The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) by Carmen Caine Read Free Book Online
Authors: Carmen Caine
probably only believed in loyalty and honor.”
Ewan blinked.
There had been a time in his life that he had believed in loyalty and honor. He’d even believed that good would triumph over evil. But no more. Years of seeing the worst in men had left his heart colder than stone.
But there was something in the youth’s face that reminded him he hadn’t always thought that way. Something that threatened to unleash years of buried emotion.
‘Twas a startling thought.
Drawing back, he said stiffly, “The man wasna the loyal kind, lad. His heart was black. Enough of this. Ye saved my life and for that I’m grateful. ‘Twas no other way ye could have saved me.”
“Aye, and I dinna regret it, Ewan. But it doesna lessen the guilt,” Moridac whispered, dabbing his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.
The delicate gesture caught Ewan’s eye. Instinct almost lifted his hands to pull the youth close into an embrace of comfort.
Fortunately, sanity seized control seconds later.
“Breathe deep, lad,” he ordered crisply. “Such things happen. They just simply happen.” Then quickly rising to his feet, Ewan moved to join the others by the fire, asking himself under his breath, “Are ye bereft of all sense?”
Tossing a plaid under the shade of a tree, he lay back to wait for the arrival of the rest of his men. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen the sun. And for a time, he thought of nothing. He merely watched the leaves above outlined by the sky that gradually faded from blue to purple.
But as the shadows lengthened with the sinking sun, he finally sat up, resting his forearm on his knee.
Someone had gone hunting. The men were roasting meat--several large fish and a rabbit. Moridac turned the spit, his youthful face and his coal black hair aglow by the light of the fire. He was laughing with Alec, but his soulful brown eyes still held a sadness in them.
Curious, Ewan watched him from the shadows.
In the dim light, the lad seemed more a lass. Tall. Slender. And with full lips that made him wonder how long it had been since he’d kissed a woman.
There had been a time he'd enjoyed the glances of the lasses and stealing kisses in the summer sun. Before he’d been sent to battle. Defending kith and kin, he’d denied himself the softness of a woman and the joy of bairns. His relations with women had turned only into forgettable couplings as his inner demons rose to consume him. With the smell of death haunting his dreams, he had found it hard to find joy in anything. Even women.
Annoyed at the turn of his thoughts, he got up and joined the others around the fire. He sat there for a time, listening to their idle talk and on occasion, he caught Moridac studying him with an unusual intensity.
The third time, Ewan frowned and suddenly asked, “And where do ye hail from, Moridac?”
At once, the fireside conversation died as all eyes turned upon the lad.
Moridac cleared his throat and, glancing about almost nervously, replied, “I come from Glen Orchy, and I was on my way home from delivering a message to my kin when I heard there were good Scots unjustly imprisoned. I had to help ye.”
The words rang false to Ewan’s ears as the lad’s tone was even, flat, as if carefully rehearsed.
“There’s always good Scots rotting in Carlisle Dungeon,” Alec commented sourly.
This was greeted by a chorus of somber ‘aye’s’.
The conversation resumed and turned to other things, but it took only a few minutes before Ewan caught Moridac studying him once more.
Again, there was a flash of something in the lad’s eyes, something he thought he should recognize.
The thought gnawed. Finally, he asked in an abrupt tone, “Have we met afore, Moridac?”
The lad jerked a little, and his long lashes blinked rapidly. “Nay, I dinna think so,” he said.
Ewan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Then how did ye know ‘twas me in the dungeon? And how did ye know my name?”
Again silence fell
Ewan blinked.
There had been a time in his life that he had believed in loyalty and honor. He’d even believed that good would triumph over evil. But no more. Years of seeing the worst in men had left his heart colder than stone.
But there was something in the youth’s face that reminded him he hadn’t always thought that way. Something that threatened to unleash years of buried emotion.
‘Twas a startling thought.
Drawing back, he said stiffly, “The man wasna the loyal kind, lad. His heart was black. Enough of this. Ye saved my life and for that I’m grateful. ‘Twas no other way ye could have saved me.”
“Aye, and I dinna regret it, Ewan. But it doesna lessen the guilt,” Moridac whispered, dabbing his eyes with the corner of his sleeve.
The delicate gesture caught Ewan’s eye. Instinct almost lifted his hands to pull the youth close into an embrace of comfort.
Fortunately, sanity seized control seconds later.
“Breathe deep, lad,” he ordered crisply. “Such things happen. They just simply happen.” Then quickly rising to his feet, Ewan moved to join the others by the fire, asking himself under his breath, “Are ye bereft of all sense?”
Tossing a plaid under the shade of a tree, he lay back to wait for the arrival of the rest of his men. It had been nearly a month since he’d seen the sun. And for a time, he thought of nothing. He merely watched the leaves above outlined by the sky that gradually faded from blue to purple.
But as the shadows lengthened with the sinking sun, he finally sat up, resting his forearm on his knee.
Someone had gone hunting. The men were roasting meat--several large fish and a rabbit. Moridac turned the spit, his youthful face and his coal black hair aglow by the light of the fire. He was laughing with Alec, but his soulful brown eyes still held a sadness in them.
Curious, Ewan watched him from the shadows.
In the dim light, the lad seemed more a lass. Tall. Slender. And with full lips that made him wonder how long it had been since he’d kissed a woman.
There had been a time he'd enjoyed the glances of the lasses and stealing kisses in the summer sun. Before he’d been sent to battle. Defending kith and kin, he’d denied himself the softness of a woman and the joy of bairns. His relations with women had turned only into forgettable couplings as his inner demons rose to consume him. With the smell of death haunting his dreams, he had found it hard to find joy in anything. Even women.
Annoyed at the turn of his thoughts, he got up and joined the others around the fire. He sat there for a time, listening to their idle talk and on occasion, he caught Moridac studying him with an unusual intensity.
The third time, Ewan frowned and suddenly asked, “And where do ye hail from, Moridac?”
At once, the fireside conversation died as all eyes turned upon the lad.
Moridac cleared his throat and, glancing about almost nervously, replied, “I come from Glen Orchy, and I was on my way home from delivering a message to my kin when I heard there were good Scots unjustly imprisoned. I had to help ye.”
The words rang false to Ewan’s ears as the lad’s tone was even, flat, as if carefully rehearsed.
“There’s always good Scots rotting in Carlisle Dungeon,” Alec commented sourly.
This was greeted by a chorus of somber ‘aye’s’.
The conversation resumed and turned to other things, but it took only a few minutes before Ewan caught Moridac studying him once more.
Again, there was a flash of something in the lad’s eyes, something he thought he should recognize.
The thought gnawed. Finally, he asked in an abrupt tone, “Have we met afore, Moridac?”
The lad jerked a little, and his long lashes blinked rapidly. “Nay, I dinna think so,” he said.
Ewan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Then how did ye know ‘twas me in the dungeon? And how did ye know my name?”
Again silence fell
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