HIGHLAND EMBRACE
“Look at me, Gisele,” Nigel commanded softly, brushing a tender kiss across her mouth.
“I am not sure I wish to.”
“Come, look at me. See with your own eyes who is about to love you. If ye keep your bonny eyes shut, I fear memory may overcome fact.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes, pushing her shyness aside as she recognized the wisdom of his reasoning. “There. I am looking at you,” she said, hearing the sulkiness in her voice despite the huskiness that still deepened it.
Nigel ignored her touch of ill humor, for he could still hear the passion in her voice, feel it in the faint trembling of her lithe body, and see it in the flush upon her smooth, high-boned cheeks. “Ye need not fear the manhood, lassie, only the mon who wields it.”
“I know that. In my mind, I truly do know that most of the time.”
“Then keep your eyes open, so that your mind and heart can remember it. Keep them wide open so that that bastard’s memory cannae rise up to destroy what we can share.”
Gisele nodded and curled her arms around his neck, keeping her gaze firmly fixed upon his face even as he covered her face with slow, gentle kisses. Suddenly, a rich feeling began to blossom within her…a wondrous feeling. She clung to Nigel, wrapping herself around him as he whispered husky words of encouragement before a blinding wave of intense feeling swept over her and she cried out his name….
Books by Hannah Howell
ONLY FOR YOU
MY VALIANT KNIGHT
UNCONQUERED
WILD ROSES
A TASTE OF FIRE
HIGHLAND DESTINY
HIGHLAND HONOR
HIGHLAND PROMISE
A STOCKINGFUL OF JOY
HIGHLAND VOW
HIGHLAND KNIGHT
HIGHLAND HEARTS
HIGHLAND BRIDE
HIGHLAND ANGEL
HIGHLAND GROOM
HIGHLAND WARRIOR
RECKLESS
HIGHLAND CONQUEROR
HIGHLAND CHAMPION
HIGHLAND LOVER
HIGHLAND VAMPIRE
THE ETERNAL HIGHLANDER
MY IMMORTAL HIGHLANDER
CONQUEROR’S KISS
HIGHLAND BARBARIAN
BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
HIGHLAND SAVAGE
HIGHLAND THIRST
HIGHLAND WEDDING
HIGHLAND WOLF
SILVER FLAME
HIGHLAND FIRE
NATURE OF THE BEAST
HIGHLAND CAPTIVE
HIGHLAND SINNER
MY LADY CAPTOR
IF HE’S WICKED
IF HE’S SINFUL
Published by Zebra Books
HIGHLAND HONOR
HANNAH HOWELL
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
Contents
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
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
About the Author
One
France—Spring, 1437
A deep groan escaped Nigel Murray as he awkwardly sat up. He clutched his head, wincing at the thick coat of filth caking his brown hair, and squinted painfully in the faint light of dawn as he looked around. It took him a moment to recognize where he was. Then he grimaced in self-disgust. He had not even made it inside his small tent, having fallen asleep in the mud just in front of it.
“I am fortunate I didnae drown in the muck,” he grumbled as he staggered to his feet, the pounding in his head adding to his unsteadiness.
Slowly, he became aware of a rancid smell. His disgust with himself increased tenfold when he realized that the unpleasant smell was emanating from him. Nigel cursed and started toward the small river the army had camped near. He needed to scrub the stench away and clear his head. The cold water would do both adequately.
Matters had gotten completely out of hand, he decided as he wended his way through the trees. When a man woke up sprawled in the mud, not sure where he was or how he had gotten there, that man needed to take a long, hard look at himself. Nigel had thought that of several of his compatriots during the seven long years he had been fighting for the French. Now he had to apply his own advice to himself. He knew he had reached the point where he either changed or he died.
Once at the river he located a shallow spot, yanked off his boots, unbuckled his sword and scabbard, and stepped into the water. After briefly immersing his head in the almost too cold water he lay down in it, resting his head on the softly grassed, gently sloping bank. He sprawled there, eyes closed, letting the chill of the water push aside the wine-induced clouds in his mind and the current take away the stench clinging to his clothes and his body.
Since he had come to France he had increasingly immersed himself in drinking and a multitude of faceless, nameless women. The occasional battles with the English or the French enemies of whichever French lordling was paying for his sword at the time were the only things that caused any break in his continuous round of dissipation. Nigel knew he was lucky that he was still alive after seven years of such stupidity. He could have fallen face down in the mud last night, too drunk to keep himself from drowning in the mire. He could have staggered into the enemy’s camp and been cut down before he even recognized his error. He could have had his throat cut and been robbed by one of the many shadowy figures that lurked close to the army, or even one of his fellow soldiers. He had slipped into a strange madness that could easily cost him his life in any one of a hundred ways.
And why? That was the question he had to ask himself. At first he had turned to