Read Online One Snowy Knight by Deborah MacGillivray - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah MacGillivray
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special woman, discovered there might be a possibility for something beyond the grayness of his existence. That it could be snatched away from him before he ever had a chance to find out the mystery of Skena MacIain scared him in a way that facing the hell of battles had failed to do.
Dread of this prospect opened that door on those long ago emotions from when he was a child and had learnt that the people he loved could suddenly be taken from him. He was a warrior, who had stood against a charge of twenty score heavy horse, monstrous animals with mighty hooves pounding the earth, drawing closer and closer, bearing riders with lances lowered. That terror paled beside the alarm that something was wrong with Skena.
How could this woman come to matter so much to him within this short span? Noel could not fathom the why, simply knew it as truth. He recalled kneeling in the snow and wiping the blood from Skena’s cheek, wondering what magical creature had come to save him. Now, after watching her tenderly care for him, he grew convinced that fate had finally seen fit to give him a future of his own, that he had been sent to Craigendan for a purpose.
They say Christmastide is a season of miracles. Mayhap this was his chance for one. Living for so long apathetic, he now prayed ’twas so.
When his parents had died, he had been robbed of all. His coming to this fortress in this Northland seemed as if Lady Fate was balancing accounts, giving him the home and a family that had been taken from him. He could save Skena and her children from the same tragedy he had tasted, losing your home and all that was yours.
In the end, possibly he might find redemption for killing Angus Fadden.
Chapter Five
Skena trembled as she helped de Servian lie down; he was so exhausted, his eyes closed the instant his head touched the pillow. His tall frame with those long legs filled the huge bed, almost seeming to dwarf it. She settled him on his left side to keep pressure off his tender spot, and then set about to pull the bed curtains on the far side, blocking the draft in the large chamber. A bearskin covered the wooden shutters closed upon the narrow window, and a tapestry was on top of that, yet the winds still found a way inside around the edges. Wanting the heat from the fireplace to reach him, she left the curtains at the foot tied back.
Rounding the corner, she paused with her hand on the bedpost. Possibly she did not need the support. Possibly she did . Noel de Servian was stretched out the length of the bed, with a plaide pulled loosely across his hips.
“Have mercy!” she hissed lowly.
Never before had she looked upon a nearly naked man and found such perfection in his body. Men always appeared oddly created, to her way of thinking. Too hairy legs, ugly feet, some with chests that reminded her of a bear pelt, and strangely, longer through the torso than a woman. Noel de Servian was none of those things. There was a lean, animalistic elegance to his hard muscles; shadows folded around their curves defining their strength and form, shaped by his years of training as a warrior. The broad chest was nearly hairless, smooth, his belly rippled. A wave of flames roared through her blood as she stared at the most ravishing of men.
Three curls of the soft hair carelessly spilled across his high forehead. Her fingers itched to reach out and brush them back. His brown hair was not cut in the Norman style but longer, curling, as though he failed to assume their courtly ways, which reminded Skena of a bowl being placed on their heads. She was glad. This suited him. As she had dried the thick mass, the color had lightened and the waves increased. There was a razor sharp intelligence, a force of command that filled those grey eyes. Men would follow this warrior into battle, accept his orders without question. Die for him. Swallowing the bitter taste of jealousy, she did not want to think what women would do upon his bidding. Noel de Servian was such
Dread of this prospect opened that door on those long ago emotions from when he was a child and had learnt that the people he loved could suddenly be taken from him. He was a warrior, who had stood against a charge of twenty score heavy horse, monstrous animals with mighty hooves pounding the earth, drawing closer and closer, bearing riders with lances lowered. That terror paled beside the alarm that something was wrong with Skena.
How could this woman come to matter so much to him within this short span? Noel could not fathom the why, simply knew it as truth. He recalled kneeling in the snow and wiping the blood from Skena’s cheek, wondering what magical creature had come to save him. Now, after watching her tenderly care for him, he grew convinced that fate had finally seen fit to give him a future of his own, that he had been sent to Craigendan for a purpose.
They say Christmastide is a season of miracles. Mayhap this was his chance for one. Living for so long apathetic, he now prayed ’twas so.
When his parents had died, he had been robbed of all. His coming to this fortress in this Northland seemed as if Lady Fate was balancing accounts, giving him the home and a family that had been taken from him. He could save Skena and her children from the same tragedy he had tasted, losing your home and all that was yours.
In the end, possibly he might find redemption for killing Angus Fadden.
Chapter Five
Skena trembled as she helped de Servian lie down; he was so exhausted, his eyes closed the instant his head touched the pillow. His tall frame with those long legs filled the huge bed, almost seeming to dwarf it. She settled him on his left side to keep pressure off his tender spot, and then set about to pull the bed curtains on the far side, blocking the draft in the large chamber. A bearskin covered the wooden shutters closed upon the narrow window, and a tapestry was on top of that, yet the winds still found a way inside around the edges. Wanting the heat from the fireplace to reach him, she left the curtains at the foot tied back.
Rounding the corner, she paused with her hand on the bedpost. Possibly she did not need the support. Possibly she did . Noel de Servian was stretched out the length of the bed, with a plaide pulled loosely across his hips.
“Have mercy!” she hissed lowly.
Never before had she looked upon a nearly naked man and found such perfection in his body. Men always appeared oddly created, to her way of thinking. Too hairy legs, ugly feet, some with chests that reminded her of a bear pelt, and strangely, longer through the torso than a woman. Noel de Servian was none of those things. There was a lean, animalistic elegance to his hard muscles; shadows folded around their curves defining their strength and form, shaped by his years of training as a warrior. The broad chest was nearly hairless, smooth, his belly rippled. A wave of flames roared through her blood as she stared at the most ravishing of men.
Three curls of the soft hair carelessly spilled across his high forehead. Her fingers itched to reach out and brush them back. His brown hair was not cut in the Norman style but longer, curling, as though he failed to assume their courtly ways, which reminded Skena of a bowl being placed on their heads. She was glad. This suited him. As she had dried the thick mass, the color had lightened and the waves increased. There was a razor sharp intelligence, a force of command that filled those grey eyes. Men would follow this warrior into battle, accept his orders without question. Die for him. Swallowing the bitter taste of jealousy, she did not want to think what women would do upon his bidding. Noel de Servian was such
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