Surrender To The Knight

Surrender To The Knight
Tatiana March

Scotland, 1541.Having lost his claim to his family estate, Olaf Stenholm has no choice but to accept the bride and lands chosen for him by King James. He knows Brenna Kilgarren will be reluctant, but he doesn’t expect the fiery beauty to greet him at the point of her sword. Yet her passion only makes him more determined to take her to the marriage bed…Brenna has sworn never to submit to any man, but from the moment she sees her latest suitor, her resolve begins to crumble. Perhaps here at last is a warrior who will fight by her side by day—and show her the true meaning of desire by night…

Scotland, 1541

Having lost his claim to his family estate, Olaf Stenholm has no choice but to accept the bride and lands chosen for him by King James. He knows Brenna Kilgarren will be reluctant, but he doesn’t expect the fiery beauty to greet him at the point of her sword. Yet her passion only makes him more determined to take her to the marriage bed...

Brenna has sworn never to submit to any man, but from the moment she sees her latest suitor, her resolve begins to crumble. Perhaps here at last is a warrior who will fight by her side by day—and show her the true meaning of desire by night...

Surrender to the Knight

Tatiana March

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Reader,

Surrender to the Knight is the third book in my miniseries Hot Scottish Knights. I expect it to complete the series but you never know—Ian and Alistair, the tall Viking brothers who make a brief appearance, might demand a story of their own.

Olaf Stenholm is introduced in the closing chapters of Submit to the Warrior. He attempts to strip his brother’s widow of the fortune she has inherited, not accepting that she has earned it through suffering in the hands of a cruel husband.

This portrays Olaf as a villain, when in truth he is only fighting for what by law should be his. In telling his story I wanted to reveal his true nature, his deep sense of honour and loyalty, and the longing to be loved hiding beneath his anger.

Olaf’s father hated him for the death of his mother in childbirth. His only brother was a violent man whose evil deeds drove a wedge between them. While still in his teens, Olaf left his home in Scotland to forge a career as a knight for hire in foreign lands.

Now he is back, a grown man hardened by a decade on the battlefield. His claim to his birthright fails, but as consolation King James offers him a bride with lands.

Lady Brenna Kilgarren believes that love brings nothing but heartbreak. A wise woman relies on her own wits and strength, and certainly makes no pledge of obedience to a man. When forced to marry, she is determined to keep her distance—not easy when her husband has the face of an angel, the body of a warrior, and gentle hands that awaken her passions.

Olaf and Brenna’s story is one of redemption, of learning to overcome loss and bitterness, of gaining trust and allowing the trust to grow into love. It is also about a woman’s quest for equality, even on the battlefield, about leadership and loyalty, and about taking a chance—both in love and war.

I enjoyed writing about Olaf and Brenna, how they find each other and defeat their enemies. I hope you’ll enjoy reading this final story in the Hot Scottish Knights miniseries.

Tatiana March

Contents

Chapter One (#uac4fafa0-c115-5006-b19f-cc1da4c40ceb)

Chapter Two (#u5a22cb46-64bf-566f-81b3-f33aa5ea8882)

Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

November winds howled across the Highlands, whipping the falling snow through the air. Olaf Stenholm blinked against the icy flakes that penetrated the visor on his helm. Beneath him, the big bay stallion whinnied with fatigue. The load Thor carried—a rider in steel armor and bundles of possessions in two sacks hanging down his flanks—was an insult to a destrier trained for the battlefield.

Just like the ride to the remote northwest was an insult to a knight.

Olaf flexed his fingers inside the leather gauntlets to keep his hands from going numb. His entire life seemed one endless humiliation. First, he’d been cast out of Stenholm Castle for challenging the right of his elder brother to inherit. Then, after his brother died, he’d lost his claim to the estate against the widow. Now, King James had offered him a bride with lands.

A bride with lands.

Olaf’s dismissive snort echoed inside the steel helm. The Kilgarren estate might stretch miles inland from the rocky coastline, but it was an expanse of barren moor. And the bride, Brenna Kilgarren, was rumored to have gained the lairdship by poisoning her only brother. According to the whispered accusations, she wanted to rule the godforsaken wilderness alone and had sworn to kill any man who tried to force her into submission. But King James wanted the coast protected against an attack from the sea.

And the king would never trust a woman for the task.

In the distance, the outline of a castellated tower peeked like a ghost amidst the flurries of snow. The single structure formed the only fixed point in the endless landscape of rolling hills covered in coarse grass. Olaf picked up his speed, forgetting all thoughts except the temptation of a roaring fire and a jug of hot whisky.

Closer, he noticed several mounds of earth that looked like dugouts where people and domestic animals could huddle through the winter months. Still closer, flapping sounds filled his ears. In the lee of the primitive castle, two canvas tents strained in the wind. From their pointed peaks, brightly colored banners rippled against the laden winter sky.

His competition.

To pacify Brenna Kilgarren’s protestations, the king had sent the lady three suitors to choose from. Outside one of the tents, a pair of men-at-arms stood guard, the pointed ends of their lances resting on the ground. Neither wore steel armor, but their leather jerkins were new, and the horses grazing on the frozen grass behind them looked strong and fit.

Olaf sighed with regret. His wealth would fail to measure up.

Before setting out on the long ride, he’d sold the possessions he’d collected in his years as a knight for hire. He’d released from his service the lad who’d followed him from the lands of Livonia, letting the young man keep the cart and carthorse. Now he wished he’d held on to it all, goods and cart and servant. Not only for a show of force against his competition, but to enjoy a few added comforts if the lady chose him for a husband.

“Go no further!”

The sharp cry almost startled Olaf into falling from the saddle. He surveyed his surroundings, his narrow gaze sweeping the barren moorland in the fading afternoon light. A ragged figure stood to his left, feet firmly planted in the thin layer of snow, a broadsword raised between two gauntleted hands.

The blade cut through the air with a sharp whoosh. “Get down and fight!”

Intrigued, Olaf studied his challenger. No armor, only an ancient shirt of chain mail, clearly made for someone much taller. Everything looked too big, the great helm resting like a bucket on the challenger’s shoulders, the hem of the hauberk flapping about her knees. On the downward swing, the tip of the sword almost sliced into the ground.

With a sigh, Olaf dismounted. It seemed that his prospective bride was wasting no time in her campaign to kill him. Briefly, he wondered how his rivals had fared, assuming their welcome had taken the same form. Dismissing the thought, he pulled his sword from the scabbard by his side and faced his adversary.

The lady raised her weapon with both hands and aimed a low blow. Olaf grinned inside his helm. Not bad. She was using her mind. His knees were a weak point, since he’d chosen not to wear full armor for the journey, only the larger pieces. Even those had caused him discomfort during the long ride, but without a packhorse the easiest means of transporting plate armor was wearing it.

Easily, he deflected the attack. With light swings of his sword, he forced the female warrior into retreat, testing her skill and strength. She fought well for a woman. The long sword hampered her speed, and the huge boots weighed like anchors on her feet. As she twisted and turned, the hauberk clung to her contours, revealing a slender body with feminine curves beneath.

Heat that had nothing to do with the physical exertion surged inside Olaf. Although he needed to carefully control each blow to make sure he didn’t hurt her, he couldn’t recall a fight that had given him a greater thrill. With each swing of the blade, his dark mood lifted.

Picking a spot where a mound of earth would soften her fall, he drove his opponent into a backward flight, until she tripped over a clump of grass and landed on her backside with a resounding thud and the rattle of chain mail. He pressed the tip of his sword against her throat at the base of her helm. “Don’t move,” he warned her.

Through the twin slits in her visor, he could see her eyes widen, but the light was too faint for him to see the color. Something dark. His own eyes were pale green, like the first leaves of spring. He resisted the urge to lean in for a closer look, brushing away the question that had crept unbidden into his mind. What did it matter to him what color her eyes were? His journey to the ends of the earth was not about finding a woman to stand by his side, or even just to lie next to him at night. It was about gaining lands and serving his king.