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Authors: Welfonder Sue-Ellen

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BOOK: Only For A Knight
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Robbie cocked a brow. “I vow you ought not be left alone here or elsewhere.” He glanced at her tired nag. “Nor do I believe your mount is fit to carry you where’er it is you wish to go.”

 

To his considerable amazement, she gave a great heaving ruck and broke away from him. Determination pouring off every sweet inch of her, she walked purposely if somewhat wobbly to her horse.

 

“Whate’er ailings and laments may trouble me, I shall tend them on my own. As I have e’er done,” she said, reaching for the pommel and trying without success to slip her foot into the stirrup.

 

A burst of annoyance rose in Robbie. He tried to quell a frown and couldn’t.

 

Not after her bold stride across the grass.

 

Such a saucy piece ought be safely married and with at least two bairns a-tugging at her skirts. Or, better yet, tucked away behind cloistered walls where she proved no danger for unsuspecting knights haplessly riding through the day!

 

And dangerous she was, for just looking at her nigh robbed his ability to breathe.

 

Scarce a wonder since he’d ogled the wet-gleaming expanse of her naked breasts. Seen even more, truth be told. Aye, and hadn’t he savored the enticing sweep of her unclothed curves pressed flush against his own naked flesh?

 

Saints help him, but with her abundant flame-bright hair and long-legged lushness, she was temptation incarnate. He narrowed his eyes at her, keenly aware of the tightening in his jaw.

 

And elsewhere.

 

Worse, his borrowed shirt only underscored her charms. Each fold of the linen clung provocatively to her ripeness, her every sweet curve offering more sensual promise than a man ought be made to suffer.

 

Robbie scowled. At her bounty. And at himself. Especially at himself. After so many years spent building his chivalry and honor, ne’er would he have believed he’d succumb to folly so easily.

 

And a great folly it was.

 

The absolute foolhardiness of riding into Eilean Creag Castle with such a ripe sweetmeat at his side. The lass good as unclothed, her moss-green eyes full of fire and indignation. Not to mention his own soon-to-be bride awaiting him, wholly unsuspecting and, without doubt, sure to be mightily displeased.

 

The repercussions did not bear thinking on.

 

Living them before this night came to a close would be penance enough.

 

And he did not even know the maid’s name.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

 

 

 

H
ER NAME.

 

Robbie’s need to know it burned through him like a fast-moving firestorm raging out of control.

 

Her refusal to tell him scalded with equal heat and proved an unacceptable omission he meant to correct—now.

 

“Lass.”
He pinned his gaze on her. “I would hear your name and learn why you are riding about—fully unescorted?”

 

She met his gaze with annoying calm. “Have you e’er seen a simple lass of the glens travel with a great entourage?”

 

Unable to refute her logic, Robbie gritted his teeth and rammed his fingers through his damp hair. “Then tell me your name and how, amongst the great heather hills, you just happened to be in the lochan when I rode past?”

 

“Because the ewe just happened to be drowning when I rode by,” she said, giving him a small, noncommittal smile—and making no mention of her name.

 

Robbie shifted—stepped closer to her. “You may as well tell me for you are accompanying me to Eilean Creag whether or no you grace my ears with who you are.”

 

“Och, nay, and I will not be going with you.” She lifted her chin, gave him an amazingly bold stare. “And I cannot tell you who I am, or my purpose for riding about, because I do not know,” she said, a sparking flash of agitation lighting her eyes. “I canna remember.”

 

Robbie’s heart stopped. Then immediately began to thunder as the implications penetrated his surprise.

 

“You recall naught?” He stared at her, stroked his chin.

 

“Only hazy bits.”

 

Robbie nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

 

Wild possibilities spun inside him, each one sending little bursts of excitement flickering across his skin—even as his chivalry damned him for seeing his own good fortune in her sorry plight.

 

But, of a saint’s mercy, what man of honor could abandon such a sore-stricken lass to Glenelg’s vast upland wilderness?

 

In especial, a
wounded
and clearly dazed lass?

 

Nay, to leave her would be . . . unconscionable.

 

Unless she sought to cozen him.

 

Unable to ignore the possibility, Robbie narrowed his eyes at her, studied her with a look that would’ve made a less daring chit’s insides quiver.

 

“Only . . .
bits
?” He took another step closer, cocked a brow. “Yet you claim you can care for yourself and that you must hasten on your way? That much you profess to know?”

 

“Aye, to be sure and I do.” She met his stare, unblinking. “I feel it in here,” she added, and pressed a hand over her heart to underscore her words.

 

His own heart thundering, Robbie watched her begin collecting the spilled coins. With surprising calm, she gathered and stuffed them one by one into her pathetically worn money purse.

 

“I have naught to fear in this glen,” she told him with a quick, sidelong glance. “I am safe here—you needn’t fret for me.”

 

Coming closer, she waved one of the coins at him. “But mayhap you will accept recompense—”

 

“God’s eyes—but you can set a man by his ears!” Robbie accused, though with enough good humor to take the sting from his words. “I do not want nor have need of your siller. As for you traipsing about these hills alone, I warrant you could not venture far in your present state, if your sweet life depended on it.”

 

He tilted his head to the side, gave her his best smile again.

 

She remained unmoved.

 

“My life, sir, is my own concern,” she said. “And my good conscience depends on reaching my destination—a task I cannot accomplish if you persist in keeping me from the solitude I need to recover my wits.”

 

Robbie glanced up at the gathering clouds and tried to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching. Any village idiot could see the lass had wits enough to spare. She suffered no need to recover them. They were merely . . . misguided.

 

“What you need, my
lady,
is warmth and comfort,” he said in a tone of absolute reason. “You shall receive suchlike a-plenty at Eilean Creag, that I promise you.”

 

“And who shall you charge with spending me this . . . care?” She fixed another penetrating stare on him. “Mayhap your soon-to-be lady wife?”

 

“If I tell her to see to your comfort, aye,” Robbie declared, knowing he’d ne’er spoken more untrue words. “But it is my stepmother, the lady Linnet, who will lend you the greatest service. She has a healing touch and a kind heart.”

 

“And you think to simply take me there? To your home? To these women—these
ladies
who neither expect nor know aught of me? In especial with me all but mother-naked and wrapped in naught but your shirt and borrowed plaid?”

 

Robbie nodded. The plan seemed more than logical to him.

 

Unless there was someplace else he ought better take her.

 

A notion he did
not
like.

 

“You lack adequate provender and plaiding to journey far on your own and your coin will serve you scarce little in these rough bounds. Or”—he waited just the sliver of a heartbeat—“were you heading someplace none too distant? To Kenneth perchance?”

 

She glanced away, her gaze settling on the dark-

 

watered lochan, each tension-fraught moment of silence making Robbie feel all the more a doltish lout for mentioning the man’s name.

 

A name that clearly disturbed her.

 

But he had to ask.

 

He could not keep her with him if she was bound to another.

 

That much honor he did possess.

 

“Is Kenneth your husband?” he asked into the stillness. “Were you taking him the siller?”

 

Or perchance running from him?

 

Leaving that last unspoken, Robbie folded his arms and waited.

 

She impaled him with a gaze that bespoke more answers than any words.

 

Urgency shimmered in her beautiful eyes and the luminosity of her unyielding, leaf-green stare made his heart beat fast. But above all, her eyes held a truth that sealed her fate and charged the living air with enough promise to encourage him to press her yet again.

 

“Kenneth,” he repeated, his dread of her answer lying like bitter ash on his tongue. “Who is he?”

 

Juliana blinked, something inside her beginning to waken and focus . . . but not quite enough.

 

“I do not know who Kenneth is,” she spoke true, her heart clenching on the name. “I do not remember . . . save that he is dear to me and that he is not my husband. Of that, I am in no doubt. He feels . . . otherwise.”

 

The knight nodded, his expression unreadable. “And the coin?” he probed, the pulse hammering at his throat revealing everything his face did not—in especial, how unpleasant he found the question.

 

Or the possibility she might be a thief.

 

“You understand I must ask?” His voice was deep but surprisingly gentle. Soothing. “I assure you it shall make no matter to me what you say.”

 

“I can tell you naught about the coin.” Juliana’s fingers tensed against the soft leather of the money purse. “To be sure, though, no ill deeds brought such wealth into my care.”

 

Raising her chin again, she narrowed her eyes at him in her best challenge. But he only smiled—a dimpled smile that slid through her like sun-warmed honey, its distraction almost swaying her from her purpose.

 

“Smile as you will, I have done no wrong,” she said, her tongue sharper than she’d wished.

 

“Och, I believe you well enough.” Robbie’s smile deepened and somewhere inside him a steady point of warmth began to pulse and grow. “I but needed to hear the words.”

 

And now that he had, layers of tension started slipping from his shoulders. Truth be told, she filled him with a poignant longing such as he’d never known. Even the steel in her voice enchanted him and the defiant bravery in her snapping green stare only made her all the more appealing.

 

Since he could remember, he’d liked women with spirit.

 

Relished and savored them.

 

And this one’s flame was only beginning to burn.

 

As if sensing how much her spark captivated him, she straightened her shoulders and favored him even more when a light flush colored her cheeks. Her gaze not leaving his, she drew a deep breath.

 

But not deep enough to pull more than a hazy image of Kenneth’s face from the draughty emptiness of her memory.

 

’Twas a beloved face.

 

And well trusted.

 

A face triple-scarred yet still so handsome. And so eerily like Robbie MacKenzie’s that she half expected the two men to merge into one.

 

But the strapping young knight’s deep blue eyes speared her in a way Kenneth had ne’er looked at her. That much she knew. But who
was
Kenneth? And what was he to her?

 

Whoe’er he might be in her life, the penetrating stare he sent piercing through the mists clouding her mind assured her that he would not approve of her accompanying Robbie MacKenzie to Eilean Creag Castle.

 

Be he a good and noble-seeming knight of the landed classes or nay.

 

Eilean Creag Castle.

 

Juliana shivered. The stronghold’s name disquieted her, spilling chills down her back and letting her feel . . . queasy. Nay, she could not go there. To do so would be to cause a great stir and much . . . unpleasantness.

 

Disaster deep as oceans.

 

“Good sir,” she began, determined to dissuade, “with all gratitude and respect, I must decline your offer to take me to your home. I have assured you that I can care—”

 

“For yourself?” His dark brows shot upward. “Lass, be well certain, for the nonce, at least, you are not capable of caring for a flea. But mayhap you will manage to cosset wee Mungo? He is not much larger than a flea, I vow.”

 

She peered at him, looking curious despite herself. “Mungo?”

 

Robbie tamped down a smile.

 

He had her now.

 

“Ach, you shall meet him soon enough,” he promised, letting his eyes twinkle with amusement. “He will appreciate your attentions on the remainder of our journey.”

 

“Our journey?”
The color in her cheeks deepened at once. “You mistake yet again, sir. I am not going with you.”

 

“Ah, lass, but I am thinking ’tis you who err.” He stepped forward and the very air began to vibrate with what he was about to do. Trying his best not to grin, he seized her by the waist. “Think you my knightly heart will allow you to continue down the glen . . . injured as you are? And alone?”

 

Now he did smile. “Nay, my lady, ’tis for your own good that you must accompany me,” he said, capturing her hand and turning it over to boldly kiss her palm.

 

“Oh!” She snatched her hand from his, glared at him.

 

“O-h-h-h, indeed,” Robbie agreed, lifting her onto his garron’s back before she could even think to sputter a protest. “Best ride pillion with me—until your own beast has been properly curried and fed.”

 

More pleased with himself than he cared to admit, he snatched her nag’s reins, drew the raggedy creature near. “Aye, this poor beast will benefit from a stay at Eilean Creag.”

 

“You are a knight,” she argued, clutching the pommel so tightly her knuckles gleamed white. “Your chivalric oaths bind you to save women, not abscond into the heather with them, unwilling.”

 

“I did and I am saving you. From your own stubborn self—at least until you are well enough to be on your way again,” Robbie countered, vaulting up behind her.
BOOK: Only For A Knight
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ads

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