Read Online The Princess and the Templar by Hebby Roman - Free Book Online
Authors: Hebby Roman
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forward, his arms aching to hold her.
¡Madre de Dios!
She roused every protective instinct he possessed. Why was that? Because he was the one who had wounded her? Or because he was her jailer?
He drew back, knowing he didn’t dare offer her comfort. She was the betrothed of his sworn master. And no matter how much he despised the thought of the earl possessing her slender body and bending her spirit to his will, honor demanded obedience to his lord.
“Go to Mildread, Loghan,” she said. “And thank you for waiting on me.”
“Milady, may I keep the boots?” The boy thrust out one foot, admiring the well-polished leather. “Please, milady.”
A wan smile touched her lips. “Of certain, Loghan, you earned those boots.” Rising, she crossed to the boy and placed her hand on his shoulder. “They belonged to my brother Odran, but he has no use for them now. I know he would want you to have them.”
Raul knew she spoke of a beloved brother who had died fighting the English. And though her gesture made a terrible kind of sense, it must be wrenching to part with her family’s things.
His chest tightened and his body stiffened and an ache like the ague swept him. He held himself coiled tightly, willing the trembling to pass—commanding himself to not move to her side and cup her face in his hands and...
Loghan rescued him by bowing low and taking her hand to kiss it. “If I can serve you, milady, please send for me.” Then he glanced at Raul, the challenge implicit in his blue eyes.
The lad had the makings of a seasoned courtier, and his loyalty was commendable, Raul thought. Bowing to the boy, Raul said, “Master Loghan, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The youth’s face turned as red as a winter sunset. Obviously flustered by the unexpected courtesy, he bobbed his head and quit the room.
Raul stared at the door after Loghan pulled it shut, dreading what must come next. “I’ll take the message you meant for Loghan to deliver.”
“What message?” In mock innocence, she widened her eyes.
She possessed the most remarkable eyes, green as the hills of her homeland, flecked with tiny specks of gold dust. And they loomed large in her face and were tilted slightly at the corners.
“Loghan came to tell me of my mare. You heard him.”
So, she would force him to prove she was a liar. Her spirit had obviously returned. She had her nose tilted so high it almost grazed the ceiling. And the tears he had glimpsed were, like as not, brought on by frustration, not desperation.
“We both know you were sending Loghan on a journey, thus the boots and knapsack. I suspect you were dispatching him to bring help.” He sighed and stretched out his hand. “I must have the missive.”
“But I did not—”
“Please, milady, don’t abuse my patience.”
Her gaze drilled him, her eyes sparkling like the finest emeralds. He locked his eyes with hers.
Shaking her head, she was the one who broke eye contact. “God’s teeth,” she muttered, “I’ll get the letter.” Moving to one of her trunks, she opened the lid and rummaged through the contents, retrieving a packet of velum sealed with a wax stamp.
He held out his hand again, but she ignored him. Rushing to the hearth, she threw the packet into the flickering flames.
His first thought was to snatch the pages from the fire. His next inclination was to shake her. Neither impulse would do. The parchment caught quickly, rendering the missive a burning mass of curling fragments. Deep in his heart, he cheered her bravery, though her action made his mission more difficult. He could guess the contents of the message, what he didn’t know was to whom she would send for aid.
“Who was the missive for?”
“You don’t know?”
He turned from the fireplace and drank in her beauty, relishing the jade green flash of her eyes against the milky purity of her skin. She canted her head at him, and her burnished red-gold hair cascaded down her back in
¡Madre de Dios!
She roused every protective instinct he possessed. Why was that? Because he was the one who had wounded her? Or because he was her jailer?
He drew back, knowing he didn’t dare offer her comfort. She was the betrothed of his sworn master. And no matter how much he despised the thought of the earl possessing her slender body and bending her spirit to his will, honor demanded obedience to his lord.
“Go to Mildread, Loghan,” she said. “And thank you for waiting on me.”
“Milady, may I keep the boots?” The boy thrust out one foot, admiring the well-polished leather. “Please, milady.”
A wan smile touched her lips. “Of certain, Loghan, you earned those boots.” Rising, she crossed to the boy and placed her hand on his shoulder. “They belonged to my brother Odran, but he has no use for them now. I know he would want you to have them.”
Raul knew she spoke of a beloved brother who had died fighting the English. And though her gesture made a terrible kind of sense, it must be wrenching to part with her family’s things.
His chest tightened and his body stiffened and an ache like the ague swept him. He held himself coiled tightly, willing the trembling to pass—commanding himself to not move to her side and cup her face in his hands and...
Loghan rescued him by bowing low and taking her hand to kiss it. “If I can serve you, milady, please send for me.” Then he glanced at Raul, the challenge implicit in his blue eyes.
The lad had the makings of a seasoned courtier, and his loyalty was commendable, Raul thought. Bowing to the boy, Raul said, “Master Loghan, it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
The youth’s face turned as red as a winter sunset. Obviously flustered by the unexpected courtesy, he bobbed his head and quit the room.
Raul stared at the door after Loghan pulled it shut, dreading what must come next. “I’ll take the message you meant for Loghan to deliver.”
“What message?” In mock innocence, she widened her eyes.
She possessed the most remarkable eyes, green as the hills of her homeland, flecked with tiny specks of gold dust. And they loomed large in her face and were tilted slightly at the corners.
“Loghan came to tell me of my mare. You heard him.”
So, she would force him to prove she was a liar. Her spirit had obviously returned. She had her nose tilted so high it almost grazed the ceiling. And the tears he had glimpsed were, like as not, brought on by frustration, not desperation.
“We both know you were sending Loghan on a journey, thus the boots and knapsack. I suspect you were dispatching him to bring help.” He sighed and stretched out his hand. “I must have the missive.”
“But I did not—”
“Please, milady, don’t abuse my patience.”
Her gaze drilled him, her eyes sparkling like the finest emeralds. He locked his eyes with hers.
Shaking her head, she was the one who broke eye contact. “God’s teeth,” she muttered, “I’ll get the letter.” Moving to one of her trunks, she opened the lid and rummaged through the contents, retrieving a packet of velum sealed with a wax stamp.
He held out his hand again, but she ignored him. Rushing to the hearth, she threw the packet into the flickering flames.
His first thought was to snatch the pages from the fire. His next inclination was to shake her. Neither impulse would do. The parchment caught quickly, rendering the missive a burning mass of curling fragments. Deep in his heart, he cheered her bravery, though her action made his mission more difficult. He could guess the contents of the message, what he didn’t know was to whom she would send for aid.
“Who was the missive for?”
“You don’t know?”
He turned from the fireplace and drank in her beauty, relishing the jade green flash of her eyes against the milky purity of her skin. She canted her head at him, and her burnished red-gold hair cascaded down her back in
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