A Knight With Grace: Book 1 of the Assassin Knights Series by Laurel O'Donnell Page A

this,” she whispered, drawing his gaze. “You could have let my father’s men return me to Willoughby Castle.”
    “Is that what you think of me? That I would leave you in the forest to fend for yourself until your father’s men came?” His square jaw was tight; his blue eyes snapped flame. “I suppose you would think that. After all, I am the same man who killed the archbishop.” He whirled away from her.
    She stood, stunned. “Sir William!” she called. He halted, his shoulders rigid. “I meant no insult. I just thought... As my betrothed, you would be angry I ran away with another man.”
    “You were under a misguided assumption. You were not running away with another man as much as running away from me. That, I can understand.”
    Again, she felt the pull of heartache. Running away from him? “William,” she said, moving to his side. She reached out and touched his arm. The muscles beneath his tunic jumped at her touch. She didn’t know what to say to him; she just knew she wanted to comfort him. “You are a very honorable knight.”
    He looked down at her. His hard eyes softened and he took her hand in his and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Thank you for thinking that.” He held her hand for a moment longer before releasing it and turning away.
    Grace stood, frozen. She stared at her hand. It tingled where his lips had brushed her skin. She ran her fingers over the spot. He had kissed her.

    She was running through darkness. Long shadows reached for her. An ominous dark hand grabbed her skirt.
    Grace jerked awake. Startled, unnerved, she glanced around. The surrounding forest was shaded in grey tones. It was night. She moved her legs, but her skirt caught on something. She pulled her legs away from the object and found the edge of her dress had snagged on the branch of a bush. She sighed and sat back. Something was stabbing her in the back. She brushed at the ground to find a stick had worked its way beneath her. She noticed one blanket was pulled over her waist, but the other lay uselessly aside. She must have thrown it off.
    Instinctively, she looked across the camp to where William slept. He was in a sitting position, but she knew he was asleep because his head lulled to one side. She gathered the discarded blanket and rose, moving to him. She spread the blanket out and eased it up over his legs.
    There was a sudden flash of movement. In the next second, his eyes were open, his sword tip pressed to her throat.

CHAPTER 12
    W illiam stared into Grace’s wide eyes . Through his groggy sleep, he had heard movement and reacted instinctively, grabbing his sword. He dropped the blade, horrified. “Grace.” He leaned forward, taking her face in his hands. “Are you hurt? Did I--?” He inspected her neck, running his hand over her smooth skin to ensure there was no blood, no mark.
    She shook her head.
    He held her face in his hands, his thumbs sweeping over her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he whispered over and over. If he had hurt her, even by accident... His gaze swept her face, touching every inch of her soft skin, every curve. Lord, he had not meant to raise his weapon to her, to touch her warm skin with the cold blade. Alarm gripped his stomach in a tight knot of horror. All he wanted to do was make sure she was unhurt. All he wanted to do was touch her skin. All he wanted to do was kiss her lips. In a frenzy of concern and desperation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. Her mouth was soft. So soft and pliant. And warm.
    She gasped softly beneath his kiss.
    The spell was broken and he pulled back quickly as if she had scalded his skin. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was mortified at what he had done. He had no right to touch her, no right to take such loveliness against himself, no right to stroke his cursed lips against innocent ones. Even as he thought the thought, his gaze settled on her lips and desire engulfed him. He shot to his feet and retreated to the