A Warrior's Bride. Margaret Moore
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“What is it?” George asked gently, moving as close to her as he dared. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication 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 Copyright
“What is it?” George asked gently, moving as close to her as he dared.
“Aileas, tell me. Do you want me to go away, so you will not be troubled with more talk of marriage?”
Against his lackadaisical manner, she was unmovable. Against his sarcasm, she was silent. But now, when he sounded so kind and sincerely concerned, she answered honestly. “I don’t understand why you would want me.”
He reached out and took her chin gently in his hand, his blue eyes gazing at her with serious intensity. “Do you not?”
She shook her head. “I am not like other women.”
His smile made her heart race. “Exactly, Aileas,” he murmured. “You are not like other women.” Then he pulled her into his strong, encircling arms and pressed his lips down upon hers....
Dear Reader,
Harlequin Historical author Margaret Moore began her popular WARRIOR SERIES with the publication of her very first book, A Warrtor’s Heart, during our premier March Madness promotion in 1992. Now, sixteen titles and seven Warrior books later, the series is still going strong, as you will discover with this month’s A Warrior’s Bride. Don’t miss this wonderful tale of a peace-loving knight and a fiery noblewoman who make an unlikely match in a stormy marriage of convenience.
We are very pleased to have USA Today bestselling author Merline Lovelace back in our midst with her new Western, Countess in Buckskin, the passionate story of a Russian countess who falls in love with the rough-hewn American lieutenant who has been forced to escort her through the untamed mountains of California, as well as a ranch story from Cassandra Austin, Hero of the Flint Hills, about a woman who is engaged to an aspiring politician, but finds herself drawn to his rugged half brother.
And in A Wish for Nicholas by Jackie Manning, a young woman who has been draining the income from her profitable land to improve the lives of the crofters must protect her secret, and her heart, from the dashing naval war hero who has been given her estate as a prize.
Whatever your tastes in reading, we hope you enjoy all four books this month.
Sincerely,
Tracy Farrell
Senior Editor
A Warrior’s Bride
Margaret Moore
MARGARET MOORE
confesses that her first “crush” was Errol Flynn. The second was “Mr. Spock.” She thinks that it explains why her heroes tend to be either charming rogues or lean, inscrutable tough guys.
Margaret lives in Scarborough, Ontario, with her husband, two children and two cats. She used to sew and read for reasons other than research.
To Alice Lanning of Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia.
A delightful, inspiring lady.
Chapter One
England, 1227
Sir George de Gramercie halted his horse on the mudslicked road and cocked his head. He had heard colorful curses before, but nothing quite like the stream of invective coming from the other side of the hedgerow.
However, it was not his appreciation for the eloquence of the curses nor his wish to be of service that brought the wry, sardonic smile to his handsome face or caused him to signal his column to halt.
He did so because the husky, angry and intriguing voice of the person who had obviously been thrown and abandoned by their mount belonged to a young woman.
The steward, a thickset man of personable countenance and graying hair, shrouded in a dove-gray cloak, ceased his account of the business he intended to transact in London, nudged his horse closer to his tall, elegant lord and eyed him expectantly. The other men, attired in tunics of scarlet and green, waited patiently behind, their horses shifting and snorting in the cool spring morning.
The grassy verge shimmered with droplets, and nearby, the trees budded with the first tender shoots of green and rust. Catkins had appeared on the surrounding alder trees, and the pale yellow coltsfoot peeked out of the taller grass. Beyond, in the valley, a light mist rose, softening the landscape and momentarily obscuring the sight of Dugall Castle.
George didn’t respond to his steward immediately, for a young woman’s head suddenly appeared in a hole in the hedge, popping out like a badger startled by the noise of the men and horses. As this interesting, unkempt personage ran a slow, appraising and inscrutable gaze over George, then his steward, he was getting an equally good look at her—at least her face.
She was, he surmised, rather well past her girlhood, with extremely disheveled, curly chestnut-colored hair tied back in a thick braid from which tendrils of hair had escaped. Several freckles were scattered across her cheeks, and brown eyes beneath brows lowered in suspicion watched him warily. He could see the top of her clothing, which was made of simple homespun and looked to be some kind of tunic with a plain shift or shirt underneath. His gaze traveled .lower,