Heart's Thief (Highland Bodyguards, Book 2) Read Online Free Page A

side a fortnight ago. But alas, Osborn hadn’t been ordered to wait for a response, so he’d delivered the message to Robert Sinclair and returned to the Lowlands before Colin had even laid eyes on him.
    Regardless, he was stuck with the man for what would no doubt be a very long fortnight. Ireland had never seemed so far away as it did now.
    Speak of the devil .
    Osborn came tromping down the inn’s stairs, his hands looped in his belt and an inexplicably easy grin on his face. Though the mop of brown hair on his head was still damp from their travels, he’d changed into a dry tunic and breeches.
    “Ah, there ye are, Colin!” he said loudly. A few of the other patrons lifted their heads at the intrusion.
    Osborn strode over and plunked himself down on a stool at Colin’s side. Rubbing his large, red-tipped nose with the back of his hand, he glanced around the room.
    “Quiet tonight, eh?”
    “Indeed,” Colin replied. It was all he could do to smooth the grimace from his face. Aye, his gentle, kindly prodding hadn’t worked to get Osborn to shut up, but at least he could avoid openly scowling at the man.
    “Ye’re wet as a dog, man! Are ye sure ye dinnae wish to change in our chamber? Surely ye have some dry clothes in that saddlebag of yers. I daresay ye’ll catch yer death sitting here in damp garments.”
    By God, even the man’s Lowland lilt grated on Colin’s nerves. He nodded, pressing his lips together to keep from snapping at the messenger.
    Clearly, Osborn didn’t notice the fact that Colin was barely holding on to his temper by a thread, for he went on.
    “I take it ye havenae done much traveling, based on the fact that ye are still sitting here in those soggy clothes. Heed my advice, laddie, for I am an expert of sorts. I’ve traveled all over Scotland in the service of King Robert the Bruce.” Osborn leaned in, rounding his beady eyes for effect. “And even into parts of England, though I dinnae like to brag about it.”
    “I’ve traveled a piece myself,” Colin managed through gritted teeth. “Ye neednae lecture me, friend.”
    The Bruce had thought it best not to alert Osborn to the fact that Colin was actually one of the King’s most trusted warriors. Colin now saw the wisdom in the Bruce’s withholding, for though there wasn’t a malicious bone in Osborn’s body, the less the man knew, the better. The messenger had only been told that the Bruce was sending Colin to assist his brother in Ireland. Colin might as well accompany Osborn, who was going there anyway with a missive from the King—or so he thought.
    “Oh, aye, ye’ve traveled from the Highlands, judging from that brogue of yers,” Osborn said with a wave of his hand. “But I have gleaned some of the finer skills over the years.”
    It was a finer skill, in need of careful gleaning, not to sit in wet clothes?
    Colin was saved from having to fake another neutral response, for just then, the innkeeper’s wife swung through the kitchen door with a mug of ale and a bowl of steaming stew. She beamed at Colin as she set the meal before him on the counter. He slipped on his practiced smile, meant especially to charm women.
    “Thank ye, madam. Ye are most kind.”
    The woman flushed and began to simper, but Osborn cut her off.
    “There ye are, wench! I’ve been sitting here for several minutes without any ale to wet my whistle or a bowl of stew to warm my belly. See to it now, if ye please.”
    The innkeeper’s wife’s smile faltered as she turned to Osborn. “Forgive me, milord,” she said icily, narrowing her eyes at him. “I was just seeing to yer friend, here.”
    She spun on her heels, giving Osborn her back before he could reprimand her again.
    Bloody hell, the man was as tactless as a fly in a cup of fine whisky.
    As usual, Osborn didn’t seem to notice the woman’s curtness. He began whistling softly, for apparently he felt that any and all silences must be filled.
    Colin took a long drag of ale. Was he losing