The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) by Carmen Caine Read Free Book Online Page A

amongst the men as they waited upon the lad’s answer.
    Moridac took a deep breath and his brown eyes began to flash. “Who hasna heard tales of Ewan MacLean?” he asked passionately. “There’s not a battle sung of in the Isles that doesna have some tidings of your heroic deeds.”
    “The Isles?” Ewan asked, seizing upon the word. “And what cause does a MacGregor of Glen Orchy, and a scrawny one at that, have to be wandering the Isles?”
    The lad drew his fine brows together in a scowl.
    But before he could reply, Alec interrupted mildly, “Interrogating the lad is hardly a fit reward for such a daring rescue, Ewan. Enough now, aye?”
    Ewan raised a brow as Alec tossed him a flagon of whisky. Catching it with an easy hand, he took a deep swig, before pitching it back.
    “Ye’ll have to forgive him, lad,” Alec continued with an easy laugh. “He’s been sore angry this past month.”
    “Aye, I can see,” Moridac replied in a slightly acid tone. He sent Ewan a piercing look from beneath his gathered brows.
    Ewan paused. There it was again. Something in the lad’s expression that gave him the uncomfortable feeling that he knew him much more than he claimed.
    “Aye, Ewan bears more than his full measure of sorrow,” Alec began in a storyteller’s voice. “Have ye heard the tale of the Battle of Lochmaben, when he—“
    But Ewan cut him short. “Enough,” he said, pressing his lips together to indicate the conversation was done. He didn’t relish hearing the tales of his so-called heroic deeds.
     They only revived dark memories of the screams of dying men.
    “And I suppose I owe ye enough to listen,” Alec said with a wide grin. “Ye saved my life more than once, even though ye spent the last month in a dungeon calling me an undisciplined sot over it.”
    “Can ye deny it?” Ewan asked shortly.
    “Nay, I canna deny it,” Alec agreed with an easy shrug. “’Twas my fault that we walked into the Cunningham’s trap. I’ll never live it down.”
    And then the sound of snapping twigs and voices caused them to turn as two more of Ewan’s men arrived.
    The men greeted one another with fond claps on the back, and as the newcomers offered the contents of the packs slung over their shoulders, an elderly gray-haired man known as Moris sought Ewan out.
    “Tidings, Ewan,” he said gruffly. “The call went out while we rotted in Carlisle’s dungeons. The crown prince himself is now in Stirling and he’s taken up arms against his father, the king.”
    This revelation was met by a somber silence.
    Stooping, Alec picked up the flagon and taking a long draught, wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “’The lion of Scotland shall be slain by one of his own’,” he intoned in a low voice.
    “That was the prophecy, was it not?” one of the men asked.
    “Aye, ‘twas the one that the king murdered his brother Mar over, years ago,” Moris replied. “And he slew the wrong man for it.”
    “Then ’tis war,” Ewan murmured bitterly. “The king truly is a coward and a fool of the highest order to let matters go this far and to fight his own son.”
    Several of the men spat in disrespectful agreement.
    Then Moris asked, “We ride to Stirling, my lord?”
    “Aye,” Ewan answered roughly.  Once he’d returned to Stirling, he’d be the first asked to lead the charge. And more men would die under his blade.
    Hauling himself to his feet, he moved away, but Alec caught hold of his plaid as he passed.
    “What is it?” the young man asked, his green eyes filled with concern.
    For as much trouble that Alec had caused him of late, Ewan loved the man as much as a brother. An aggravating brother, and as such, there was little he could hide from him.
    But Ewan didn’t wish to speak. Not yet.
    “There’s naught amiss,” he grated, clenching his jaw. “’Tis time we slept. Draw lots amongst yourselves and choose one that will stay behind to wait for the others. At dawn, the rest of us will ride hard for