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

Stryder didn't wait for permission. He bolted toward the hall with the speed he
only used in battle, while pursuing someone he wished to ill…
"How odd," Kenna said as she watched her bethrothed speed away. "What do you
suppose got into him?"
Sin passed an amused look at Caledonia. "Common sense, no doubt."
Caledonia lightly struck him on the stomach. "Shame on you, Sin. Kenna might
think you're serious."
"I was." He sidestepped her next playful blow. "But not that Stryder should
avoid Kenna per se. More that he should run from any woman walking about with a
matrimonial loose."
Caledonia gasped in feigned indignation. "Oh, thank you so much. I never
realized I was such a vile cross for you to bear."
Kenna ignored her cousin's playful bantering with her husband. She'd learned the
day she met Lord Sin that he and Caledonia shared a deep, respectful love of
each other. The two of them lived to tease one another.
But that wasn't where her attention was focused. "Think you Stryder changed his
mind?"
Caledonia scoffed at the idea. "Nay, love. No doubt he had other duties more
pressing. I'm quite certain that he will return to your side as soon as he can."
She hoped so. The alternative wasn't a pleasant thought. She'd traveled so far
already just to see him, and in truth his cool reception cut her deeply.
Had she done something wrong?
Had he not meant the letters he had written to her?
Uncertain and fearful of what his reaction meant, Kenna excused herself and
headed for the castle.
She entered the mammoth donjon and made her way to the stone, curving stairs
that led to her chambers on an upper floor.
Surely she hadn't mistaken Lord Stryder's intent. Surely. Nervous, she made
straight away for her satchel on the desk by the window. She always stored her
most prized possessions inside the dark tanned skin.
Her letters.
She pulled out the one letter on top—the one she had secured with a special red
ribbon that matched the one she always wore in her hair. The one she had sent to
Stryder while he was in Germany. Her hands shaking from worry, she opened it and
sought verification.
As she read the elegant, flowing script, the familiar joy spread through her,
warming every inch of her body.
My dearest Kenna,The sun has set now and I find myself outside the town of
Frankfurt. The tournament went well today, but I am rather bored by the events,
by the crowd and most especially by the knights who recount their noble deeds.
I'm bored with much of late.
I miss England a great deal, but Scotland even more. Strange, isn't it? I've
only been to the Highlands once and then only briefly.
Yet when I read your words, I can feel the breath of the Scots winds on my skin,
remember the sweet smell of the air. The sound of your voice speaking to me.
I cherish the story of your learning experience in the kitchen. Like you, I had
no idea how easily one could burn down a larder, nor how hard it is to clean
soot from sandstone. I am only grateful that no one, least of all you, was hurt
and I'm sorry you have now been banished from the kitchens for eternity.
Further, I am glad that the cook has decided to let you eat again.