A Perfect Knight For Love Read Online Free PDF

shivered again at the thought. Anything. Being safely ensconced in a Scot schoolroom, teaching two young ladies had seemed the perfect hiding spot, too. She’d have time to think of her next move and wait for Father to reconsider his edict. It hadn’t sounded as mad then as it undoubtedly was now. She hadn’t had time to evaluate and ponder, however. Why . . . being on that particular corner when the real governess-to-be had been mowed over by a carriage right in front of Amalie—and then seeing the poor woman into a lane where she poured out her story—had been pure luck; heaven-sent and fated.
    If only Amalie had the sense to keep her footing at that carriage step, none of this would be happening. She wouldn’t be sitting with her back against a tree, wrapped in not one, but two of their plaid blanket-things, smelling like wet scratchy wool. She wouldn’t be wearing her hair in a huge twist between her chemise and gown where it too itched. She’d never be outside in a copse of trees while a stretched animal skin of some kind kept rain from her, although it did nothing for the damp wet ground-mist that permeated everything else. It even crept up through the thick weave of blanket she lay atop. And she’d never be regarding the man she’d actually declared her husband as he whittled away at a piece of wood when he wasn’t looking across their fire at her for no known reason she could decipher.
    It was enough to make the only daughter of the Earl of Ellincourt grit her teeth to stay the screams. Or the faint. Or seizure. Or whatever response gently-bred young ladies were expected to suffer when being held captive by a small group of barbarians named Clan MacGowan who’d gotten themselves a dangerous escort of more barbarians named Clan Dunn-Fyne. And all of it under threat of death.
    Of course, any reaction would only work if the lady in question allowed herself that sort of idiocy. And if it would actually do any good.
    Amalie looked down at the bundle of sleeping babe the wet-nurse had placed in her arms and sighed slightly. Such a tiny thing! In need of loving and nurturing. It was a mistake to cuddle it close and feel any stirring of emotion. Any fool would know that. Not only was the babe nearly too weak to survive but there wasn’t any way Amalie Ellin was staying about to see to the mothering of her. She suspected that loving this baby girl and then giving her up might be worse even than losing Edmund. She wasn’t staying to find out; deathbed promise or not. And if that barbarian Thayne thought differently, he could just join the list of other men without a thought to their skulls.
    As if he called, Amalie looked across at him again and got another of his dark, enigmatic looks containing what looked like anger. If he wanted to hide emotion, he should probably grow a beard like the others, or he shouldn’t clench his teeth. Such a stance did little except define and shape a sharp jaw. Or the flickers of fire were lying. He had nothing to be angered over. Nothing! Besides . . . he’d started it. He’d practically authored it. She couldn’t claim a child and no husband! Not when facing this Dunn-Fyne horde.
    All of which was probably hidden in the look she gave Thayne, trying her best to remain unblinking and just as expressionless. She sighed heavily, moving the child with it and then worked at ignoring the little sucking motion the babe made as it snuggled closer to her. It didn’t do any good to trade looks with him. He looked immune to it, and her eyes started to smart. She had to resort to looking aside to keep from betraying anything.
    Amalie blinked against the sudden sting. She wasn’t used to going without sleep for so many hours. They’d put a large piece of stretched skin atop their bonfire, but it was so low it sent smoke into the clearing before it could get obliterated by rainfall. That could be the reason for tears. It wasn’t emotion. Oh no. Never. She didn’t cry and wasn’t about