Ransom My Heart Read Online Free Page B

him a bale of sweet-smelling hay and his cloak, and he was most comfortable.
    Of course, Peter, his squire, used to the comforts of London, where Hugo had acquired him upon learning of the demise of the comrade-at-arms who’d sired him, complained bitterly about this ill treatment, feeling that each night spent beneath the open sky was a personal affront. Used to the crowded and foggy streets of London, the boy was frightened of the dark English countryside, terrified that they might be set upon by wolves—or worse, highwaymen—at any given moment. Recognizing his complaints for what they were, fear somewhat inadequately masked with insolence, Hugo put up with them, but felt the moment was soon coming when he’d give the boy the cuffing he so desperately needed.
    They were, by his estimates, two days from Stephensgate when he felt they might risk stopping in the small village of Leesbury for supplies. He was not concerned for himself so much as for his mount, Skinner, a well-trained destrier who had been with him through thick and thin, and deserved better than grass day in and day out. Still, Hugo had to admit to a certain longing for good English bread and cheese, all washed down by that glorious beverage of which he’d had so little in Jerusalem: beer. And there was no other way to acquire oats and beer than to venture into a town.
    Peter was beside himself with glee at the prospect of returning to “civilization,” as he called it, though when he actually caught a glimpse of Leesbury, Hugo sincerely doubted he’d be impressed. After instructing his squire firmly that he was not to refer to Hugo as “my lord” in public, Hugo guided his exceptionally small entourage through the village gates and to the first establishment he saw that looked somewhat respectable.
    Instructing the stable boy that his mounts were to get the finest oats available, and slipping a gold coin into the lad’s hand to ensure it, Hugo nodded to Peter, and the two of them entered the Fox and Hare. At six and half feet tall, Hugo was an abnormally large man, and he not only had to duck his head upon passing the threshold, but turn his broad shoulders to one side in order to squeeze his bulk through the narrow doorway. His presence, however formidable, caused barely a stir with the besotted clientele inside, many of whom looked as if they, too, had spent a few nights out of doors.
    With the owner of the establishment, however, it was quite a different story. Hugo’s darkly tanned skin and heavily bearded face gave away the fact that he’d been in the Holy Land, and as the proprietor of the Fox and Hare knew well, no man returned from the Holy Land with empty pockets. Not relics of saints, or supposed shards of the Cross…no, religious icons held no interest for any sensible man whatsoever. It was the diamonds, the rubies, emeralds, sapphires, pearls, the gold and silver, the lapis and turquoise, the booty from Byzantium that one could almost smell on a man freshly returned from the Crusades that drew the owner of the establishment to Hugo’s side immediately.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir,” the portly innkeeper cried. “Won’t you sit yourself down at this table here and refresh yourself with a pot of me sister-in-law’s best ale?”
    â€œGladly,” Hugo replied, and indicated that Peter should sit at the table opposite him.
    Peter sank gratefully into the wooden chair, feeling that finally he was being treated as the squire of a rich and powerful earl ought to be treated. The proprietor’s fawning attention seemed to him only fitting, and he heartily dug into the fare that was placedbefore him, the thick loaf of freshly baked bread, the deliciously creamy, slightly biting cheeses, the crisp fruits, the steaming pots of stew. As he ate, he glanced around the crowded eatery, as his master had done when they first entered, but saw naught to cause undue alarm. In all, the