasped in outrage when he suddenly lifted her skirts and peered beneath them, his fine mouth fleetingly curving in the semblance of a smile.
“Braies,” he murmured.
Sir Bearnard chanced a quick look before Sir Cameron dropped her skirts back down. “Strange attire for a woman.”
“So, you have not tasted of the gift you try to give to me,” said Sir Cameron.
“
Non
, I swear it. I took her only to pay my debt to you.”
Sir Cameron still crouched near her, still held her leg. He moved his left hand over her leg while holding it steady in his right. Avery seethed, her fury intensified by her helplessness. The man handled her as if she were a horse he was about to buy. What held her tense and afraid, however, was not offended modesty, but the fear of discovery. A moment later his long fingers slid up high enough to brush against the dagger sheath strapped to her upper thigh. She cursed. When he looked at her, his dark eyes briefly lightened by what appeared to be amusement, she just glared at him.
“I believe you, Sir Bearnard,” Sir Cameron drawled as he removed her dagger from its sheath, released her leg, and stood up.
“
Merde
.” Sir Bearnard shook his head. “Never thought to search her for weapons. Just a woman, after all.”
Avery kicked out at Sir Bearnard, but he quickly moved out of her reach, and she tugged her skirts back down. As Sir Cameron studied her weapon, the hint of a frown upon his face, a youth stepped over to him. She judged him to be about her age, eighteen or younger. He was as red as Sir Cameron was dark, tall, and almost too thin.
“Cameron, that is a…” the boy said in English, staring at the dagger and then at Avery in wide-eyed surprise.
“I ken it, Donald,” Sir Cameron said in the same language, cutting off the boy’s words.
Donald continued to stare at Avery and whispered, “She has eyes like a cat.”
“Aye, and I begin to think she can be as feral as the worst of that breed.” Cameron scowled at the door when someone began to pound on it. “I suddenly become most sought after,” he murmured in French, glancing at Sir Bearnard.
“Bearnard, you fat bastard! I know you are in there,” bellowed a deep voice.
“Ah, it is for you.” Cameron nodded at Sir Bearnard. “Better find out what the man wants.”
“Have I paid my debt?” Sir Bearnard asked.
“I am still considering the matter.”
Sir Bearnard strode over to open the door and a large brown-haired man stomped into the room, but Avery was only interested in the small, thin girl he dragged in with him. “Gillyanne,” she cried, and she started to move, only to be held in place by Sir Cameron, who gently but firmly planted one booted foot on her chest.
“You can have this little bitch back,” Sir Renford growled, shoving Gillyanne toward Sir Bearnard. “She is diseased.”
After one look at Gillyanne, Sir Bearnard hastily stepped away from her, his hands held out wide to avoid accidentally touching her. Gillyanne ignored both men and raced toward Avery. The girl came to an abrupt halt, squeaking slightly in fright, when Cameron drew his sword and pointed it at her.
“Ye would kill a bairn?” Avery demanded, too afraid for Gillyanne to be quiet or even play at being French any longer.
“She is diseased,” Cameron said.
Avery stared at Gillyanne and slowly smiled. The girl’s fair skin was covered with blotches, welts, and spots. Her faintly mismatched eyes were puffy and reddened.
“Strawberries?” she asked her cousin. “He gave you strawberries?”
“Aye. Weel, nay,” Gillyanne replied. “He had some in his chambers, and when he wasnae looking, I shoved a few down my gullet.”
Cameron hesitated one more moment then sheathed his sword. “So, ’twas a trick.” He took his foot off Avery’s chest and frowned when the young girl threw herself into the slender woman’s arms. “A deceit.”
“Ye would think it more honorable if she allowed that French swine to rape her?” Avery snapped.
“She is just a bairn,” muttered Donald, glancing toward Sir Renford with ill-hidden disgust.
“They speak English,” said Sir Bearnard as he shut the door behind a cursing, departing Sir Renford.
“It would appear so,” Sir Cameron replied. “I believe they may even be from Scotland.”
“The Lucettes have a kinswoman in Scotland. Um, is it a good idea to let that diseased child touch the woman?”
“Do you fear her worth will be lessened? Do not. What ails the child cannot be caught by others.”
“Will you take them both in payment, then?”
“I do not have much choice, do I? If they do not gain me anything, I can always find you again, can I not?”
Avery was a little surprised to see Sir Bearnard pale and nod jerkily as he said, “God speed you on your journey home, Sir Cameron.”
“A Scot,” Gillyanne whispered as Sir Cameron escorted Sir Bearnard to the door. “We are safe now?”
“I am nay sure,” Avery whispered back. “He has accepted us in payment for a lost wager. That doesnae speak too weel of the mon. He doesnae look to be a verra safe mon, either. And, there is something about the name MacAlpin which troubles me, but I cannae recall what it is.” The door shut behind Sir Bearnard, and Avery lightly touched her cousin’s face. “Will this soon ease?”
“Aye. It just itches.”
“Let me do the talking,” Avery advised as Sir Cameron strode back toward her.
Cameron stared down at the two tiny females he had just been given. He found the whole matter of bartering women very distasteful, but had realized long ago that he was one of few. The men he had been fighting with for the past three years had proven to have very little in common with him. He and his men had become increasingly isolated from the others they rode with, and that caused its own problems. Cameron just wished he had not had one final difficulty thrust in his way before he could reach Scotland, home, and, God willing, some peace.
The one he had been given first caused him the most unease. She was disheveled and dirty and did not seem to possess the maidenly decency to be afraid. She wore braies and carried a dagger strapped to her lovely thigh. He found her both beautiful and intriguing, and that alarmed him. It had taken most of his eight-and-twenty years to understand that women who stirred his lust brought him nothing but trouble. He did not appreciate this tiny golden-eyed woman reviving the fevers he had kept so tightly controlled for nearly three years. Not once in those long, cold years had he wavered in his self-enforced celibacy, but he was certainly wavering now.
Looking her over carefully, he tried to find something that explained why he was suddenly taut and aching, the blood pounding in his veins. She was tiny, would probably just reach his chest. She was also slender, not the lush-figured sort he had always reached for in the past. Her breasts were small, but high, firm, and temptingly shaped. She had a very tiny waist and gently curved hips. He knew well that she had beautiful, slender, surprisingly long legs. That faint golden tone to her skin covered her whole lithe body. Donald was right. She did have eyes like a cat. They were not only a golden amber color, but vaguely tilted, enhancing their feline appearance. Set beneath dark, faintly winged brows and encircled by long, dark lashes, they filled her small heart-shaped face. A small, straight nose led to a full mouth. It was all nearly swamped by heavy waves of golden-brown hair that were flavored with glimpses of red and hung past her hips.
Dragging his fingers through his hair, Cameron rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced inwardly. She was a golden woman from the tip of her wild hair to her small, dainty feet. He could argue with himself until his tongue fell out, but he could not deny that she was exquisite. If he was going to hold to his vow of celibacy, he was going to have to stay very far away from her—something that could prove impossible as they traveled to Scotland.
“Who are ye?” he demanded.
Avery briefly contemplated lying, then decided it would serve little purpose. If nothing else, Gillyanne would not be able to hold to the lie for very long, being too young to indulge in any long or complicated deceit. “I am Avery Murray daughter of Sir Nigel Murray and Lady Sisek. One of the Murrays of Donncoill. This is my cousin Gillyanne Murray, daughter of Sir Eric and Lady Bethia Murray of Dubhlinn.” She frowned when his expression changed from stunned surprise to hard anger in little more than a heartbeat.
