The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) Read Online Free PDF Page B

fine-featured face unfamiliar. His brown eyes were particularly large and even though he was tall, his build was slender—not in an awkward, gangly way, but in a long-legged, well-shaped one.
    Ewan lifted a single brow. 
    There was almost a feminine air about the lad, and he pitied him for it. Such lads were often the victims of jest.
    And then the youth in question’s lips parted. “Ewan? Ewan MacLean? ‘Tis ye, is it not?”
    Surprised, Ewan’s eyes widened as his men seated in the rank-smelling straw around him scrambled to their feet. The entire lot shouted orders at once.
    “Unlock the cell, lad!”
    “A highlander? With keys?”
    “Be hasty, ye daft fool!”
    “Silence!” Ewan thundered, pushing through them.
    They fell back, and he arrived at the cell door just as it swung open. In a moment, he was through, stepping into the dungeon’s narrow dank hallway.
    Free.
    He didn’t hesitate. Grabbing the keys from the overwhelmed youth, he tossed the ring to the prisoners in the next cell. The more escaped prisoners, the harder it would be for the English to catch any of them.
    And then grasping the lad’s forearm in an iron grip, Ewan questioned curtly, “Weapons? Did ye bring weapons?”
    The lad licked his lips and nodded a little, drawing a dirk from his boot.
    “And ye call that a weapon?” Alec snorted. “’Tis fit for a lass!”
    “’Twill have to do,” Ewan grunted, taking the dirk, but he did add, “Ye came ill-prepared, lad.”
    “A wee dirk? Just one wee blade?” the men grumbled around him.
    “Eh?” the lad’s mouth dropped open, floundering for words as the men filed out into the corridor.
    Ignoring them, Ewan eyed the steps winding up to where the guards lurked, partaking of wine.  “’Twill be simple enough to disarm them from the sound of it,” he predicted curtly. “‘Tis the guards on the ramparts we must evade to make good our escape—”
    “How many are ye?” the strange lad interrupted, his fine brows furrowed. “I’ve only the cart and horses for four—”
    “Four?” Ewan cut him off brusquely. “Nay, I’ve over a dozen good men here.”
    The lad’s brown eyes grew round. “But I’ve only the one cart and—”
    “I dinna know where ye hail from nor why ye’ve come to our aid, but ‘tis time for ye to stand down, lad,” Ewan cut him off again. His blue eyes swept him up and down. There wasn’t much muscle there. “Stay aback now, aye? Ye clearly canna hold your own in a fight. I’ll see ye safe.”
    The lad sputtered in protest, but Ewan brushed past him, and with a battle cry of Bàs no Beatha —Death or Life—he charged up the steps, brandishing the dirk.
    It wasn’t a fair fight. The guards had imbibed too much wine. They fell before even drawing their swords. And while half of Ewan’s men secured the tower, the others, now armed and fierce, ambushed the guards patrolling the ramparts.
    As the remaining prisoners welled up from the dungeon below, Ewan caught sight of the raven-haired lad that had unlocked their cell. The youth took one look at the blood on the floor and turned white.
    “Have a care,” Ewan advised, pulling him away from the bodies. They couldn’t afford the lad to faint. They had to make good their escape. “Where are the horses ye speak of?”
    The lad swallowed but managed a reply, “At the inn.”
    “Inn?” Ewan growled in annoyance. “And what good are they there?”
    To his surprise, color returned to the lad’s cheeks, and a spark of anger flashed in his eyes. “I had a plan, ye stubborn oaf!” he barked. “I paid good coin to sneak ye out in a cart. Aye, I had this planned right well—”
    “’Twasn’t well thought out enough,” Ewan judged callously, peering out of the door for any sign of archers.
    The lad burst out angrily. “Aren’t ye a wee bit of an ungrateful wretch now? Shouldna I be thanked for risking my life to save your thankless neck?”
    “Ach, but ye babble like a fishwife!” Ewan