The Knight's Broken Promise by Nicole Locke

Author:Nicole Locke
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

He looked as if she had taken his claymore and thrust it tip-to-hilt straight through his stomach. Just as pale; just as surprised.

‘You are wrong.’ His voice was hoarse.

‘Ach, nae,’ she said. ‘Do you forget I grieve as well? Do you think me so naive I would not recognise it?’

‘You do not know me.’ His eyes returned to hers. ‘I am an English soldier. I have fought for King Edward my entire life. Grief is hardly a motivating factor.’

His face was unreadable, his mask in place. It did not matter. She had seen his expression before he tried to pretend otherwise.

‘You are right. I doona know all your past and maybe you do not grieve for the men you have killed. But there is something or someone you do grieve for. Maybe ’tis your family?’

‘My childhood is hardly unusual enough to cause any sadness.’

He tried to make his tone mocking. She did not believe him. ‘Tell me about it,’ she pressed him.

‘There is no reason for you to know. If it wasn’t for the fact that I—’ He stopped.

‘You what?’ she asked. She was getting irritated at his constant nae-saying. ‘Why doona you want to tell me? My entire humiliating history has been laid bare to you. You know my brothers abandoned me to the worst possible man they could find. You know my sister died a horrible death. Why do you not want to tell me one thing about your life, you surly reebald!’

His lips pursed. ‘You aren’t afraid, are you?’

The humour and cynicism underlying his question made her suspicious. ‘Of what?’

‘Of me,’ he said.

‘Why should I be?’ she asked.

‘I thought you understood, back in town, back when I murdered your husband, that you knew my identity. I am Black Robert.’

The name meant little to her. ‘I see you wear black, but I haven’t noticed your eyes glowing yellow or having any such conversations with the devil.’

‘No,’ he said impatiently. ‘That is myth, but my killing, my ability with the claymore, is true. I have murdered hundreds of your fellow Scotsmen at my sovereign’s request.’

She knew he was being graphic to shock her. It didn’t. She had had some time to sort her thoughts. ‘Even if that is true, I have seen another side of you. Maybe I do not know all you have done in the past, but I have seen a man willing to risk his life to help a stranded woman and children survive.’

‘That is—’

‘I have seen a man, not a myth,’ she interrupted.

She took a step closer to him. She was tired of him putting up defences. ‘A man who was angry because he thought I belonged to another.’ She placed her hand upon his sleeve. Beneath her fingers, his muscles contracted. ‘I do not belong to another.’

He did not move, but his gaze remained riveted on her hand on his arm. He did not move, but he wanted to.

‘You’re afraid of me,’ she said, realisation dawning.

‘No,’ he whispered.

She remembered that first morning when she woke.

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