Read Online The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) by Carmen Caine - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Carmen Caine
Tags: Romance, Historical Romance, Mafia, Medieval, Scottish, assassin, Highlands, scottish romances, scottish romance novels, godfather
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then abruptly walked away.
She watched him go with a scowl. Why was he lying to her?
And then as he leapt gracefully into his saddle and smoothed his black cloak, she suddenly recalled where she’d seen the farewell gesture before.
Several times, as a young girl, she had spied upon Orazio meeting secretly with the member of the Quattuor Gladiis that presided over their family. Just the title Quattuor Gladiis— the four swords — inspired fear. They were the four men who controlled the destiny of the Vindictam, and only they were allowed to know and speak with the Dominus Granditer , the Grand Master of them all—the one man who held the fate of everyone in the palm of his hand.
Her frown deepened.
Perhaps she was mistaken; it made little sense that Pascal should speak with one of the Quattuor Gladiis . Only the captains, the Magno Duce , such as Orazio, had that right. And although Pascal was a member of the powerful da Vilardino family, he was still her cousin. She would know if he were a Magno Duce .
She shook her head, perplexed, and then decided she must have misunderstood.
Pascal was far too young and arrogant for a member of the Quattuor Gladiis to speak with him and show him such respect as the gesture implied.
Deciding to brush the matter aside, she urged her horse forward, and then Archibald Douglas sounded his hunting horn and they left the abbey behind them.
For a time, they galloped along the river path, and then took a northerly road out of Southampton.
Albany and Douglas were both battle-hardened men with a purpose. Their pace was brisk, but Liselle found the ride exhilarating. And they rode hard each day, rarely stopping and speaking little as they headed north towards Fotheringhay as fast as their horses could carry them.
Far sooner than she’d expected, Liselle spied the high, thick walls and lofty towers of the formidable Fotheringhay Castle in the distance. And shortly after, they were clattering over the bridge spanning the River Nene and under the ancient stone gate to be met by a party of English nobles and a gray-haired grizzled man in a plaid that Liselle could only assume was the Black Douglas.
Maneuvering his gray gelding to her side, Pascal pointed with his chin. “The small one is the Duke of Gloucester,” he muttered disgustedly under his breath.
“And is that the Black Douglas?” she whispered the question.
“Then you do listen upon occasion, bábia ,” he observed with a smirk.
Liselle scowled at him, but then strangely, the fleeting image of him greeting the mysterious black-cloaked figure at the abbey crossed her mind.
“Ah, but I spoke too soon!” Pascal’s grating tones interrupted her thoughts. His fine nostrils flared. “Pay heed to my words! Must I ever remind you of your duties? Look to the English king’s brother, the fool giving Albany an army!”
Gritting her teeth at him, Liselle turned her gaze to Gloucester.
The expression on the man’s face was proud and fierce, resembling anything but a fool. He was a delicate man with almost feminine features, long dark hair, an arched nose, and thin lips. He stood hunched to one side, and it took her a moment to see that his spine was dramatically curved, lifting one shoulder noticeably higher than the other.
He must have sensed her eyes upon him, for he looked her way, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.
The man’s expression soured at once.
A little surprised by his response, Liselle bowed her head, but when she glanced up again, Gloucester had disappeared into the castle along with Albany and both Douglases, the Red and the Black.
“Strange,” Pascal commented in a snide tone. “Gloucester seems impervious to your charms. How amusing.” He began to chuckle softly under his breath.
Scowling, she dismounted, and leaving Pascal to his own designs, followed a chubby, rosy-cheeked maid to a small chamber in the northwest tower.
“There’s no lady present, my lady,” the maid informed her,
She watched him go with a scowl. Why was he lying to her?
And then as he leapt gracefully into his saddle and smoothed his black cloak, she suddenly recalled where she’d seen the farewell gesture before.
Several times, as a young girl, she had spied upon Orazio meeting secretly with the member of the Quattuor Gladiis that presided over their family. Just the title Quattuor Gladiis— the four swords — inspired fear. They were the four men who controlled the destiny of the Vindictam, and only they were allowed to know and speak with the Dominus Granditer , the Grand Master of them all—the one man who held the fate of everyone in the palm of his hand.
Her frown deepened.
Perhaps she was mistaken; it made little sense that Pascal should speak with one of the Quattuor Gladiis . Only the captains, the Magno Duce , such as Orazio, had that right. And although Pascal was a member of the powerful da Vilardino family, he was still her cousin. She would know if he were a Magno Duce .
She shook her head, perplexed, and then decided she must have misunderstood.
Pascal was far too young and arrogant for a member of the Quattuor Gladiis to speak with him and show him such respect as the gesture implied.
Deciding to brush the matter aside, she urged her horse forward, and then Archibald Douglas sounded his hunting horn and they left the abbey behind them.
For a time, they galloped along the river path, and then took a northerly road out of Southampton.
Albany and Douglas were both battle-hardened men with a purpose. Their pace was brisk, but Liselle found the ride exhilarating. And they rode hard each day, rarely stopping and speaking little as they headed north towards Fotheringhay as fast as their horses could carry them.
Far sooner than she’d expected, Liselle spied the high, thick walls and lofty towers of the formidable Fotheringhay Castle in the distance. And shortly after, they were clattering over the bridge spanning the River Nene and under the ancient stone gate to be met by a party of English nobles and a gray-haired grizzled man in a plaid that Liselle could only assume was the Black Douglas.
Maneuvering his gray gelding to her side, Pascal pointed with his chin. “The small one is the Duke of Gloucester,” he muttered disgustedly under his breath.
“And is that the Black Douglas?” she whispered the question.
“Then you do listen upon occasion, bábia ,” he observed with a smirk.
Liselle scowled at him, but then strangely, the fleeting image of him greeting the mysterious black-cloaked figure at the abbey crossed her mind.
“Ah, but I spoke too soon!” Pascal’s grating tones interrupted her thoughts. His fine nostrils flared. “Pay heed to my words! Must I ever remind you of your duties? Look to the English king’s brother, the fool giving Albany an army!”
Gritting her teeth at him, Liselle turned her gaze to Gloucester.
The expression on the man’s face was proud and fierce, resembling anything but a fool. He was a delicate man with almost feminine features, long dark hair, an arched nose, and thin lips. He stood hunched to one side, and it took her a moment to see that his spine was dramatically curved, lifting one shoulder noticeably higher than the other.
He must have sensed her eyes upon him, for he looked her way, and for a brief moment, their eyes met.
The man’s expression soured at once.
A little surprised by his response, Liselle bowed her head, but when she glanced up again, Gloucester had disappeared into the castle along with Albany and both Douglases, the Red and the Black.
“Strange,” Pascal commented in a snide tone. “Gloucester seems impervious to your charms. How amusing.” He began to chuckle softly under his breath.
Scowling, she dismounted, and leaving Pascal to his own designs, followed a chubby, rosy-cheeked maid to a small chamber in the northwest tower.
“There’s no lady present, my lady,” the maid informed her,
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