The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) Read Online Free

times, the ferryman appeared as if he wished to talk, but fortunately, there was too much wind to carry on any kind of conversation, and soon enough, they’d reached the opposite shore.
    Galloping along the road, she made it a point to avoid the castle of Eilean Donan. It was too risky. The lord and lady knew Ruan well. Instead, she nudged her horse away from the crack of the waves and seabirds floating on the wind, and cantered south toward England.
    * * *
    Fortune had favored her journey, and masquerading as a lad had been easier than she’d thought it would be. Her unusual height had certainly helped. After a few awkward attempts at speaking in a low voice, she’d given up trying to alter it. No one seemed to question her.
    She traveled quickly, and almost a fortnight from when she’d set out from Dunvegan, she arrived at the old Roman road in the borderlands, less than a day’s journey from Carlisle.
    With each passing mile, she met more travelers—an old man leading a string of pack-horses, several creaking caravans, and a company of English soldiers, but to her relief, they left her alone, apparently seeing her as a harmless, gangly youth, most likely a messenger, given her quick-footed stallion.
    And then finally, she was at Hadrian’s Wall, and reining Diabhul in, she folded her arms and surveyed the town spread out before her.
    Overlooking the River Eden, Castle Carlisle stood in the center of the city, a mighty fortress built to bring law and order to the perilous borderlands. Only, the castle itself had only become a cause for more conflict, with the English and the Scots taking turns at besieging it. At present, the castle belonged to the English, but there were still many a Scot to be found in the area—their allegiances carefully guarded.
    ‘Twas no small wonder the place was a smoldering fire, ready to burst into a raging inferno at any moment.
    Slowly, she rode through the town, eyeing the inns before selecting a small wattle-and-daub establishment sagging over the narrow lane at the southern edge of the town. Each floor jutted out over the last, and the entire building leaned precariously sideways, but the location was a superior one. From it, she could escape from town in a hurry, if the need arose.
    Seeing Diabhul settled, she pulled a few coins from her pouch and, smoothing her wrinkled shirt, ducked under the iron sign proclaiming the place to be called The Laughing Cockerel .
    It had been almost two weeks since she’d had a decent hot meal. She could indulge in that, at least.
    She’d avoid the bed later that night, however. As a lad, she’d be expected to share one with at least three other men. It was not a particularly appealing prospect. Instead, she’d sleep in the stables with Diabhul.
    The warmth of the inn was a pleasant change from riding in the cold rain and, slipping off her boots, she flexed and stretched her toes out to the fire.
    Around her, men and women chatted. She listened for a time, eating a few mouthfuls of mutton stew. But upon learning nothing of use, she put her damp boots back on and decided to survey the castle.
    She had to rescue Ewan. She’d thought of nothing else the entire journey from Skye.
    But, first she had to learn the exact circumstances of his confinement. She also hoped to find a trustworthy sort—a Scot preferably, who could point out to her those amongst the English guard who could be bribed. The chances of that were not good though, as the Scots who remained after the latest siege were none too keen to take unnecessary risk.
    Crossing the market square, her eyes fell upon the market cross.
    There, upon its base was nailed a parchment, and her heart stopped.
    Ach, she should have thought to come here sooner. ‘Twas likely a notice of pending executions.
    Filled with a sense of dread, she ran to the post and scanned the writing.
    It was, indeed, a list of those to be hanged at Hairibee the following evening, and with growing trepidation, she ran her