Read Online True Highland Spirit by Amanda Forester - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Forester
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he could feel the beautiful woman beneath the disguise.
Morrigan’s hair was surprisingly soft and thick, and her large, dark eyes were framed by long eyelashes. She could be a beauty if she wished. So why did she chase people away with her sarcasm and militant ways? Whatever her reasons, he could accept it. She may scare away lesser men with her sharp tongue and walking arsenal, but beneath was a lady of infinite passion and seductive sorrow. Anger he understood. Pain he knew. He feared neither.
Morrigan was a rare treasure, one hiding in plain view, and he was the only one who could see her. She was a secret. His secret. And he was a master of secrets.
Heat flushed through him and his breath came faster, showing in the night chill of the room. Fiery tongues of desire lapped his skin. She was his alone. No one would ever know. She would be his. Except…
Morrigan could never be his.
Dragonet started to pace to clear his head. He was on a mission. He could not be caught in an entanglement with a local girl. It was unthinkable. Not with so much riding on his actions. His father… his father had trusted him with the mission, and Dragonet would not fail him.
It had been almost a year since he last saw his father. Dragonet remembered the day in his native France when his father had honored him with a rare summons. Jacques Dragonet bowed and kissed the ring of his father, the bishop of Troyes. The bishop acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head and continued his meal. Dragonet stood before the bishop, his stomach rumbling at the smell of the feast.
“Did you find the silver chest?” asked the bishop, taking another bite of the savory, meat-filled pastry before him. Dragonet knew better than to suppose the bishop would invite him to join the meal.
“No, Your Grace. I do not believe it is in the monastery.”
“You believe it to be gone, or you know it,” the bishop glanced over his pastry, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“I have spent the past two years working with the master of the treasury. I have taken inventory of the treasures and relics they hold; none fits of the description of the silver box you described.” He had scoured the monastery belonging to the Hospitaller Knights, a warrior order of monks.
“Some treasures hold such value they are kept from the eyes of young monks.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have come to be on most friendly terms with the master of the treasury and have supplied him with enough wine on occasion as to help him be forthcoming. He shared with me his secret stash of goods, namely whiskey. He also spoke of a silver chest once when he was deep in drink, but he said it had been so precious it had disappeared. Carried off by angels was his report.”
The bishop grunted and shook his head with disdain.
“He was heavily beset by drink at the time,” explained Dragonet.
“It was carried off, I do not doubt it, but hardly by angels. No, it has been stolen from me.” The irrelevant fact that the bishop had no right to the treasures held by the Hospitallers was not mentioned by either.
“I am sending you on a quest.” The bishop’s words struck deep and true. It was what Dragonet had been praying for, a chance to prove himself to his father.
“I am ready, Your Grace.” Dragonet had trained hard, studied hard, prayed and fasted. He had joined the Hospitallers as his father had asked, and immersed himself in their rigorous training. Dragonet wished to prove to his father that he had been worthy of his notice, worthy of the opportunities that had been given him.
“You know of the Knights Templar?”
“Yes,” replied Dragonet. Who did not know their sad history? “Their order was declared to be heretical and disbanded.”
The bishop gazed slyly over the rim of his wine glass. “King Philip owed the Templars money, and a lot of it. The Templars main heretical act was in not forgiving it. King Philip pressured the pope, who also owed the Templars money.
Morrigan’s hair was surprisingly soft and thick, and her large, dark eyes were framed by long eyelashes. She could be a beauty if she wished. So why did she chase people away with her sarcasm and militant ways? Whatever her reasons, he could accept it. She may scare away lesser men with her sharp tongue and walking arsenal, but beneath was a lady of infinite passion and seductive sorrow. Anger he understood. Pain he knew. He feared neither.
Morrigan was a rare treasure, one hiding in plain view, and he was the only one who could see her. She was a secret. His secret. And he was a master of secrets.
Heat flushed through him and his breath came faster, showing in the night chill of the room. Fiery tongues of desire lapped his skin. She was his alone. No one would ever know. She would be his. Except…
Morrigan could never be his.
Dragonet started to pace to clear his head. He was on a mission. He could not be caught in an entanglement with a local girl. It was unthinkable. Not with so much riding on his actions. His father… his father had trusted him with the mission, and Dragonet would not fail him.
It had been almost a year since he last saw his father. Dragonet remembered the day in his native France when his father had honored him with a rare summons. Jacques Dragonet bowed and kissed the ring of his father, the bishop of Troyes. The bishop acknowledged him with a slight inclination of his head and continued his meal. Dragonet stood before the bishop, his stomach rumbling at the smell of the feast.
“Did you find the silver chest?” asked the bishop, taking another bite of the savory, meat-filled pastry before him. Dragonet knew better than to suppose the bishop would invite him to join the meal.
“No, Your Grace. I do not believe it is in the monastery.”
“You believe it to be gone, or you know it,” the bishop glanced over his pastry, his eyes glinting in the candlelight.
“I have spent the past two years working with the master of the treasury. I have taken inventory of the treasures and relics they hold; none fits of the description of the silver box you described.” He had scoured the monastery belonging to the Hospitaller Knights, a warrior order of monks.
“Some treasures hold such value they are kept from the eyes of young monks.”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have come to be on most friendly terms with the master of the treasury and have supplied him with enough wine on occasion as to help him be forthcoming. He shared with me his secret stash of goods, namely whiskey. He also spoke of a silver chest once when he was deep in drink, but he said it had been so precious it had disappeared. Carried off by angels was his report.”
The bishop grunted and shook his head with disdain.
“He was heavily beset by drink at the time,” explained Dragonet.
“It was carried off, I do not doubt it, but hardly by angels. No, it has been stolen from me.” The irrelevant fact that the bishop had no right to the treasures held by the Hospitallers was not mentioned by either.
“I am sending you on a quest.” The bishop’s words struck deep and true. It was what Dragonet had been praying for, a chance to prove himself to his father.
“I am ready, Your Grace.” Dragonet had trained hard, studied hard, prayed and fasted. He had joined the Hospitallers as his father had asked, and immersed himself in their rigorous training. Dragonet wished to prove to his father that he had been worthy of his notice, worthy of the opportunities that had been given him.
“You know of the Knights Templar?”
“Yes,” replied Dragonet. Who did not know their sad history? “Their order was declared to be heretical and disbanded.”
The bishop gazed slyly over the rim of his wine glass. “King Philip owed the Templars money, and a lot of it. The Templars main heretical act was in not forgiving it. King Philip pressured the pope, who also owed the Templars money.
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