The Knight's Scarred Maiden
A maiden for the mercenaryMercenary knight Rhain is living on borrowed time. With a vengeful war lord pursuing him, he has accepted his fate—though first he must get his men to safety.When he rescues mysterious and deeply scarred Helissent from her attackers, Rhain soon wishes he wasn’t marked for death. He can never be the man she deserves—his scandalous lineage alone dictates that—but Rhain can’t resist the temptation to show this innocent maiden how beautiful she truly is…Lovers and LegendsA clash of Celtic passions
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A maiden for the mercenary
Mercenary knight Rhain is living on borrowed time. With a vengeful warlord pursuing him, he has accepted his fateâthough first he must get his men to safety.
When he rescues mysterious and deeply scarred Helissent from her attackers, Rhain soon wishes he wasnât marked for death. He can never be the man she deservesâhis scandalous lineage alone dictates thatâbut Rhain canât resist the temptation to show this innocent maiden how beautiful she truly is...
An unearthly growl resounded as a man leapt out of the darkness.
âLet her go!â
His cold voice raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Terror gripped her even harder and the two men tightened their grips. Through her watering eyes she saw a supplicant expression now masked Ruddâs face. She knew that unctuous curve of his lips when he wanted to appease a customer.
âHere, now, this is none of your concern,â Rudd said. âWe only want a bit of privacy.â
âYou harm a woman, youâll get no privacy except in death.â
The words were menacingly calm.
There was a whoosh of breath and the sharp thump of one captorâs body, as if someone had kicked him down.
She watched Ruddâs smug face draw white with fear as he ran towards the trees and disappeared.
The man crouched near her, his elbows resting on his legs, his hands hanging between them. Empty hands. His scabbard was bare and there was no sword at his feet.
âYouâre safe now. Theyâre gone.â
NICOLE LOCKE discovered her first romance novels in her grandmotherâs closet, where they were secretly hidden. Convinced that books that were hidden must be better than those that werenât, Nicole greedily read them. It was only natural for her to start writing themâbut now not so secretly.
Books by Nicole Locke
Mills & Boon Historical Romance
Lovers and Legends
The Knightâs Broken Promise
Her Enemy Highlander The Highland Lairdâs Bride In Debt to the Enemy Lord The Knightâs Scarred Maiden
Visit the Author Profile page at at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.
Ode to a house right next door. So handy to pop over for nibbles, a chat, copious amounts of champagne.
Ode to a stairwell landing propped with pillows and treats. For my kids, made comforting like a warm hug, adventurous like a magic carpet.
Ode to David and Cydonie. This book wouldnât have been written but for you and those chats and that champagne.
I treasure our friendship more than the longest of hugs and the grandest of adventures. More than all the bubbles in every raised fluted glass that ever wasâ¦or will be.
Contents
He was here.
Helissent let out a breath and rearranged the flagons on the tray. Again. This was the second night heâd come in, which wasnât the only reason sheâd noticed him.
âHurry up, girl, customers are thirsty.â
Helissent didnât glance at Rudd. She never glanced at the innkeeperâs son, now owner. She tried not to notice him at all, but it didnât help. His eyes grew more calculating every day as if she was in a trap and he was merely fattening her up.
âIf you stand there much longer,â he said, snapping a towel in the air, âIâll add another flagon to that tray and make you carry it over your head.â
If he put one more flagon on the tray, sheâd make sure to dump it on his head.
Then where would she be? Out in the streets.
Pasting a smile that only deepened her scarsâ appearance, she gave him her most guileless look. âIâm simply ensuring that everything is in its place, so the customers have what they need.â
Rudd didnât have any reaction to her scarred and distorted smile. And that fact frightened her most of all. The fact she couldnât frighten him. Her deep scars that spanned the entire right side of her body from her temple to her feet made everyone frightened. Itâs how she kept the travelling customers away.
âIf you give me any more grief Iâll ensure you give them what they truly need...â he answered, twisting the towel around his fist.
She lifted the tray and suppressed the anger and fear she couldnât afford to expose. Her village didnât have many streets to live on and there were certainly no others who would take her into their homes.
The only reason her tiny village survived was that it was on the road between London and York. People mostly travelled through and never stayed. If only she didnât have to stay. But she had nowhere else to go.
Here, at least, they knew why she was disfigured. Any place else, people could think she was cursed. Or worse, they would pity her.
Here, she was just ignored. Except for Rudd, the prodigal son, who had returned a month after his parentsâ death. He didnât ignore her at all.
