Templar Knight, Forbidden Bride

Product Description A hardened, battleweary warrior, Reynaud has forgotten what it is to be in the company of a beautiful woman, to delight in her comfort and warmth.On his return to Granada, he is drawn to Leonor and senses that she could heal his hidden scars. She is set upon a dangerous path, a path that they travel together, becoming closer every dayevery night. But such forbidden passion may be their undoing. About the Author Lynna Banning combines a lifelong love of history and literature into a satisfying career as a writer. In the past she has worked as an editor and technical writer, and has taught English and journalism. An amateur pianist and harpsichordist, Lynna performs on psaltery, harp, and recorders with two medieval music groups and coaches ensembles in her spare time. She lives in Felton, in the Santa Cruz Mountains, with two cats and a very nervous canary. Excerpt. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Emirate of Granada, 1167 Reynaud brought his warhorse to a halt and leaned his weary body forwards, scanning the rocky hillside overlooking the River Darro. Below him spread the muddle of flatroofed houses and open courtyards that made up the Moorish quarter of the city. After twenty years, everything looked smaller than he remembered. He gazed down at the orange groves and almond orchards surrounding the towering stone walls, the whitewashed adobe buildings gleaming in the harsh afternoon sunlight, and felt his gut tighten. He was home. He clenched his teeth and deliberately brought his ragged breathing under control. Would he have returned did he not carry a secret message for the Emir Yusef? Perhaps. Granada was the only home he had ever known. But he had long been absent, and God knew he was much changed. Would he be welcomed by the Arab family that had raised him? Would they even recognise him after all these years? Far below, the muezzins thin voice rose in the call to evening prayer. The sun swelled into a bloody orange ball and dipped towards the hills in the west, spreading golden light over the rooftops, and Reynauds chest grew tight. How he had loved this city as a boy, loved the exotic, spicy smells wafting from kitchens, the Jews crowded bookstalls, the throb and hum of a busy Moorish kingdom. He had even grown to love the muezzins chant. He turned the grey stallion on to the sloping path, leaning back in his saddle as the descent steepened. By the time he reached the lightly guarded north gate, darkness shrouded him. The lone guard waved him through the city walls. The moment he rode through the gate he reined the horse to a stop and sat motionless, listening to the sounds of the place where he had grown up. Lute music drifted from a nearby courtyard, punctuated by the sound of someone singinga womans voice, low and rich, the words halfCatalan, halfArabic. He cocked his head, listening, and slowly inhaled the thick sweet scent of orange blossoms. A pain keen as a lance pierced his heart. Despite his Templar vows, he still ached for the sound of a womans voice, the comfort of a womans soft body. He thought he had forgotten loneliness, but beneath his white surcoat he was still a man, was he not? He shifted uneasily in the highbacked saddle. He had lost something during the long years of fighting, something he could not name. After a time it had mattered not who was responsible for the pile of mangled corpses behind every city gate. Death smelled the same for Christian and Saracen. A shadow danced against the whitewashed wall. He laid one hand on his sword hilt, studying the silent street of the shoemakers. Someone was following him. No one could predict how the Arabs of Granada would greet a Christian Templar knight in their midst. A thief would want the gold weighting his saddlebags. Reynaud would kill the man, and that would be that. But if it was not the gold he was aftercould someone know about the secret message he was carrying? He stepped t