"MacAllister - 04 - Midsummer's Knight" - читать интересную книгу автора (MacGregor Kinley)

Unfortunately, he knew.
It, like all ills of the earth, had come from a woman.
And not just any woman was she.
Like Eve with Adam, she had lured him into disaster against his will and his
common sense. When he should have run, he'd stayed, and now he would pay a steep
price for it.
His downfall had but one name.
Kenna.
Kenna with light brown hair and eyes that were golden brown and bright. She was
a small slip of a woman, rather plain in looks, but she held an inner beauty
that had enchanted him from the moment Simon had read her first letter.
Unfortunately, said letter hadn't been intended for him.
She'd written it to Stryder, the earl of Blackmoor, self-styled barbarian cur,
known to possess the wrath of Armageddon. When Stryder entered a room, renowned
warriors broke into a sweat lest they incur his notice.
Stryder who was every woman's fantasy.
Stryder who was the bane of Simon's existence. At least at this moment, because
the woman Simon loved was in love with Stryder, whose heart would never be
captured by a single maid.
At least not for any longer than a night or two.
Damn Stryder anyway for putting him in this position. But then if not for
Stryder and his prowess, Simon would never have met Kenna.
He would do anything for his lady.
"You said if I could find you a level-headed woman, you would marry her."
Stryder sputtered at that and looked at him as if he'd grown three heads. "Are
you mad?"
Aye, he was. Mad for a woman who had spilled her heart out to him as the one she
thought was destined to be her husband.
"If you meet with her, you will see. She would make a good wife to you."
Stryder cursed. "Simon, what were you thinking? You proposed on my behalf? How
could you do such a thing?"
Simon cringed at that. He'd been writing to Kenna for so long and signing the
letters as Ever Your Knight, S, that he had forgotten the one small fact that in
her mind the S stood for Stryder, not Simon.
He hadn't realized the mistake until her next letter had come to him. Instead of
her writing, My Dearest Warrior, she had penned, My Dearest Stryder.
The words had struck his heart like a blow as they'd reminded him all too
clearly of what he had done. Who she thought him to be.
He was such a fool.
"It just happened."
Stryder narrowed his eyes. "Nay, Simon. Foul weather just happens. Disaster just
happens." He glared meaningfully. "Death just happens. But people do not get
betrothed without design. You will get me out of this, or so help me I will have
your head and your bullocks."
Simon just looked at him. "Now there's an empty threat if I ever heard one. Calm
yourself, Stryder. Meet with her. She's not like other women. You will see."
Simon stepped forward and lowered his voice. "Besides, she knows of us."
"Everyone knows of us, Si, we happen to be rather famous—or infamous, as the
case may be."
"Nay," Simon said, giving him an arched look. "She knows of us." He spoke in an