Taming Her Irish Warrior
England—1180
The wood creaked, a faint noise that hardly anyone would notice. But Honora St Leger had trained herself to perceive details such as this, the underlying hints of a man's presence.
He was here. The thief she'd been waiting to capture.
Her knees ached against the cold stone floor of the chapel, and though she pretended to pray, she inched her way closer to the altar and the sword she'd hidden beneath it.
A sennight ago, the thief had stolen a wooden cross from the chapel. And last night, a chalice had gone missing. Her father's men had found nothing, not a trace of the thief.
The hairs stood up on the back of her neck, her instincts roaring. Closer now. Her breathing grew steadier as she mentally steeled herself for battle.
She reached beneath the altar cover, finding the cool metal hilt of the sword. The candles extinguished from a sudden gust of air.
Honora leapt to her feet, poised to strike. The soft sound of footsteps betrayed the man's presence. Darkness shielded both of them, and she used her other senses to her advantage. Although she could not see her opponent, neither could he see her.
The rhythm of foo ... read full excerpt from: Taming Her Irish Warrior ebook
