Eve could tell, long before the monk’s hood fell back, spilling free a waterfall of fiery curls, that the fierce fighter was a woman.She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.After all, the Rivenloch clan was known for its fighting females.
Still, she was no Rivenloch lass that Eve recognized.
There seemed to be a bond between the two fighters.Gellir was resolute in his efforts to protect the woman from their foes.And the lass battled like a vixen defending her mate.
A smile curved the corner of Eve’s lip.It appeared the spurned bridegroom had wasted no time finding a new ladylove.This was further proof Evehaddone the right thing in absconding with Gellir’s betrothed.Lady Carenza was never meant to be his.Thiswas obviously the woman with whom Gellir belonged.A happy ending like this pleased Eve and made the messy details unimportant.
At least shehopedthey would have a happy ending.They were still two against six.
But soon, incredibly, it appeared the pair of sparring sweethearts were beginning to win the upper hand.
Suddenly a bold shout rang out from the crowd.“Audite!”
The combatants began to lower their weapons.The skirmish dwindled and slowly came to a halt.
“Audite!”
All eyes were drawn to the tall monk inviting them to listen.
He peeled back his cowl, revealing his face.
Eve took in a sharp breath.And suddenly she couldn’t take another.
She’d never seen a man so perfectly made.
So handsome.
So heavenly.
So heart-melting.
This must be the man God had fashioned in His image.
He was broad-shouldered.Imposing.Confident, with an air of calm authority.
Dark curls framed his flawless face.His square jaw, cleanly shaved, was resolute.His chin lifted proudly, and yet he seemed to look down his nose at no one.
His expressive brows lowered fervently above eyes that glittered with the spark of passion and life.Eyes that could melt a woman’s heart.Or penetrate a woman’s soul.Or convince a woman to forget all about her religious calling.
Only then did Eve remember to breathe.
In the silence, he spoke in a low, rich, rolling voice colored by a soft foreign accent.A voice that made her think of the delicious wassail Sister Eithne served at Christmas.The concoction that warmed Eve to her bones and left her delightfully dizzy.
“I have brought word fromRoma,”he announced, “from His Holiness.”
The crowd gasped.Eve’s heart skipped a beat.
Was it true?Had the man come from Rome?
No wonder he looked so divine.He was a messenger from the Pope.
He lifted a rolled parchment in one hand.His sleeve slipped up a few inches, exposing a well-muscled forearm.
With his free hand, he solemnly made the sign of the cross.
Reflexively, Eve mirrored the gesture.
All at once, King Malcolm called down to him from the tower of Perth Castle.“You there!Did you say His Holiness?”
