Angel Of The Knight. Diana Hall

      She lifted her face and Falke sucked hard for air.

      Her almond-shaped eyes displayed her emotions like an expensive glass mirror. Every torment clearly distinct and apparent for all to see, yet imprisoned inside.

      Kneeling to be eye level, Falke whispered, “Go ahead and cry.”

      Instead of relief, fear blended with Gwendolyn’s despondency. “Nay, I’ll not cry.”

      Falke pulled her into the nest of his arms. “’Twill make the grief easier if you don’t hold it in so.”

      He could feel the erratic flutter of her heart next to his chest. “Pray, let me go.” A half sob caught in her voice.

      “Cry,” Falke ordered. She would become sick if she kept all this sorrow inside.

      “Nay, I cannot.” She bit her lower lip. Her chin wobbled slightly, her voice filled with wistful remorse. “I’ve forgotten how.”

      Forgotten! Falke’s mind flared at the notion. A woman who didn’t cry…!

      Dear Reader,

      This month our exciting medieval series KNIGHTS OF THE BLACK ROSE continues with The Rogue by Ana Seymour, a secret baby story in which rogue knight Nicholas Hendry finds his one true love. Judith Stacy returns with Written in the Heart, the delightful tale of an uptight California businessman who hires a marriage-shy female handwriting analyst to solve some of his company’s capers. In Angel of the Knight, a medieval novel by Diana Hall, a carefree warrior falls deeply in love with his betrothed, and does all he can to free her from a family curse. Talented newcomer Mary Burton brings us A Bride for McCain, about a mining millionaire who enters a marriage of convenience with the town’s schoolteacher.

      Whatever your taste in reading, you’ll be sure to find a romantic journey back to the past between the covers of a Harlequin Historicals novel. We hope you’ll join us next month, too!

      Sincerely,

      Tracy Farrell,

      Senior Editor

      Angel of the Knight

      Diana Hall

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Available from Harlequin Historicals and DIANA HALL

      Warrior’s Deception #309

      Branded Hearts #482

      Angel of the Knight #501

      To all my angels who helped me during Ricky’s cancer:

      Mom and Dad: I couldn’t have made it through this time without both of you. I can’t thank you enough.

      Tami, John and Mitch: Thanks for all the hugs, smiles

      and hours of talking.

      Savanna: I’m proud of you. Thanks for all your

      help and strength.

      Chuck and Maggie, David and Audrey—great friends

      and wonderful listeners.

      Tracy and Patience: Thanks for giving me the time

      I needed.

      All my writing friends at VFRWA and PLRWA,

      especially Casey, Debbie, Joan, Kate, Orysia, Nancy and Michelle: You keep me looking toward the future instead of back to the past.

      Contents

       Prologue

       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

       Epilogue

      Prologue

      England, 1144

      Isolde clutched her protruding abdomen and prayed death would be merciful. Talons of pain raked her womb. Her scream bounced off the cold stone walls and reverberated in her ears.

      “My poor lady. Curse that man and his evil.” Ever faithful Darianne tipped a gourd of water to Isolde’s chapped and bleeding lips.

      Isolde savored each drip of lukewarm water, then asked, “Gwendolyn?”

      “Outside the door.”

      Isolde braced herself as another contraction began. Her lady-in-waiting shoved a cloth-wrapped piece of wood between Isolde’s teeth. She clamped down. Agony hypnotized her into a trance of torture and despair.

      “Mother?” Her daughter slipped through the door of the cell. With iron determination, so like her mother’s, the girl wrapped herself around a bed leg, clinging to the rickety frame. Long strands of snow-white hair hung in wild disarray around her face. Sapphire-blue eyes glistened with tears.

      “Leave your mother be, Gwendolyn.” Darianne gently tried to pry the child away. “Husband, you were to keep her from this sight.”

      A gnarled knight, just past his prime, entered. Battle scars marred his face, while tears stained his clean but frayed tunic. “You know how nimble she is.”

      “Let…her…be.” Isolde’s own hair was plastered against her