Master Of Surrender by Karin Tabke Read Free Book Online

she could see the golden flash of his eyes and the stubborn set of his scarred jaw. His continued silence stymied her. It occurred to her then that this man was not one to change his mind once a decision was made. And whilst she was certainly no supporter of saving the enemy, she could not in good conscience allow a man to die when she knew her skills might give him a chance for continued life. She looked past the stubborn knight to the man he called Thorin and scrunched her brows. On closer inspection, it appeared…he had only one eye!
    He grinned at her stunned reaction and pulled his helmet from his head, then pushed back his cowl, exposing a full head of long golden hair. But what captivated her most was the contrast of his bronzed skin and the black leather patch that covered his right eye. A jagged scar ran from below the covering straight down his cheek to his jaw. His one good eye was a deep rich hazel color. The same crescent-shaped scar as his master’s marred his chin. He was as large as Rohan and carried the weight of his profession as effortlessly.
    Her gaze broke from his and touched on each of the knights standing behind him. As did their master, each one faced her unwavering, as if they had more right to be in the hall than she. She looked up to Rohan again, her gaze touching on the small half-moon scar on his chin, then back to the knights who stood closest. Several of them carried the same mark. And while many of les morts sported the black surcoat emblazoned with the gruesome skull, only the knights with the scarred chins bore the ones with the plunging bloody sword. These men were more than battle-scarred and battle-hardened warriors. A deep chill settled in her bones as her imagination ran rampant with vicious visions of these knights hacking away at her kinsmen on the bloody slopes of battle.
    The giant moaned, disturbing the eerie silence. Isabel gave Rohan her attention once more. “I can stem the flow of blood for only so long with the tourniquet. But after I cleanse the wound, I will only be able to stanch the blood of such a deep wound with a searing. ’Tis extreme, but thread will not hold. I must do it now.”
    “I do not trust women in general, wench, and Saxon women less. Be sure the blade does not slip.” He moved his hand to the hilt of his great sword. “Mark my words, my blade never misses her mark.”
    Isabel’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis no surprise to me, Norman. Your duke’s penchant for slaying women and children should only naturally fall to his knights.”
    Rohan grunted but did not deny her charge.
    She moved past him to go fetch the healing herbs. He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around to face him. “You would learn to ask permission to take leave of me, damsel.”
    Her hands fisted, her anger sparked at having to ask permission from this man in her own home to aid a man who when once he was up and about would no doubt kill more of her people. ’Twas not right! In her sweetest voice, Isabel asked, “May I have permission to go to the lady’s solar for the healing herbs?”
    By his nod he gave his permission. She sank into a deep curtsy and said, “You are too kind, sir knight.” Then she spun away and hurried up the stairs, only to have Rohan’s sharp command to his man infuriate her more.
    “Ioan! Escort the lady to her chamber.”
    Isabel hurried to her task, ignoring the hulking giant behind her. As she hurried back down the stairway, she noted that many of the knights had removed their helmets but continued to fondle the hilts of their swords and keep wary eyes cast about them. Rohan remained helmeted.
    Isabel settled her basket and linens by the roaring hearth. As she set about crushing herbs into a simmering cauldron of water, she looked up at the knight and asked, “How did you clog the chimney?”
    His lips drew back into a terse smile. “A well-placed arrow with a thick hide riding the head.”
    Isabel nodded and turned back to her chore. Once the