Knights of de Ware 02 - My Warrior by Glynnis Campbell Page A

more thoroughly, as if she were a palfrey he might purchase, letting his gaze move over her hair, her lips, her throat. She shivered. This silent interrogation was far more intimidating than what he asked aloud.
    “But your kinsmen will find out soon enough, won’t they?” he murmured, almost to himself. “Such a precious jewel could not go missing for long.”
    She blinked, startled. No one had called her a precious jewel before, certainly not an Englishman. Surely he only mocked her.
    His gaze lingered on her mouth, and his voice came out on a mere breath. “What if you had slain me, little witch? Did you intend to singlehandedly fight the whole English army?”
    She swallowed. She had no answer for him. Indeed, she hadn’t thought that far ahead.
    His next words were so soft, she had to watch his lips to decipher them. “And what…what if I had slain you?”
    He caught her gaze then, trapping her in the smoldering depths of his eyes, and some strange current passed through them, as fleeting as lightning, as ephemeral as mist. For one brief instant, she saw him not as the enemy, but as a man—troubled, vulnerable, human—and molten fire surged inexplicably through her veins.
    But in the next moment, his eyes hardened like green glass. He became the warrior once more. He released her arms and stepped away.
    “I’ll send a squire for your armor,” he said gruffly, nodding at her in dismissal.
    Then he took a key from the hook on the wall and left without another word, locking the oak door behind him.
    Cambria pounded on the door, demanding freedom, but her captor’s heavy footsteps faded resolutely away.
    She sank down wearily upon the musty straw pallet in the corner, breathless and aching from the battle. Tears blurred her eyes, but she refused to shed them.
    She’d failed—both her father and her clan. She’d come for revenge, and she’d earned only shame. Her father had always warned her about losing her temper. This time, it had cost her the field. It had almost cost her her life.
    She could still see vividly the fierce countenance of Lord Holden as he towered over her, and she understood now why he was called the Wolf. With his teeth bared and his eyes glittering with malice at the moment he intended to strike her down, he’d resembled some unleashed beast.
    Though he’d spared her life, Cambria dreaded the punishment Lord Holden would mete out for her. She’d felt his iron grip on her wrist, the solid wall of his chest, the powerful blow of his sword, and she knew she could never endure his strength should he decide to beat her.
    She supposed she did deserve a beating. She’d completely lost control. So caught up was she in her passion for vengeance that she’d forgotten every rule of warfare her father had taught her. Perhaps, she thought ruefully, if she’d kept her mind alert and her temper bridled, she might have won the battle.
    She rolled onto her side and idly picked at a crack in the stone wall, thoroughly miserable.
     
    Holden paced his chamber restlessly, shaken by the fact he’d almost slain a woman. Her countenance was etched into his brain now—the silky hair bunched in his fist, the crystalline blue eyes bright with fear, the delicate nose glazed with the sweat of battle, her lips trembling as he held her life in his hands. She’d been even more beautiful than he remembered, beautiful and dangerous, like that damned wildcat.
    He saw now what Roger had meant about the savage Scots. Mother of God, even their women were warriors.
    He tried to rub the headache from his temples, completely at a loss as to what to do with the lass.
    He had to believe she’d come alone. No knight worth his armor would have stood by while a mere girl battled a seasoned warrior. But her clansmen would come for her eventually. She was their laird. What would he do when they demanded her? He had to maintain peace between the English and the Border Scots, but he couldn’t simply release the lass.
    By all