Jillian Hart - Malcolm's Honor

“Help me with his armor, since you are the only man without work to do.”

“You despise my idleness?” He chuckled, deep and as intriguing as midnight.

“That and more. Now quickly. I must see the wound. Use my blade.” She jabbed the knife toward him, hilt first.

His big, blunt-shaped fingers curled over the steel weapon, engulfing it. The thick blade appeared like a toy against his size and dark, lethal power. She read the cynical darkness in his eyes, hated the strength in his rock-hewn body. The latent power to kill rested in the thickness of his arms and shoulders, chest and thighs.

Malcolm both took her breath away and made her blood run cold. He was a beautiful masculine form. He was a destroyer of life. The irony beat at her.

Truly this was the epitome of man…!

Dear Reader,

The perfect complement to a hot summer day is a cool drink, some time off your feet and a good romance novel. And we have four terrific stories this month for you to choose from!

Jillian Hart made her writing debut in our 1998 March Madness Promotion with her outstanding Western, Last Chance Bride. The same emotional and gently passionate style she’s developed in her Westerns is ever present in Malcolm’s Honor, Jillian’s first medieval romance. Set in England, it’s the story of Malcolm the Fierce, a loyal knight who captures a noblewoman suspected of treason. When Malcolm brings her to the king, the king awards Malcolm with the woman’s land…then forces him to marry her! Malcolm soon finds himself falling in love with his beautiful wife, but is still unsure he can trust her….

In Lady of Lyonsbridge by Ana Seymour, another wonderful Medieval, an heiress falls in love with a knight who comes to her estate on his way to pay a kidnapped king’s ransom. Judith Stacy returns with a darling new Western, The Blushing Bride, about a young lady who travels to a male-dominated logging camp to play matchmaker for a bevy of potential brides—only to find herself unexpectedly drawn to a certain mountain man of her own!

Rounding out the month is Jake’s Angel by newcomer Nicole Foster. In this book, an embittered—and wounded—Texas Ranger on the trail of a notorious outlaw winds up in a small New Mexican town and is healed, emotionally and physically, by a beautiful widow.

Enjoy! And come back again next month for four more choices of the best in historical romance.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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

On the road to Dover, 1280

“By the rood, we have company.”

Lady Elinore of Evenbough turned at the sound of her protector’s voice. The tall knight, harsh as the night was long, did not seem alarmed at the cluster of men drawing closer along the forest road, only amused.

“’Tis thieves. Look how slow they ride,” her father said with a laugh. “Luck is with us. We have been journeying for a good part of a sennight and still no sign of Edward’s knights.”

“Do not speak of luck, my lord.” The knight took hold of his sword. “Nor believe the king will forget your transgressions.”

“Yours, as well.”

Elin considered her father’s words. He had told her little the night he’d interrupted her dreams, rousing her with only a shake of her shoulder and a stern order to dress to ride. Was the castle under attack? Mayhap an illness? Her questions had gone unanswered. She had packed a sack of clothing and two small crocks of herbs, and joined her father in the bailey.

There had been only a handful fleeing that night, if indeed they were fleeing. Three of Father’s most trusted knights, and her elderly chaperon, Alma, who had cared for Elin since birth. Father had bidden them to remain silent as he’d led the way down the shadowed road. It had been thus for four nights, traveling beneath the cloak of a new moon, keeping out of the sight of travelers brave enough to risk the dangerous roads after midnight.

Now it seemed their luck had turned. Elin bit back questions she dared not ask her father, a harsh and severe man—questions about why one loyal and close to the king would need to hide in the darkness.

“Thieves can be easily dealt with,” Alma whispered in her ear. “But methinks those are knights. Look how black they are, for there is no moon to gleam off their mail. Were they thieves, they would wear even a small amount of colored cloth.”

“Quiet, old woman,” her father’s knight ordered.

Had they not been in such danger, Elin would have spoken. No matter his worth as a warrior, Brock could improve his manners, especially toward the elderly.

“By the blood, they are knights.” Father’s voice resonated with a hollow sound—fear, mayhap. Or something worse.

“Many knights,” Alma whispered again.

Elin’s grip tightened on the reins. Without doubt, there would be a battle and much danger. She had learned long ago to think of her own safety, for her father had little concern for her or Alma’s welfare. In truth, why he’d brought her with him remained a mystery. Since her brother’s death in the Crusades while fighting at Edward’s side, the mere sight of Elin angered her sire.

“Come.” She spoke low and touched Alma’s cloak. “We must hide.”

A battle was no place for unarmed women. Had Father allowed her, she would not hesitate to carry a sword for protection. Her hand crept to the knife she kept at her girdle. She was not helpless. And any man foolish enough to believe so would discover how fine a warrior she could be.

“Dismount,” Elin instructed when the forest proved too dense for the great horses. It mattered little if they were on foot. She had all she needed—a weapon in hand and the cloak of darkness. “Father will chase off those arrogant knights. Look how they challenge him.”

“Do not be so certain,” Alma warned. “See that big knight, the one atop the black stallion? He is Malcolm le Farouche. Malcolm the Fierce.”

“The king’s protector? You must be mistaken, Alma. What could Father have done to bring the king’s men after him?”

“Treason.”

“Nay, it cannot be. Father is loyal to the king.”

“Your father is loyal to gold coin.”

Elin could not argue that truth. She had long witnessed that flaw in her father’s character. His love of money had nearly been the ruin of the barony. His conscience did not so much as twinge at the thought of others going hungry in order to feed his greed. But treason?

“Put down your sword, Baron Philip of Evenbough, by command of the king,” the black knight ordered.

“I trust you not, Farouche. You have long been known for your dubious misdeeds.” Father’s sword slid from its scabbard, a sound of metal upon leather in the still night. “I command you, le Farouche, to put down your arms and let us go as peaceable men.”