LITMIR.BIZ

      Michelle Willingham

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To all the readers who asked me for Ewan’s story. Thank

      you so much for all of your support and encouragement.

      Chapter One

       England—1180

      The wood creaked, a faint noise that hardly anyone would notice. But Honora St Leger had trained herself to perceive details such as this, the underlying hints of a man’s presence.

      He was here. The thief she’d been waiting to capture.

      Her knees ached against the cold stone floor of the chapel, and though she pretended to pray, she inched her way closer to the altar and the sword she’d hidden beneath it.

      A sennight ago, the thief had stolen a wooden cross from the chapel. And last night, a chalice had gone missing. Her father’s men had found nothing, not a trace of the thief.

      The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, her instincts roaring. Closer now. Her breathing grew steadier as she mentally steeled herself for battle.

      She reached beneath the altar cover, finding the cool metal hilt of the sword. The candles extinguished from a sudden gust of air.

      Honora leapt to her feet, poised to strike. The soft sound of footsteps betrayed the man’s presence. Darkness shielded both of them, and she used her other senses to her advantage. Although she could not see her opponent, neither could he see her.

      The rhythm of footsteps shifted, and fear suddenly arced through her. Oh, Jesu. There were two of them.

      The air within the chapel shifted without warning, and instinct made her swing the sword behind her. Her blade struck steel, and the thief parried, the blow numbing her arm.

      Where had the cur gotten a sword? A sword meant he was no ordinary thief—he was a trained fighter. Her pulse quickened, her fear rising. Though she had full confidence in her skills, fighting blind made it more challenging.

      And there was still someone else in the chapel, someone she couldn’t see. The footsteps quickened, though she could not tell if they were running towards her or running away.

      She swung the blade and was rewarded with a hiss of pain. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded. ‘What do you want?’

      Silence.

      When she sliced the sword again, it missed. She halted the blade, listening. Nothing remained but the coolness of air coming from the open door. Not a footstep, not a foreign breath marred the stillness. Both men had vanished.

      Why?

      Unless one of the men had driven the other off. Like an unseen protector.

      She frowned, dropping to her knees again. The sword hilt warmed beneath her palm while her heart pulsed with energy. It had been half a year since she’d fled her husband’s home, Ceredys, and returned to her father’s donjon. She’d thought she was safe here at Ardennes. Now, she wasn’t so certain.

      It unnerved her that this thief kept returning, as though he were searching for something. But what?

      Honora contemplated returning to her chamber, but her sister Katherine was still abed. She couldn’t endanger her by leading the attackers there.

      Instead, she lit the candles once more, trying to calm herself while the familiar scent of beeswax and old incense filled the space.

      With her sword in hand, she sat against the stone wall. Though it was freezing and uncomfortable, she tucked her feet beneath her skirts.

      It was then that she noticed the missing chest. She had brought it back from Ceredys, a gift given by her mother-in-law, Marie St Leger.

      Now stolen.

      Furious, she eyed the empty space where it had rested only moments ago. As she murmured a silent prayer for Marie’s soul, she vowed she would bring the thief to justice.

      ‘She won’t wed you.’

      Ewan MacEgan shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun beginning to sink below the horizon. His brother’s prediction came as no surprise to him. He was the youngest son, with not much more than a tiny plot of land. What right did he have, thinking he could win the hand of an heiress? None at all.

      But this was Lady Katherine of Ardennes, the woman he’d idolised since he was a lad of sixteen. While others had mocked his clumsiness, she had smiled at him, reassuring, ‘You’ll beat all of them one day.’

      Though

Скачать книгу