Ransom My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

clientele seemed rough, though not unmanageable. Sucking the foamy head from a tankard of ale placed before him, Peter leaned back in his chair and prepared to be pampered.
    Hugo, however, did not relax. Well-used to battle, he knew that one trick of the enemy was to lull one’s foes into a false sense of security, then attack. Sipping the brew the innkeeper had pressed upon him, he grudgingly admitted to himself that it was, truly, the best ale he’d had in ages, but his eyes never left the faces of the people seated around him, nor did they stray far from the door.
    That was how he happened to see the creature who appeared on the threshold just moments after their arrival. At first he took the small figure for that of a young boy’s. Surely no woman would be immodest enough to don a pair of form-fitting leather chausses. But that’s precisely, he soon realized, what it was. A woman, and a young one at that, with a face like an angel and a mop of red hair that had been tied back in a messy braid that swung past an amazingly narrow waist, down to an equally amazing heart-shaped backside, readily visible thanks to the slim-fitting chausses. No wimple for this lass, or bliaut, either. She wore a white lawn shirt that was hardly opaque, and slung across her back was, of all things, a short bow and battered quiver.
    If anyone else was surprised at this apparition, he gave no sign. In fact, the innkeeper greeted her as easily as one might a sister, casually offering her a stool and handing her a tankard of ale. And indeed, the sight of this comely—one could easily say beautiful—woman in boyish garb caused no more comment than a few laconic how-d’ye-dos. Glancing at Peter, Hugo realized that hissquire, at least, was appropriately appreciative of this auburntressed vision.
    â€œSlay me,” the boy breathed, gazing over the rim of his tankard. “But that’s a maiden .”
    â€œAnd an uncommon fair one, at that.” Hugo shook his head, relieved that Peter was as shocked as he was. Ten years ago, when he’d left England, young women did not traipse about the countryside in men’s clothing, and certainly did not frequent hostelries unaccompanied. So things hadn’t changed around here as drastically as Hugo had at first thought.
    The girl, then, must be a local eccentric, her odd ways accepted because they were familiar. Perhaps she was, in some way, related to the innkeeper. The two were engaged in easy conversation that seemed to be centered around the good fortune of someone named Robert. After a moment or two, the proprietor pointed to Hugo and said something in a hushed voce that caused the girl to turn her head in Hugo’s direction.
    He suddenly found himself raked by a gaze so piercing that, incredibly, he felt his cheeks warming. Women in Acre, though they might have shaved their privates, were too modest to look a strange man in the eye, and he was unused to such direct scrutiny. Lucky for him his thick blond beard hid his blushing cheeks.
    As quickly as he was pointed out he was dismissed, the girl’s restless gaze moving away from him and toward Peter, who choked on his mouthful of beer when he noticed the direction of the girl’s look. Then the damned innkeeper was approaching, wanting to know if there was anything else he could get them.
    â€œNothing too good for our men fighting the good fight,” was how he put it, making it perfectly clear that he knew Hugo was back from the Holy War. “If there’s anything I can get you, anything at all, you just call out.”
    Catching the man’s arm before he could move away, Hugopulled him down so that the innkeeper’s ear was level with his lips. “Who,” he demanded in his deepest voice, the one that brooked no disobedience, “is the maid in the lad’s attire?”
    The innkeeper looked surprised. “Finn?” He glanced over at the girl, who fortunately was looking