Ransom My Heart Read Online Free PDF

the other way. “You mean Finnula? My brother, what owns an inn in Stephensgate down the road, is married to her sister. Everyone knows the Fair Finn.”
    As if to prove his point, an old crone who had been huddled by the hearth, in spite of the fine weather out of doors, got up and pulled on the sleeve of the girl’s white lawn shirt. With practiced grace, the maid called Finnula flipped the crone a mark, and the hag cackled happily as she caught it, and went back to the fire.
    â€œSee that?” the innkeeper said happily. “Like I said, everyone knows Finnula Crais, the miller’s daughter. Finest shot in Shropshire.”
    This was hardly a satisfactory answer, but Hugo handed the man a coin for it, just the same. Stumbling away, massaging his arm where Hugo had gripped it in his massive, ironlike fist, the innkeeper glanced down at the weight of the coin in his hand, and hesitated. It was a solid gold piece, the kind he hadn’t seen in…well, ever . Like a man in a daze, he passed a couple of laggards at a nearby table, nearly tripping over their outstretched legs as he went by. When one of roughly garbed yeoman laughed a rebuke, the innkeeper righted himself and apologized, showing them the coin. The two drunkards whistled appreciatively, but it was the girl, noticing the exchange, who swung her intensely direct gaze upon Hugo once more.
    Beneath the table, Peter kicked him.
    â€œLook at that,” the squire hissed. “That’s twice she’s looked this way. I think she likes me!”
    â€œGet up,” Hugo said woodenly. “We’re leaving.”
    â€œWhat? But we only just got here!”
    â€œWe’re leaving,” Hugo said again. “We’ve attracted enough attention to ourselves.”
    Grumbling, Peter shoved bits of bread and cheese into his pockets, then tossed back the remainder of his ale. Hugo flung a few coins on the table, not even bothering to look at the denomination, then picked up his cloak and began to stride from the room, willing himself not to glance in the girl’s direction again.
    But he got no farther than the threshold before a raspy voice called out, “Oh, sir? I’m believin’ ye’ve forgotten somethin’.”
    Hugo didn’t have to turn around. He’d heard the brief scuffle, and, assuming it was only the innkeeper diving for the coins he’d tossed upon the table, had ignored it. Clearly, however, it hadn’t been the Fox and Hare’s proprietor who’d been responsible for all that scuffling.
    Straightening, his eyes narrowing dangerously, Hugo laid a hand upon his sword hilt and said, still not turning around, “Let the lad go.”
    Behind him, the two drunken cutthroats chuckled. “Let ’im go, sir? Aye, we’ll let ’im go. Fer a price.”
    Sighing, Hugo turned. He was so tired of violence, so very sick of death. He didn’t want to kill the two village louts who had hold of his squire. Time past, he’d have slit their throats and laughed about it later. Not now. He had seen so much needless death during the Crusades that he could no longer kill so much as a moth without regret.
    But that was not to say he wouldn’t slit a throat if forced to.
    The two men who’d been lounging at the table nearest Hugo’s were on their feet, albeit unsteadily, and the bigger one had a heavy arm drape about young Peter’s neck. Peter, for his part, was struggling against the viselike grip; his boyish face had turned a rather unnatural shade of crimson. He had been caughtcompletely unawares, and for that would suffer both at the hands of these louts, and later, his master’s.
    â€œDon’t mind me, sir,” Peter choked, his thin hands wrapped around the burly arm that strangled him. “Go on, save yourself. I’m not worth it—”
    â€œBloody hell,” muttered Hugo, rolling his eyes.
    â€œDick,” cried the innkeeper,