A Warrior's Kiss by Margaret Moore

Author:Margaret Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2000-11-28T23:00:00+00:00

Mair sighed. It was long past time to retire, and yet she couldn’t seem to summon the energy to get up from the stool before the fire. Instead, she stared into the glowing embers, thinking and remembering.

She had lived in this little house all her life. Here her mother had borne her, and then died. Here her father had raised her, teaching her all that he knew about brewing before he, too, died, when she was a girl of thirteen.

Here she had been when the DeLanyea boys had come with their father to talk to her father about ale for the castle.

Grim Griffydd, so much older and wiser.

Merry Dylan, who always made her laugh.

And Trystan, with those soulful eyes and that wonderful smile, a smile that made her feel she had won a great contest if she could provoke it.

How she had longed for him to come, even though he scarcely said a word on those visits! She had teased him and teased him to try to get him to speak.

Perhaps she would have done better to let him stay silent. Then he might have liked her more.

If Trystan had liked her, she might not have tried so hard to make the other lads in the village like her. She might not have been so delighted to discover that they did, and she might not have given in to the other delights they provided.

If she had not been so hurt by Trystan’s animosity, she might not have been so happy when Dylan responded to her advances. Of course, then she would not have Arthur, and she would be all alone.

Just as she was alone now while Arthur was with his father. Just as she would be alone when he went off to become a knight. After that, he would never live here anymore. He would be but a visitor.

A tear rolled off the end of her nose and she sniffled.

“Mair?”

“What?” she demanded, jumping up and whirling around to see Trystan at the entrance of her house.

The light of the full moon seemed to illuminate him like a halo, as if he were an angel in mortal form.

A ridiculous notion. She knew full well he was merely a man, albeit a handsome, passionate one.

A handsome, passionate one she should be angry with, she reminded herself. “What do you want—and at this hour of the night?” she demanded sternly.

“I…I couldn’t sleep and had to speak with you.”

It wasn’t fair that he was looking at her like that, as if he needed her as much as it was possible for one person to need another, not when he had his other plans.

“Something that was so important it couldn’t wait until morning?” she asked. “Or do you want to emulate that Norman and get drunk, too? Mind, it’ll be difficult, for a child could hold his drink better than that fat, impertinent lout.”

Trystan came inside her house and closed the door behind him, enclosing them in an intimacy that was both dreadful and exciting,

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