Ransom My Heart by Meg Cabot Read Free Book Online Page A

pair of footpads. Still, perhaps he’d learned from his mistake: When she’d followed him apace, she saw with approval that he steered clear of main thoroughfares.
    His cautiousness, however, would be his undoing, because by sticking to sheep trails instead of the road, he’d be drawn directly into her most heavily hunted territory, the hills surrounding Stephensgate, and in particular, the earl’s demesnes.
    When the tall man and his boy set off in such haste from Leesbury, they unknowingly picked up a third member to their party. Finnula followed at a discreet distance, keeping to the shelter of the trees and allowing a slack rein to her mount, an unremarkable-looking mare she’d had since childhood that was nevertheless as highly trained as any knight’s destrier. The horse, whom Finnula had named Violet in an unguarded moment of ten-year-old fancy, had learned to tread quietly over forest bracken and to stand as still as stone while her mistress was in pursuit of quarry, and also knew enough to amble back to the millhouse when Finnula sether in the right direction and whacked her on the rump. In all, the two made an awe-inspiring team, working together as well as any partners in crime.
    Finnula watched the pair of travelers with keen interest, taking in as many details about them as she could. The man, the one she sought, was carefully dressed to reveal as little as possible about himself. Like the thick, tawny beard that hid his features, the untrimmed cloak, shapeless tunic, and plain chausses revealed nothing about the size of the purse carried upon his belt. There was no disguising his size, however, which was impressive. Why, he was probably taller than Robert, who stood over six feet tall.
    The boy, however, hardly looked a challenge. Of medium height, he aped his better by overdressing in a velvet tunic and brightly colored hose. He, she thought, would definitely benefit from a treetop snare. The man, though. The man would require more finesse.
    Unlike many hunters she knew, it was the pursuit, not the kill, that Finnula most enjoyed. The game she shot, she shot because she knew of families without meat on their tables. The good Lord had seen fit to give her unerring aim and a steady arm, so she felt it her duty to see those less fortunate well-fed.
    But she didn’t enjoy killing, and did so only when strictly necessary. Stalking prey was much more to her tastes, and trapping it in her own nonlethal traps even more satisfying. That she invariably released the animals she trapped few people knew, and even fewer were aware of the number of animals that, finding them in the traps of others, she also set free. She particularly disliked the cruel metal traps that the earl’s woodsman set out to catch wolves, and whenever she encountered one, she quickly buried it where she knew old Tom would never find it again.
    But there was something to be said for the chase, for the stalking, and though she never would have admitted it to Mellana,Finnula thought there was a chance that she might just enjoy pursuing this particular quarry. How much more interesting to hunt an opponent of some intelligence, and not some dumb animal. Of course, he was a man, which automatically made him her intellectual inferior, since Finnula had never encountered a man whose wit rivaled her own—and that included her now-deceased husband. But still, it would be a challenge worthy of the Fair Finn, and it was with a happily thumping heart that she trailed him.
    But when it became apparent to Finnula that the stranger seemed to know the countryside and was heading toward Stephensgate, she realized with a sinking feeling what she was going to have to do. She was loath to try it, since the last time it had produced such dreadful consequences. But if she didn’t act soon, she’d lose her prey, and who knew when she’d find another so promising? She couldn’t let Mellana down, not after she’d