Highland Honor. Hannah Howell

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      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