The Chief (Highland Guard #1)(6)

No one made the Chief of MacLeod do anything he didn’t want to do.

Touchfaser, Stirlingshire

Christina’s breath caught, nearly causing her to choke on the sugared plum she was chewing. Her eyes flew across the page, but she couldn’t read fast enough to calm the racing of her heart.

Lancelot and Queen Guinevere had just arranged a liaison for later that night. In order to reach his love, Lancelot seizes the iron bars that block the window, bends them, and then removes them to climb through.

Iron bars! What amazing strength! She plopped another plum in her mouth, not breaking concentration for an instant. Her body tingled with restless anticipation, knowing what was about to happen next: the lovers’ tryst.

And the Queen extends her arms to him and, embracing him, presses him tightly against her bosom, drawing him into the bed beside her and showing him every possible satisfaction; her love and her heart go out to him. It is love that prompts her to treat him so; and if she feels great love for him, he feels a hundred thousand times as much for her. For there is no love at all in other hearts compared with what there is in his; in his heart love was so completely embodied that it was niggardly toward all other hearts. Now Lancelot possesses all he wants, when the Queen voluntarily seeks his company and love, and when he holds her in his arms, and she holds him in hers. Their sport is so agreeable and sweet, as they kiss and fondle each other, that in truth such a marvelous joy comes over them as was never heard or known.

Cheeks flushed, Christina closed the volume gently, leaned back against the wooden trunk that sat at the foot of her bed, and hugged the book to her chest with a deep sigh. She knew she should find it horribly wicked, but she couldn’t. It was too romantic.

She could read Chrétien’s Le Chevalier de la Charrette, “The Knight of the Cart,” over and over and never get tired of it. To think that a man could ever love her like that!

And Lancelot wasn’t just any man. He was the greatest knight in the kingdom, he was brave, gallant, and handsome, willing to do anything for the woman he loved, even putting aside chivalry—his honor and pride—by accepting the dwarf’s offer to ride in a cart, to save his lady from the evil clutches of Meleagant. For a knight to ride in a cart was a horrible humiliation. How could Guinevere not love this man who’d not only stooped so low, but also had battled for her and saved her twice?

Christina could see him, sitting atop his great warhorse, his tall, muscular warrior’s body covered in brilliant chain mail shining in the sun, the azure blue of his tabard matching the piercing blue of his eyes, which were just visible beneath the steel visor of his helm, his golden hair covered except for one errant lock that whips across his strong, handsome features as he rides across the battlefield, holding the heavy sword effortlessly in his hand, to vanquish all intent on harming his lady fair.

She sighed again, her eyes growing soft and a dreamy smile curling her mouth. Though such a scene did not take place in the book she was reading, it played over and over in her head.

Perhaps one day …

A shout from below put a harsh end to her daydreams. The romantic yearnings that filled her chest were replaced by ice-cold fear.

Father.

Surely it was too early? Her gaze shot to the small window in the small tower chamber, seeing the soft yellow and pink of the setting sun through the open shutter.

She froze. Nettles! How could she have let the day get away from her? She knew the risk. Her palm pressed reverently on the precious wooden cover wrapped in dark brown leather and secured by metal corner pieces painted to look like colored glass. The volume was her most cherished possession. And if her father caught her, her most dangerous. The memory of her father’s anger was painfully fresh. Her fingers went to the tender spot high on her cheek where the skin torn by his ring had just begun to heal. But the feeling of helplessness still lingered.

Christina had been so excited to tell him about her learning, remembering how proud he’d been of her brothers. But instead of being impressed, the man who’d become such a stranger to her had been enraged to hear that for the past three years while King Edward had held him prisoner in England, she and her sister had learned to read from the priest at the village church.

Reading would only fill their heads with ideas and distract them from their duties. An education was reserved for men and nuns.

That becoming a nun and escaping to the peace of the abbey was exactly what the girls wanted is what had earned them their beating. The beating had almost killed her sister. Beatrix was already so frail, the illnesses that had plagued her as a child having left their mark. He’d nearly finished the job when he’d forbidden them to return to the abbey. Only Christina’s promise that she would find a way for her sister to take the veil had prevented Beatrix from succumbing to hopelessness and despair. All her sister dreamed of was a life dedicated to God. The peace of the abbey called to Christina, too, but in a different way. It promised safety.

She couldn’t repress the shiver of fear. If her father discovered her reading, who knew what he’d do?

He’d become completely unpredictable, his moods swinging from cold disdain to an almost frenzied rage over the most seemingly inconsequential matter. Andrew Fraser, the former Sheriff of Stirlingshire, from the noble patriot family, once a proud and respected knight, had turned cruel with hatred. His impassioned patriotism had turned rabid in the quest to destroy Edward. It was so hard to remember the man he’d been, she wondered if she only imagined the father who’d been quick with a smile, now forgotten behind the mercurial mask.