Call of the Wild Wind (Waterloo Heroes Book 2) by Sabrina York Read Free Book Online Page A

had not anticipated.
    However would she escape from this dilemma unscathed?
     
    It was a beautiful day for travel, Charles thought as he spurred Seneca into a trot. Now that he’d passed York and was into the countryside, it was even pleasanter. The woods were shadowed and cool and he loved the way the sun filtered through the leafy canopy. While his coach followed behind, he’d insisted on riding. A man could not be expected to spend a day like this in a cramped carriage.
    There was something about the feel of the sun on his face, the breeze in his hair that freed him from his dark thoughts, darker memories. They haunted him at times, the scenes from his past. From one day in June, to be specific. Sometimes he envied John, that he had been able to forget it all.
    And then…blast. Thoughts of John quickly heralded thoughts of Britannia Halsey, and ignited again that flare of regret. He had been sorely tempted to accede to her request and bring her with him to Wick, despite the fact that it would have destroyed his relationship with her father, which was a prosperous one.
    There was a part of him that would have done anything to spend more time with her.
    But it was a foolish part.
    A woman raised in the heart of London, a duke’s daughter, would have no interest in a Scottish laird. She would certainly never want to live in the wild reaches of Caithness County, so far from the glittering balls and soirees and excitement of Town. And Charles could never live in the south. His heart was in the Highlands.
    Aye, it was probably for the best that he’d left her where she belonged.
    She’d marry some London lord.
    He’d marry a Scottish lass.
    It was the way such things went.
    He made an attempt to banish that annoying prickle of remorse. He had no use for it. It was pointless, indeed.
    He rounded a corner on the road and slowed as the strangest scene played out before him—a mail coach surrounded by a huddle of naked men. There was another man there waving a pistol and bellowing at a boy.
    It took a second for the meaning to percolate in his brain.
    He’d been robbed on the King’s Road before—or at least an attempt had been made. One did not rob a member of the Scots Greys with impunity. There was little Charles deplored more than predators, unless it was the boredom of travel. This tawdry vignette was just what he needed to break the tedium of a long trip.
    With a grin, he pulled out his pistol, along with the saber he kept strapped to his saddle—because he liked the look of it. This was the first time since Waterloo that he’d felt a need for it, but it felt fine and familiar in his fist.
    “Ho, there,” he called as he approached.
    The scraggly man with the weapon whirled on him. He took in the sight of Charles on his grey, sword aloft, and his mouth dropped open. He shot a glance at the naked men he had been robbing, then, with an eep , charged into the woods.
    Charles frowned.
    Well, that was disappointing. He’d been hoping for a fist fight at the very least.
    No doubt the villain had already expunged his one shot and hadn’t thought to bring a second pistol. Hardly a surprise. These brigands were not career criminals. Most were veterans of the war who had come home to penury and turned to crime to survive.
    But still. A fist fight would have been stimulating.
    He dismounted next to the coach and smiled at the huddled men. Only partly because they were all completely naked and desperately attempting to cover their privates. His gaze flicked over their faces and stilled when it reached the boy.
    His heart gave a lurch.
    Though her eyes were down and she attempted to hide her face with her hat, he knew in an instant who it was.
    How could he not?
    His body recognized her, even before his mind did.
    Well hell.
    Britannia.
    Horror and fury coiled in his gut as he realized she’d cut her hair. Cut her hair. That beautiful, thick mane of sable curls that had featured so prominently in his imaginings.
    It was