Free A Highland Knight to Remember (Highland Dynasty Book 3) by Amy Jarecki

fingers twitched, if only she could snatch the book from his hands and cradle it to her chest. She may never find romance for herself, but she certainly could live it through the text on the page. She’d read The Legend of King Arthur over and over until she could recite lengthy passages. “Please, can I start now?”
    “Very well.” He glanced around the tiny cell. “Perhaps you’ll be able to read if I rest it in your lap.” He opened the book to the first page then lifted Gyllis’s arms and placed them across her lap.
    Instantly she was transported by the mystical knight, Sir Gromer Somer Joure as he challenged King Arthur to discover what women desire most. Anxious to turn the page, her fingers twitched, her arm moved spasmodically and knocked the book from its perch.
    John slid it back in place, but kept it open to the page she’d already read.
    Grinding her teeth, Gyllis concentrated, focusing on the simple task of turning the page. When at last her feeble hand grasped the velum, her motion jerked, and the cursed book clattered to the stone floor. A cry caught in her throat. “Bless it, I am completely useless.”
    “I’ll fetch it.” He retrieved the book and again set it on her lap.
    Gyllis shook her head. “No. What use is it if I cannot turn the pages myself?” She looked at the ceiling and wailed. She couldn’t even clench her miserable fists. “My God, why has this happened to me? What did I do to deserve a life in purgatory?”
    John placed his hand on her arm. “There, there. You mustn’t fret.”
    “But I can do nothing without help.” A tear spilled down her cheek. “It would have been better if God had taken my life than to have left me paralyzed with no prospects of recovery.”
    “I wouldn’t say that. You’ve made progress.”
    “D-do you honestly believe that, John?” Uncontrollable sobs racked her body. It had been ages and ages since she fell ill—and she hated every moment of her confinement. “I am the most worthless lass who ever lived. I cannot even hold a miserable book. I’ll never walk again. I’ll never be courted by a dashing knight. I’ll never bear children.” She wiped her miserable nose on her shoulder because she couldn’t—possibly never would be able to—use a worthless kerchief. “I am nothing.”

Chapter Eight
     
     
    Sean couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Ardchattan Priory, but he was looking forward to the prospect of seeing John Campbell, the prior. After the untimely death of John and Duncan’s father, the younger son had left the Highland Enforcers to become a priest. Sean hated to see him go. He was a fine knight and a better friend.
    He raised the blackened iron knocker on the cloister gate and rapped it twice.
    Not long and a monk slid open the viewing panel. “Yes?”
    “Sean MacDougall here, Chieftain of Dunollie. I’ve come to meet the Lord of Lorn, has he arrived as of yet?”
    “Afraid not.” The monk moved to shut the screen.
    Sean thrust the hilt of his dirk into the opening before it closed. “Then perhaps I may have a word with the prior. John Campbell and I were boyhood friends.”
    A single eye peered through the gap. “I shall inquire if he is able to receive visitors.”
    The monk slid the panel closed. To Sean’s surprise, the hinges on the big black gate creaked. When the door opened, the monk gestured to a bench in the cloister, walled on one side, hedged by a row of trimmed holly on the other. “Wait here.”
    Sean sat as directed. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, folded his arms, whistled a tune and then he stood. Not one to be idle, he paced. Behind the hedge someone chuckled. A woman’s voice.
    He peered over the shrubbery but saw no one. Only a few steps from the courtyard entrance, he walked to the break in the hedge and peeked around. A woman wrapped in blankets sat on a bench directly opposite from where Sean had been sitting. She wore a plain white veil atop her head and was looking