Excerpt from The Highlander’s French Bride:
Horses
whinnied, sensing danger in the air, but the people about her remained silent,
anticipation evident in the lines of their bodies and the expressions on their
faces. To her left she glimpsed a man as he eased forward, wearing the
Hospitaller colors of white cross on a black tunic. A furtive look on his face,
his hand drifted to the sword at his belt.
Slipping
her dagger from the pocket in her cloak, Melisende turned toward the man, hand
fisted on the knife’s hilt, angled just below belt level. “This is their fight,
not yours, monsieur knight,” she
admonished softly. His head turned at her words, distaste on the sneer of his
lips as he saw who gave him challenge.
Melisende
nudged him with the tip of her dagger, glancing down as she did to ensure he
understood her threat, offering him a chance to reconsider. “Should you wish to
assist, you will do so as a eunuch.” The knight blanched and stepped a pace
away. Giving her an angry look, he disappeared into the crowd.
A
quick look showed Kinnon’s men scattered at the perimeter of the crowd, and
Melisende took a deep breath, satisfied they would do their best to keep others
from interfering. The ring of steel shifted her attention back to the
combatants.
Jean-Luc
circled Kinnon. Melisende cringed to see the subtle change in Kinnon’s balance
as he favored his injured leg. His gaze bore into Jean-Luc as he deflected the
knight’s attacks. Melisende fumed. Fall,
Jean-Luc. Trip over your overwhelming ego and be done with this nonsense.
Furious barking sounded from within the stables. Jean-Baptiste!
Jean-Luc
lunged again, just inside Kinnon’s defensive circle. Kinnon parried the thrust,
but did not advance. “Fight me!” Jean-Luc roared. “Let us see who is the better
man.”
For
a heartbeat, nothing happened. Jean-Luc’s guard relaxed, the line of his
shoulders drooped slightly, allowing the tip of his sword to dip down.
“Coward.”
Kinnon’s
attack was a blur of motion, and Melisende gasped, afraid his leg would betray
him. He beat Jean-Luc back, his sword hammering against the knight’s, the ring
of the blows nearly one continuous flurry of sound. In an instant, Kinnon was
inside Jean-Luc’s guard. Holding the knight’s sword to the side, braced against
his own, he rammed Jean-Luc with an uppercut from his left fist that sent the
knight sprawling. He landed on the ground amid the dust, sliding a few feet
from the force of Kinnon’s blow. Still clutching his sword, Jean-Luc thrust it
tip-down into the earth, using the hilt to brace himself as he struggled to
rise.
A
crash sounded from the stable as the upper half of a stall door burst open,
slamming against the wall. Jean-Baptiste leapt through the opening, landing on
the ground at a hard run. He skidded to a halt before Jean-Luc, teeth flashing
in the early light as he fought against Kinnon’s sharp command to hold.
“Get
up,” Kinnon barked at Jean-Luc.
Clearly
stunned from the blow, the man levered himself up, but slipped, falling to one
knee. Kinnon kicked the weapon from Jean-Luc’s hand and stood one foot on the
blade to keep him from picking it up again. Using the tip of his sword, he
forced Jean-Luc’s chin up.
“I
can finish this here, or ye can admit ye are an arrogant bastard and hie
yerself away to yer barracks. Either way, it ends now.” He slid the blade a bit
forward, toward the tempting pulse in the knight’s throat.
Jean-Luc
spat in the dirt. “Keep la prostituée,”
he snarled.
With
a forceful kick to the man’s chin, Kinnon laid Jean-Luc in the dirt. “I dinnae
call that an apology.”
He
turned with a slight wince, and strode to the edge of the crowd, snapping his
fingers for the dog to follow. With a last sniff at the prone knight,
Jean-Baptiste bounded after Kinnon as he pushed through the throng, a dark
scowl on his face.
Melisende
gathered her skirts and ran after him, catching him as the Scots converged on
him. “You are injured!” she exclaimed, half-questioning him, half-chiding him
for fighting on a leg that was a possible liability.
His
furious gaze stopped her. “He was drunk!” He stopped and snapped at his men
over his shoulder. “Get the horses.” Half of them barreled their way through
the crowd, the rest formed a guard about him and Melisende. Jean-Baptiste eyed
them warily, hackles up.
“Forgive
me,” he said to Melisende. “I am not angry with ye. I did not provoke him, and
he was rather uncomplimentary about ye.” He cast a look at the knight’s form
still sprawled on the ground. “Mayhap he will wake a better man.”
Back Cover Copy for The Highlander’s French Bride:
Heir
to a lairdship, Kinnon Macrory is driven to prove his worth by fighting the
English on the battlefields of France. His dreams of heroic valor are destroyed
by the realities of war—the atrocities visited by fellow soldiers on the very
people he is sworn to protect. Three years in a French prison for a crime he
did not commit leave Kinnon longing for the one thing of beauty in his war-torn
life—a young woman of great kindness and wisdom named Melisende.
Melisende
de la Roche struggles to stay one step ahead of soldiers who would imprison her
for helping an injured Scotsman wrongly accused of treason. She finds refuge in
her uncle’s shop—until a chance encounter sends her fleeing into the unknown
once again, haunted by the beguiling friendship with the troubled young
Scotsman she is certain she will never see again.
Determined
to find the woman of his dreams, Kinnon returns to France, only to discover a
trail of clues to Melisende’s whereabouts. Their reunion will open the doors to
passion, but half-truths and lies from the past could destroy the one thing
they both are willing to fight for—each other.
Buy Link for The
Highlander’s French Bride: Amazon
