A Perfect Knight For Love Read Online Free

out from the fog the moment they reached the tree line. Without a bit of warning, men on horseback swarmed from right in front of Sean’s horse, Laird Dunn-Fyne at the fore, sword at ready. He was accompanied by countless men that all looked the same.
    Sean’s mount stopped, too tired to even give a lurch at the surprise. He was followed by the others. Thayne’s stallion, Placer, needed subduing. Thayne had to pull the reins to halt the Clydesdale. Around him, he felt Iain, Pellin, and Gavin working to get all five horses flanked, facing outward. For defense. It wouldn’t have mattered. Death was being dealt. And he’d earned it.
    That’s when Thayne knew exactly what chivalry reaped: absolutely nothing.
    The horde closed in silently, threat and menace on each face. Thayne reached for his claymore and that’s when he got the first clue the lass wasn’t sleeping. Her fingers gripped about his thigh. That was accompanied by the lurch of her entire form up and against him, sealing her head beneath his chin and forcing his head back.
    “Halt, MacGowan!”
    Thayne didn’t answer at first. Nobody did, although those about them started closing in, adding restless horse noise to the night. Then even more men came from behind Dunn-Fyne, bearing torches.
    “You’ve nae answer?” Dunn-Fyne was yelling it despite the absolute stillness.
    “Nae need,” Thayne answered easily.
    “What?” The man was still shouting. It didn’t do much except make the lass in front of Thayne tremble.
    “You requested a halt. ’Tis needless. We’ve halted.”
    There was a bit of stillness following his words before Dunn-Fyne lifted his sword higher. He raised his volume as well. “Now unhand my wife or face your maker!”
    Thayne sighed heavily. “I’ve na’ got your wife,” he answered.
    “Unhand the wife or I’ll take her from your dead frame! And that’ll save me the trouble of drawing and quartering your sorry arse!”
    Thayne reached up and pulled the plaid from the top of the lass’s hair. Even in the torchlight it was obvious she had dark brown hair, not the light reddish locks Mary had been noted for. And pursued over. And had poems written about. Some of them from Thayne.
    “That is na’ my wife!” Dunn-Fyne yelled.
    Thayne smirked. “I just said as much.”
    “Who is she, then?”
    Thayne shrugged, large enough to move the lass with it. And then swallowed, although it resembled a gulp. Chivalry was a decided blasted curse.
    “Well?”
    “A wench of little renown and less frame. Now allow us to pass. We’ve naught you want.”
    He felt the woman stiffen and moved his sword hand from the hilt of his claymore to wrap it about her waist. He passed it along his kilt as he went, drying the moistness from his palm. She wasn’t just trembling anymore. It was a full-out shake. Thayne tried for a reassuring grip, pulling her against his chest to lift her slightly above the saddle with the hold.
    And just then, the hours-old bairn decided to wail and everything in the world halted to listen. Any gap between horses was eliminated as Dunn-Fyne moved, pushing into the defensive huddle Thayne’s band made. The infant’s wailing increased, punctuating the night with sharp heart-stirring cries.
    “Where is my wife, MacGowan? I’m in complete earnest now. I’ll cleave your head from your shoulders and split you in so many pieces, they won’t find enough of you to bury!”
    Thayne cleared his throat. “I have na’ seen your wife. Lately.”
    “Then whose bairn is that?”
    It was useless to disclaim it. The babe had been seen to, but there were still the sounds of suckling.
    “Hers.” Thayne moved his chin, sliding it against perfumed strands of hair with the gesture and ignoring the sting from his bruise.
    “Lad or lass?” Dunn-Fyne asked.
    “’Tis clear she’s a lass, mon.” Someone else answered it.
    “I meant the bairn! Is the bairn a lad or lass?”
    Thayne narrowed his eyes. Every Highlander knew Dunn-Fyne