My Warrior by Glynnis Campbell

Author:Glynnis Campbell
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2012-02-04T13:51:03+00:00

Outside the pavilion, beneath the watchful moon, Holden paused. He took a deep breath, like a jouster preparing to charge. What would he say to her? What would he do? And most important, why was she here?

If only he’d discovered her earlier… But once he was sure Cambria was safe behind castle walls, he’d focused his mind on nothing but the battle ahead, shunning the maids vying for his affections. He wished now he hadn’t ignored that particular maid in the cloak.

He’d finally spotted her across the evening fire. A quick glimpse of the squared curve of her jaw lit by flickering flame had nearly caused him to choke on his wine. And then, watching her, he wondered how he could have been so blind.

There were things about Cambria no cloak could mask. She had a most distinctive walk, for one thing, not a feminine gait, but a warrior’s long stride. Then there were the strong, sensuous, familiar curves and planes of her body, revealed when she pushed up her sleeves or hiked her skirts to step over a tree root, when she bent over to serve pottage or leaned far into a cart after a cup.

But now that he’d discovered her, he had to ask himself why she’d come.

He wanted to believe she’d followed him, as she’d threatened, in order to protect him from Owen. He wanted to believe her concern for him motivated her decision to counter his commands.

But the sad truth was, he couldn’t be entirely sure of her affections. Other than her grudging admiration of his knightly prowess and the suppressed spark of desire he tended to inspire in women, he had no real proof of Cambria’s feelings for him.

This alliance with the Border clans was too new, the king’s battle too critical, to overlook the possibility, as painful and improbable as it seemed, that Cambria might betray him. He knew she had contacts among the rebels—she had freed the three who’d attacked him, an attack too well arranged for his taste. She was likely sympathetic to the rebels’ plight—it seemed all Scots were romantics when it came to futile causes. And she was trying to distract him by casting suspicion upon one of his own men, Sir Owen, coincidentally the one who may have slain her father.

Damn it all, he had to find out where Cambria stood, for the safety of his men. He couldn’t afford to allow her time to stir up revolt in the ranks or alert the rebel Scots of their coming.

He sighed heavily and rubbed his hands together. He knew what had to be done. He had to question her. Although he despised the task, he was very good at eliciting information from less than willing individuals. He knew how much force to exert, and where, to get almost any prisoner to sing like a nightingale.

But even as he considered it, he shook his head. He couldn’t raise his hand against Cambria. Such a thing was unspeakable. Besides, as proud as the little Scots warrior was, he knew threatening her with violence was absolutely useless.

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