Knight Triumphant Read Online Free

crying out . . .
    She would die. And then . . .
    Igrainia suddenly grabbed the reins and slammed the horse with her heels, using all the strength she had.
    The huge gray warhorse reared, pawing the air. Igrainia clung desperately to the animal, hugging its neck, continuing to slam her heels against its flank. The man was forced to move back, and she felt hope take flight in her heart as the horse hit the ground and started running toward the trees.
    Yet nearly to the trail, the animal came to an amazing halt, reared again, and spun.
    This time, Igrainia did not keep her seat.
    She hit the ground with a heavy thud that knocked the air from her.
    A moment later, he was back by her side, reaching down to her, wrenching her to her feet. “Try to escape again, and I will drag you back in chains.”
    She gasped for breath, shaking her head. “No one will stop your entry at the castle. Only the truly mad would enter there. I cannot help your wife—”
    â€œI have told you who I am. And I know who you are. Igrainia of Langley, known to have the power to heal. Daughter of an English earl, greatly valued by many. My God, what you could be worth! There will be a price on your head, my lady, and you will save my wife.”
    Once again, she found herself thrown onto the horse, which had obediently trotted back to its master.
    This time, he mounted behind her.
    Even as he did so, he urged the horse forward at a reckless gallop.
    She felt his heat and his fury in the wall of his chest against her back, felt the strength of the man, and the power of his emotion.
    And more . . .
    She felt the trembling in him.
    And suddenly understood.
    Aye, he was furious.
    And he was afraid.
    And dear God . . .
    So was she.

CHAPTER 2
    He was excellent at the art of killing. Eric knew it well. Against superior forces, he and his men always had the advantage of extreme training, experience, and the cold hard fact of desperation. But none of their expertise had ever wielded such a blow against the English as that of the strange disease that had seized their little band of rebels. One moment, they had been the most dreaded of the English king’s enemies; the next moment, they were a group of outcasts, shunned and feared by their captors. But even after their capture by the English, Eric had been confident of escape. He had allowed his own incarceration, planning on escaping walls and chains, to return for the others. He had known his ability to fight, to elude the strongest of his foes. He had never imagined that there would be an unseen enemy against whom all the prowess in the world was utterly futile. For all of his determination and strength, he had no power whatsoever against the illness that had ravaged their number. There was no enemy he had ever wanted to best with such passion, and no enemy who had ever had a greater power over him.
    As they neared the great gates to Langley Castle, he was barely aware of the woman on the saddle before him, or even of his own men, as willing as he to risk their own lives for the return of their women, children, and compatriots. Of course, they had all already been exposed to the disease. It had come upon them when they returned from the sea with the lone survivor of a shipwreck. None of them had known, when they plucked the unlucky survivor from the waves, that they had taken death itself from the brine, and that the man’s ship had gone down because none aboard his damned vessel had been able to fight the onslaught of the storm. The man had never regained consciousness. Within hours after coming aboard, he acquired the dreaded boils.
    None had thought to return him, still breathing, to the sea whence he had come; they knew that they had brought death aboard. Only when the fellow had breathed his last, had he been returned to the water.
    Soon after they had brought their own small boats back to shore, the English had come upon their camp, not knowing then that they had just captured the