Diana Hall - Angel Of The Knight

Her almond-shaped eyes displayed her emotions like an expensive glass mirror. Every torment clearly distinct and apparent for all to see, yet imprisoned inside.

Kneeling to be eye level, Falke whispered, “Go ahead and cry.”

Instead of relief, fear blended with Gwendolyn’s despondency. “Nay, I’ll not cry.”

Falke pulled her into the nest of his arms. “’Twill make the grief easier if you don’t hold it in so.”

He could feel the erratic flutter of her heart next to his chest. “Pray, let me go.” A half sob caught in her voice.

“Cry,” Falke ordered. She would become sick if she kept all this sorrow inside.

“Nay, I cannot.” She bit her lower lip. Her chin wobbled slightly, her voice filled with wistful remorse. “I’ve forgotten how.”

Forgotten! Falke’s mind flared at the notion. A woman who didn’t cry…!

Dear Reader,

This month our exciting medieval series KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK ROSE continues with The Rogue by Ana Seymour, a secret baby story in which rogue knight Nicholas Hendry finds his one true love. Judith Stacy returns with Written in the Heart, the delightful tale of an uptight California businessman who hires a marriage-shy female handwriting analyst to solve some of his company’s capers. In Angel of the Knight, a medieval novel by Diana Hall, a carefree warrior falls deeply in love with his betrothed, and does all he can to free her from a family curse. Talented newcomer Mary Burton brings us A Bride for McCain, about a mining millionaire who enters a marriage of convenience with the town’s schoolteacher.

Whatever your taste in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals novel. We hope you’ll join us next month, too!

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell,

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Warrior’s Deception #309

Branded Hearts #482

Angel of the Knight #501

To all my angels who helped me during Ricky’s cancer:

Mom and Dad: I couldn’t have made it through this time

without both of you. I can’t thank you enough.

Tami, John and Mitch: Thanks for all the hugs, smiles

and hours of talking.

Savanna: I’m proud of you. Thanks for all your

help and strength.

Chuck and Maggie, David and Audrey—great friends

and wonderful listeners.

Tracy and Patience: Thanks for giving me the time

I needed.

All my writing friends at VFRWA and PLRWA,

especially Casey, Debbie, Joan, Kate, Orysia, Nancy and

Michelle: You keep me looking toward the future instead

of back to the past.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

England, 1144

Isolde clutched her protruding abdomen and prayed death would be merciful. Talons of pain raked her womb. Her scream bounced off the cold stone walls and reverberated in her ears.

“My poor lady. Curse that man and his evil.” Ever faithful Darianne tipped a gourd of water to Isolde’s chapped and bleeding lips.

Isolde savored each drip of lukewarm water, then asked, “Gwendolyn?”

“Outside the door.”

Isolde braced herself as another contraction began. Her lady-in-waiting shoved a cloth-wrapped piece of wood between Isolde’s teeth. She clamped down. Agony hypnotized her into a trance of torture and despair.

“Mother?” Her daughter slipped through the door of the cell. With iron determination, so like her mother’s, the girl wrapped herself around a bed leg, clinging to the rickety frame. Long strands of snow-white hair hung in wild disarray around her face. Sapphire-blue eyes glistened with tears.

“Leave your mother be, Gwendolyn.” Darianne gently tried to pry the child away. “Husband, you were to keep her from this sight.”

A gnarled knight, just past his prime, entered. Battle scars marred his face, while tears stained his clean but frayed tunic. “You know how nimble she is.”

“Let…her…be.” Isolde’s own hair was plastered against her skull with sweat and grime. She fingered her daughter’s silvery tendrils and gazed into the startling blue eyes. Gwendolyn resembled her too closely. She’d bear Titus’s barbs and beatings now.

Another contraction seized Isolde. The stab of pain tore deep. Despite the pain, she listened—stiffened when she heard the rough clunk of boots on the bare stone floor. She turned her head, warily eyeing the door.

Titus entered and swaggered over. “Has my bastard killed her yet?”

Loud booming laughter shook his muscle-bound body, but Isolde could see the effects of his extravagances. A belt of sagging flesh girthed his waist and jowls widened his coarse face.

“She needs a physician.” Darianne hovered nearby, but out of Titus’s reach. “The babe’s turned and we may lose the both of them. I’ve done all I can with my herbs.”

Titus sneered as he confronted Isolde. “No aid, no relief until you sign all rights to these lands to me. Sign the contract or die in childbirth, unclean and unholy.”

“She’s been in labor for two days. ’Tis more than she can stand,” Cyrus begged.

The sneer hardened on Titus’s face. “Sign, woman, or die.”

The pain threatened to overtake her, yet Isolde fought on, not for herself, but for her daughter. Her response came out a scream. “Nay, I’ll not sign away my daughter’s birthright.” Her body ached to rest from the onslaught of labor. The brief reprieve between contractions was not enough. A cloud of white swept past her. “Gwendolyn!”

Her daughter tackled Titus and sank her teeth deep into the flesh of his leg. The burly man yelped, then picked up his attacker by the scruff of her wool shift. With a careless toss, he heaved her from him. The petite form hit the wall. Gwendolyn’s head cracked against the hard stone. Her body lay slumped in the corner like a discarded rag. A low moan escaped her lips. The knight and his lady gasped but did not move.

“That was foolish.” Isolde fought to make her mind clear. Her fate was sealed, but Gwendolyn still had a chance, a hope of surviving. “You may forge my signature and have no repercussions from King Stephen, but what of Henry?”

The cold sneer melted from Titus’s features. Isolde had only moments before a contraction pushed reason from her mind. In a deceptively calm voice, she argued for her daughter’s life. “Henry will drive you from Cravenmoor, wrest from you your ill-gotten gains should he be crowned. Gwendolyn, as legitimate heir, is your only protection from Henry’s ire.”