The Border Hostage by Virginia Henley Read Free Book Online Page B

always keep a spare one. All I ask is that you think about it carefully before you do anything rash.”
    Raven felt someone playing footsies with her beneath the table and looked across at Christopher Dacre. He lowered one eyelid in a wink. “Do you have something in your eye?” she teased.
    “Yes … you,” Christopher murmured, not caring that her brother could hear their byplay. He turned to Heron and said low, “I want to be alone with Raven at the fair tomorrow. Would you be a good fellow and escort Beth Kennedy and your sister Lark?”
    Heron Carleton's gaze traveled down the table andcame to rest on the fair-haired young lady who was his second cousin. Beth must have felt his eyes on her, for suddenly she looked at him from beneath her lashes and blushed. “What's it worth to you?”
    Lowering his voice even further, Chris Dacre bargained, “I'll find us a couple of bedmates for later tonight.” When he saw Heron hesitate, he added an incentive. “Gypsy girls!”
    “Done!” Heron offered his hand with heartfelt gratitude, and they shook on it.
    Raven looked with curiosity from one to the other. “Did I hear you say ‘Gypsy girls’?”
    “Costumes. We were discussing costumes for the masquerade,” Chris Dacre lied smoothly.
    Heron quickly improvised, “Chris wagered me that none of the ladies would be daring enough to dress as a
    Gypsy.”
    Raven's wicked juices immediately began to bubble.
    Heath Kennedy, on the second morning of Carlisle Fair, once again rode over the acres, checking every horse that was being offered for sale. He dismounted to examine some mares he wouldn't mind owning that would make excellent dams, but perversely he wanted to get his own animals back.
    The day was warming up and Heath unfastened the neck of his leather jack, wondering if he was wasting his time in Carlisle. All of a sudden he spotted his stallion Blackadder. There was no mistaking the magnificent animal that had spent its life in the northern mountains guarding its herd of wild mares. Heath stopped dead in his tracks, legs spread wide, ready for a confrontation with whoever held his stallion's reins.
    Heath observed the tall, blond male with the aquiline nose and expensive English clothes, almost feeling sorry for the poor fool. Then his eyes widened in disbelief as hesaw that the son of a bitch was escorting Raven Carleton. When she saw him, Heath knew she was shocked by her swift intake of breath.
    “What is it, Raven?” her escort inquired.
    Raven blinked twice. “The roan,” she said quickly, “it is a beautiful riding horse.”
    “Let me buy it for you.” Dacre's glance moved from the horse to the dark Borderer who owned it. “How much for the roan?”
    “It's not for sale,” came the flat reply.
    “Oh, come now, everyone has his price,” Dacre said with great condescension.
    “Really? How much for the black?”
    “Three hundred pounds.”
    Dacre named the impossible price with such arrogance, Heath Kennedy wanted to slit his aristocratic English nose. Heath clenched his fists to stop himself from reaching for his knife. “Three hundred it is, if you'll throw in the woman.”
    Raven gasped in outrage.
    Dacre said, “You insolent swine, you need a damned good thrashing!” The stallion danced away at the angry tone, and Dacre suddenly found the black difficult to control.
    “When you find someone up to the job, I'll be ready and waiting,” Heath taunted.
    “Damn you both! I know a cockfight when I see one, and I have no stomach for them!” Raven's back, straight as a ramrod, showed her outrage as she walked off.
    Dacre suddenly found the dark Borderer so threatening, he felt a prickle of fear at the back of his neck. He reached for the only thing that would shield him. “Obviously, you don't know my name. It is
Dacre.”
    Heath was stunned, though the expression on his face hid it well.
Did Lord bloody Dacre order the murder of Ram Douglas?
It was entirely possible. It was Thomas Dacre who