Read Online Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online
Authors: Glynnis Campbell
Tags: Romance
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determination intrigued him. But there was no room for intrigue when one was about the king’s business. This was his first major coup for Edward. He couldn’t afford to let one vengeful Scots lass undermine his plans, no matter how intriguing she was.
“Trouble, my lord?” Roger Fitzroi ambled into the hall, munching on a breakfast of oat bread.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“The Gavin lass escaped?”
News evidently traveled fast in the castle. Holden took a swig of wine.
Roger nodded in empathy. Then he set aside his bread, lowered his eyes, and clasped his hands before him. “My lord, I know you were displeased with the way Blackhaugh was managed. I fear my brother’s murder left me blind to reason. Perhaps I can make amends. I would consider it a matter of honor and proof of my loyalty to fetch the girl back for you. I can leave within the hour.”
Holden almost choked on his wine. Was Roger experimenting with humility for the first time? Or had he at last realized that his rash actions might cost him his royal stipend? Holden stroked his chin. While Roger’s motives might be less than pure, the man knew he couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. If Holden sent along a few of his trusted men as well…
“Very well,” he replied. “But take Myles and Guy with you.”
Roger nodded.
“And Roger?”
The knight paused.
“I want her alive and unharmed, or I’ll have your head, king’s kin or not.”
In spite of what she’d done, Holden admired the spirit of the girl, and he didn’t want that spirit broken.
That spirit and what few berries and nuts she could scrounge in the forest kept Cambria alive. For two days she ran, her body weak with hunger, sleeping only briefly in makeshift nests of twigs and leaves. Her feet were blistered, her fair skin chapped by the harsh wind, her linen garment in rags from the underbrush.
As the likelihood of her capture grew slimmer by the hour, so did the probability of meeting up with her clansmen. She wondered if Robbie would even recognize her in her disheveled state. She had no coin, no clothing, no proof of her birthright, and she was alone.
Another woman would have courted despair, but with each mile she traveled, Cambria grew more and more filled with hate and anger. No single person had caused so much destruction in her life as this demon, Holden de Ware. With one cruel stroke, he’d taken her father, her land, and her rank, and reduced her to this, a half-naked fugitive foraging for berries. By God, she’d survive, if only to scratch out his devilish eyes.
Certain she’d eluded the cursed English, she stopped to rest. Surely Holden’s men would have given up or lost track of her by now. She’d chosen a path far from the main road. Comforted, she nestled against a gnarled oak, covering herself with fallen leaves, and slipped into a heavy sleep.
The sun had moved halfway through the sky when she first heard the sound, the faraway baying of a hound. Swiftly she arose, shook off the leaves, and climbed up onto an oak branch for a better view.
“Nay.”
Her heart sank as she peered at the glen below. The hours of running, the lack of sleep, the pain and hunger, all had been for nothing. The two knights restraining a wildly lunging hound wore the crest of de Ware.
CHAPTER 4
“Nay,” she whispered, choking back a sob.
They’d hunted her down like an animal. And now she was trapped, helpless. Terror cinched her chest, making her breath short and shallow.
Dear God, how could she escape? The hound sounded half-starved. In another moment, it would catch her scent. And if it attacked…
She swallowed hard. She had to calm herself. Panic was a poor master. They were only two men, she reasoned, and they hadn’t spotted her yet. There was still time. There was still hope.
The baying intensified, threatening her determination. Quietly, she slipped from the tree and darted into the woods. It might be impossible to outdistance her pursuers,
“Trouble, my lord?” Roger Fitzroi ambled into the hall, munching on a breakfast of oat bread.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
“The Gavin lass escaped?”
News evidently traveled fast in the castle. Holden took a swig of wine.
Roger nodded in empathy. Then he set aside his bread, lowered his eyes, and clasped his hands before him. “My lord, I know you were displeased with the way Blackhaugh was managed. I fear my brother’s murder left me blind to reason. Perhaps I can make amends. I would consider it a matter of honor and proof of my loyalty to fetch the girl back for you. I can leave within the hour.”
Holden almost choked on his wine. Was Roger experimenting with humility for the first time? Or had he at last realized that his rash actions might cost him his royal stipend? Holden stroked his chin. While Roger’s motives might be less than pure, the man knew he couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. If Holden sent along a few of his trusted men as well…
“Very well,” he replied. “But take Myles and Guy with you.”
Roger nodded.
“And Roger?”
The knight paused.
“I want her alive and unharmed, or I’ll have your head, king’s kin or not.”
In spite of what she’d done, Holden admired the spirit of the girl, and he didn’t want that spirit broken.
That spirit and what few berries and nuts she could scrounge in the forest kept Cambria alive. For two days she ran, her body weak with hunger, sleeping only briefly in makeshift nests of twigs and leaves. Her feet were blistered, her fair skin chapped by the harsh wind, her linen garment in rags from the underbrush.
As the likelihood of her capture grew slimmer by the hour, so did the probability of meeting up with her clansmen. She wondered if Robbie would even recognize her in her disheveled state. She had no coin, no clothing, no proof of her birthright, and she was alone.
Another woman would have courted despair, but with each mile she traveled, Cambria grew more and more filled with hate and anger. No single person had caused so much destruction in her life as this demon, Holden de Ware. With one cruel stroke, he’d taken her father, her land, and her rank, and reduced her to this, a half-naked fugitive foraging for berries. By God, she’d survive, if only to scratch out his devilish eyes.
Certain she’d eluded the cursed English, she stopped to rest. Surely Holden’s men would have given up or lost track of her by now. She’d chosen a path far from the main road. Comforted, she nestled against a gnarled oak, covering herself with fallen leaves, and slipped into a heavy sleep.
The sun had moved halfway through the sky when she first heard the sound, the faraway baying of a hound. Swiftly she arose, shook off the leaves, and climbed up onto an oak branch for a better view.
“Nay.”
Her heart sank as she peered at the glen below. The hours of running, the lack of sleep, the pain and hunger, all had been for nothing. The two knights restraining a wildly lunging hound wore the crest of de Ware.
CHAPTER 4
“Nay,” she whispered, choking back a sob.
They’d hunted her down like an animal. And now she was trapped, helpless. Terror cinched her chest, making her breath short and shallow.
Dear God, how could she escape? The hound sounded half-starved. In another moment, it would catch her scent. And if it attacked…
She swallowed hard. She had to calm herself. Panic was a poor master. They were only two men, she reasoned, and they hadn’t spotted her yet. There was still time. There was still hope.
The baying intensified, threatening her determination. Quietly, she slipped from the tree and darted into the woods. It might be impossible to outdistance her pursuers,
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