Hannah Howell Read Online Free Page A

Even if it was guessed that she had died in the heavy pursuit by Thurkettle’s men, her uncle would look innocent. What choice had he?
    “Well?” Revan pressed after letting her think it over for a moment. He was rather bemused by how clearly her changing thoughts reflected in her heart-shaped face. “Ye do have some wealth?”
    “A bit.” She was not sure why, but she was reluctant to tell him just how much she was worth.
    “Now, lass, Thurkettle wouldna trouble himself this much for only ‘a bit.’ ”
    “A few thousand gold riders, a wee bit of land.” To some people thirty could be a few, she told herself, defending her lie.
    “Well, ’tisna as much as I had expected but enough to rouse Thurkettle’s greed.”
    He sensed she had not told him the whole truth but decided not to press. The exact amount did not really matter as long as she accepted the truth. Although still not sure he could fully trust her, he did think she would now be less likely to try and run off. He took out his knife and neatly cut the bonds at her wrists, then resheathed his knife.
    “I am free?” She eyed him with mistrust, wondering if he planned some trick.
    “I think ye will gain little by running away.”
    “Aye, I believe ye may be right.” She stared at her wrists as she gently rubbed them to ease the slight chafing of her bonds. “I seem to have an excess of people trying to end my life.” She glanced at him. “I assume I had best not exclude you just yet.”
    “Ye assume correctly.”
    “Isna it a wee bit stupid to threaten me now that I am free?”
    Shrugging, he tested the porridge. It was ready to eat. “I dinna gain a thing by killing you.” He spooned some of the hearty if plain fare into a wooden bowl, then handed it to her, tossing a spoon on top. “Ye do exactly as I say, and ye will be fine. Thurkettle willna give ye the same chance.”
    Reluctantly admitting to herself that he was right, she tested the food. It was not her favorite fare, but as hungry as she was, it tasted good. However, she silently prayed that if they were going to hide out together for a while, there would be some variety in their menu. If she had to suffer porridge on a day-by-day basis, she was sure she would soon decide her murderous uncle was not so bad after all.
    Her life, she mused as she ate, had gone from bad to wretched in the blink of an eye. The only hope of improvement she had was to reach her father’s family. They would take care of Uncle Thurkettle. And—she glared at Revan—the kidnapping Sir Halyard as well. The problem was, they were many days’ ride away, and there was only Revan’s mount. Worse, she was not certain she could find her way to them unaided. The Comyns were not renowned travelers. It was said that her uncle Silvio Comyn could get lost climbing out of bed. It was an exaggeration, of course, but the truth was, she and her relatives did have a tendency to go the wrong way.
    She had only one real choice. Somehow she had to convince Revan that it was in his best interest to take her to them. Inwardly she sighed. Moses probably had an easier time parting the Red Sea. Revan had kidnapped her and threatened to cut her throat. He would not be eager to meet her kinsmen after that. Still, she decided it never hurt to try. She certainly could not get into any worse trouble.
    “Ye can cease all that plotting,” Revan murmured as he took her empty bowl.
    Startled from her thoughts, she frowned at him. “And who says I am plotting anything?”
    “That sly look that came over your face.” He casually sipped at his wine.
    “Sly look?” she muttered as she helped herself to another drink of his wine.
    “Now that ye are comfortable—”
    “As cozy as a rat in the meal.”
    “We shall talk about your uncle.”
    “What now? I should think we ken all we need to. He wants us dead. Now we ken why he is trying to put me to rest in the cold clay, and I dinna believe ye have yet explained why he wants to kill you.