Read Online Passion's Exile by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online

helpless animals. But such a bargain represented a commitment. It meant that they must see each other, speak to each other, daily. He couldn’t afford to form an alliance with her, no matter how small. Her presence was far too distracting.
    There was no question. He couldn’t agree to the bargain. Someone else could fetch eggs for her. She was a bonnie thing. With those dewy eyes and that sweet mouth, she could get any one of the men of the company to do the deed, ale or no ale.
    Certainly he, Blade the mercenary, wasn’t the man to agree to such an alliance. ‘Twas foolish. And irresponsible. And dangerous.
    “Aye, fine.”
    What devil put the words in his mouth, he didn’t know. But as soon as they left his tongue, the gratitude lighting her eyes sparked an ember deep inside him that he’d almost forgotten, one that had lain dormant for months.
    Her touch upon his arm was fleeting but potent. “Ye won’t regret your kindness, sir.”
    Blade doubted that. He already regretted it. He watched her whirl away in a swish of scarlet skirts and ebony tresses and cursed himself for a fool.
    Wilham strolled out of the woods, sniffing the air as he passed by the other pilgrims, waving the aroma of ale toward him with his hand, then confided to Blade, “Oat with a kiss o’ barley.” He flipped a penny into the air with his thumb, catching it again in his hand. “Shall we?”
    When Blade didn’t answer, Wilham stopped and inclined his head. “What is it? What’s happened?”
    Blade stared bleakly at the ground.
    “Blade?”
    He raised his eyes to glare at Wilham.
    “Holy Mother, Blade, what did I miss?”
    Blade clenched his jaw, then released it. “Nothin’,” he said. “Nothin’. Go buy yourself a pint.” He nodded toward the alehouse door. “Buy me one as well.” When Wilham had gone, he added in a mutter, “I’ll pour it o’er my witless head.”

CHAPTER 4
     
    “Are ye daft, lass? Consortin’ with his like. The man’s a felon!”
    Rose heard a Highland lilt in the spry old woman’s voice as she whispered in horror, hauling Rose aside rather familiarly by the elbow.
    Rose’s heart raced. But she wasn’t afraid. She was excited. She stole a glance backward. The felon’s friend, the cheery man with the dancing eyes and cropped hair, stood beside him now, making him look even more dark and dangerous in contrast. “He’s not so ferocious.”
    The woman snorted. “I ken men, lassie. That one? Pure trouble. Handsome as the devil and mean as a bear.”
    “A bear?” Rose’s mouth quirked up at that. How odd that the woman should mention bears. Long ago, when she’d first arrived at Fernie House, a bear-baiter had come to St. Andrews. All the children of the village had gathered about the great iron cage to peer at the fierce beast inside, though none dared venture too close.
    But fearless Rose had glimpsed the weariness in the bear’s eyes and the scars of too many battles, and she’d felt sorry for the poor creature. Pity had outweighed caution. While her maid’s back was turned and as the other children looked on in awe, she’d approached the cage and stuck her hand between the grate, stroking the bear’s coarse fur. For one brief moment, she’d sensed the animal relax, felt the warmth of its hide.
    Then, naturally, her maid had shrieked in horror, surprising the bear, and amidst its startled roar and the screams of the children, she’d barely snatched Rose from the bear’s swiping paw. Afterward, Rose had been scolded roundly by her maid and whipped soundly by her foster father. But she never forgot the excitement she’d experienced, petting the savage animal.
    ‘Twas how she felt now. A part of her shivered with fright at what she’d dared. But another part was exhilarated. She’d reached out, touched the beast, and come back safe.
    “I wonder what his name is,” Rose mused, her gaze drifting back to the man leaning against the alehouse wall, shadowed and pensive and silently