Highland Honor. Hannah Howell

he slowly deepened the kiss, he swore that he would do nothing to add to her pain. Instead, he would do all in his power to show her that not all men were like her brutal husband.

      Gisele clung to Nigel, timidly opening her mouth when he nudged her lips with his tongue. A war waged inside of her. Passion battled for dominance over fear. Each stroke of his tongue, the feel of his strong body pressed close to hers, called to her passion. It felt good. He felt good. Gisele desperately wanted to cling to that, to begin to learn what the minstrels sang about. But her fear continued to grow.

      Suddenly, so swiftly that it nearly blinded her, her fear rose up and killed her passion. She went cold, her body stiffening with panic. Just as she grasped the sense to pull away, Nigel ended the kiss. She closed her eyes as he gently grasped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. After several slow, deep breaths she began to gain control, and cautiously opened her eyes to look at him. Her eyes widened when she still saw the warmth of passion in his eyes, a warmth tinged with a look of sadness instead of the anger she had been taught to expect.

      “Ye need not fear me, Gisele,” he said quietly.

      “I do not believe I do.” She smiled slightly as he released her and handed her the wineskin. “I do know that that fear was not caused by you.”

      “I suspected that. Ye have told me the truth, as much as I really need to ken, but I think ye havenae told me everything. Howbeit, that kiss did tell me more than the fact that I wish to kiss ye again. It told me that DeVeau bred a terror in you, a terror so deep and strong that it could kill the passion I felt, sadly brief though it was. For that alone the mon deserved to die.”

      She grew still and stared at him as she watched him spread out their blankets. “You think I killed him.”

      “Weel, nay and aye.”

      “You cannot believe in both my innocence and my guilt. I am either one or the other.”

      “Ye are innocent, and dinnae deserve to die. I just havenae decided if ye killed the mon or nay. He deserved to die, Gisele. If it is any comfort, I dinnae see ye as some vicious monkiller. If ye did do it, ye were driven to it by crimes I am nay sure I want to hear about.” He sprawled on his blanket and patted the one spread out beside him. “Come to bed. lass. Ye need to rest. There is a long, hard ride ahead of us, and time to rest may soon be verra hard to find.”

      Gisele was stunned and moved to her bed, unable to speak. She had wanted Nigel to believe in her innocence, but he only accepted that she was justified in killing the man. As she curled up in her blanket she wondered why she was not furious and insulted. She supposed it was because he gave her tale more weight than many of her family did. Despite that, she found that she desperately wanted him to believe that she had not killed the man. Although it was good to know that he felt confident she would have been justified, that she would have simply been defending herself, she realized she wanted him to know that she was stronger than that.

      “You show me more kindness and understanding than my family does,” she said, turning to look at him. “I should be satisfied with that.”

      “But ye are not.”

      “I fear not. I am stronger than you think. I would have found another way to get free. By the time we get to Scotland I promise that I will have you believing in my complete innocence.”

      “Fair enough. I, too, make a promise.”

      “Do I really wish to hear this?” She saw him grin, and silently cursed.

      “Nay, probably not, but I feel it only fair that I tell you. Call it a warning if ye will. By the time we get to Scotland I mean to prove to you that not all men are like your husband. I mean to resurrect the passion he killed within you.”

      Gisele quickly turned away from him. She felt an odd mix of excitement and terror. Part of her desperately wanted him to be able to fulfill that promise, and part of her was desperately afraid of the same thing. As she closed her eyes, she prayed she would have the strength to allow him to fulfill his promise.

      Four

      The cold water of the small river felt good against her skin and Gisele ached to immerse herself in it. There was no time, however. Nigel was watering the horses but a few feet away, and he had made it very clear that this would be a brief respite from their travel. For two long days they had ridden from sunrise to sunset with only a few stops. Her whole body ached. Fortunately, she was so exhausted by nightfall that even her extreme discomfort was not enough to rob her of sleep. She could not recall ever having worked so hard to elude her enemies.

      She glanced at Nigel. He stood by the horses looking as limber and rested as if he had just risen from a soft, comfortable bed after a long, peaceful night’s sleep. It annoyed Gisele, yet she knew it should not. Nigel was a knight, one of a breed who was probably set in a saddle before he could walk. He should look hale, not at all troubled by a few long days of riding. She knew she was jealous of his strength even as she was unsettled by her lack thereof.

      As she straightened up from where she knelt by the riverbank, Gisele winced and rubbed at the ache in her lower back. She thanked God that she still wore a page’s attire, sure that it had protected her soft skin far better than any gown would have. Gisele just wished she could find something that could protect her aching bones and stiff muscles.

      “If ye are quick about it, ye can bathe,” Nigel said as he stepped up beside her.

      Gisele started, surprised by his sudden appearance so close at hand. She scowled at his feet, wondering if the soft, deerhide boots he wore aided him in moving around so silently. It was a skill she had envied from the first moment he had revealed it. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not imitate it.

      “I think I need to hang a bell on you,” she muttered as she looked up at him.

      Nigel just grinned. “Do ye want a wee bath or nay, lass?”

      “You wished to keep riding.”

      “Aye, I did. I still do. ’Tis why I say ye must be quick about it.”

      As she lightly bit her bottom lip, she glanced around. “There is no place to be private.”

      “I will turn my back.” He shrugged when she scowled at him again. “’Tis all I can give you, lass. Ye must choose atween your privacy and your safety.” He placed his hand on his heart and added, “I swear I shall only set my gaze upon the horizon, shall look only for our enemies.”

      Since she had entrusted her safety, her very life, into his care, Gisele decided she was being foolish in hesitating to entrust him with her modesty. “Agreed.”

      “I mean what I say. Ye must be quick. Heed me on that,” he said even as he turned and walked back to the horses.

      After glancing his way to assure herself that he still had his back to her, Gisele began to unlace her jupon, then cursed her own stupidity. She could not put these filthy clothes back on once she had bathed. “Sir Nigel,” she called. “I need my saddlepack.”

      He tossed it to her with an ease and an accuracy that startled her. The man was proving to have a vast array of skills, she mused as she hastily unpacked her only other set of page’s clothes and a drying cloth. Shedding her clothes and tightly clenching the thin sliver of soap she had so carefully preserved throughout her travels, Gisele stepped into the water. She gasped in reaction to the biting chill of the water, then steeled herself to endure it. This could well be her only chance to bathe for quite awhile.

      Nigel heard her gasp and almost turned around, then smiled. He realized that it was no cry of alarm, only the sound that most people made when their warm skin hit cold water. There was a part of him that was strongly tempted to use that soft noise as an excuse to turn and look at her, but he forcefully quelled that urge. He had promised her that he would not look, and instinct told him that he would gain far more from holding fast to that promise than from trying to sneak a quick peek like some errant, fevered youth.

      Trust was important to Gisele, he was certain of it, and she had