Read Online Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) by Grace Brannigan - Free Book Online

green eyes and the smile on his lips. He bore
many battle scars, and a long scar that ran from his neck across his cheek and
toward the back of his head. A fearsome injury, she thought.
    With detached interest, she noted it did not detract from
his features. How could such a beast have an angel of a face?
    He had shoulders wide and muscled beneath the loose fitting
tunic he now wore. In his hands he held her wavy sword, and now he made to toss
it on the bed furs.
    With a screech, Iliana put out her hand to stop him, and
then lunged across the bed. Quickly, she jumped off the bed furs to the other
side of the bed, reached down to lift William from his cradle. He stared up at
her, his eyes their usual bright green, always with a smile lurking. How could
she not smile in return as she pressed him to her breast?
    "You have a child?" Camdork said into the silence.
"An infant," he muttered.
    She turned her back on him. "You might have maimed him
in your carelessness."
    "There was no danger," he said, his voice suddenly
tense.
    Iliana turned back as Agnes came to take the baby.
    "Mistress, I will see to the wee one's fresh
garments."
    "Thank you, Agnes." Pressing a finger to William's
nose, seeing his smile, Iliana let Agnes take him to be changed into dry
clothing.
    "We shall go below to finish this conversation,"
she said to Camdork, every instinct warning her against the smile curling his
lips. "Agnes, will you bring William to me when he is changed?"
Iliana was momentarily caught off guard by the enthralled look on the maid's
face as she stared at Camdork.
    "Agnes?" Iliana's voice was sharper than she
intended.
    Face reddening guiltily, Agnes nodded. Surely Agnes was not
attracted to such a man!
    Iliana backed up several steps as he dared to advance into
her chamber, a room that suddenly felt too confining due to his size. His eyes,
their very strange color of green, bothered her, as did their intensity. He
indicated the sword he still held.
    "It is a finely crafted blade," he mused, one hand
lingering against the steel. "And quite odd, I might add, to see such a
weapon."
    Transfixed, Iliana could not tear her eyes from him, from
those long fingers which caressed the intricately curved hilt of her sword.
    "Thank you for returning my sword."
    He looked up slowly, caught her gaze with his own. Iliana's
pulse began to race frantically, while a strange, sickening heat enveloped her
body, making her incredibly lightheaded. Her stomach churned with fear and
queasiness. The man was making her sick!
    He smiled, his teeth straight and even. "It is surely
the labor of a real craftsman, a light blade fitted so neatly for the hand of a
woman."
    Iliana's mouth grew dry, loathe to tell this man anything.
    He flipped the sword, staring with great interest down the
curved and waving blade, then his gaze pinned her with its intensity. "I
have seen this type of flamberge rapier in a private collection," he said
slowly.
    "That is impossible," she said. "It is my
design."
    He raised a brow, but did not argue the point. "I have
never met a lady so well versed in the art of fencing."
    "I have been taught by the best," she said,
raising her chin. "This is not London court, where one relies on the queen
for protection."
    Laying the sword gently on the bed furs, he let his gaze run
over her slender arms beneath the filmy sleeves. Iliana stepped back.
    "You wield it skillfully."
    She thought for a moment he was complimenting her skill, but
surely he must be mocking her!
    "Say what you have come to say and be done with
it." She tamped down the note of desperation, hoping he did not recognize
it as such. The memories of four years ago kept playing through her head. The
attack. The blood... "You are a monster to toy with me this way," she
muttered, unable to contain herself any longer.
    He towered over her, seemingly in no hurry to put her out of
her misery as he glanced about her sparse bedchamber. For surely it was misery
and terror which gripped her and