The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) Read Free

his breath. He’d never met a more righteous innkeeper; the man should have been a priest. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, lurching sideways in feigned drunkenness. After all, he had a reputation to uphold as the irresponsible, reckless Lord Gray.
    “Did ye see a lass run through here a wee bit ago?” he asked the innkeeper, slurring his speech and bracing himself unsteadily against the doorpost. “A green gown, I think she wore!”
    The innkeeper brushed back his gray hair which hung in straggly, limp strings, and his long face lengthened even more as he eyed Julian with rank disapproval. “No, my lord.”
    “Well then!” Julian blinked as if in surprise and stepped back, weaving a little before adding with a grin, “I’ll take any lass then ... or two. Can ye send a few to my chamber and more of that fine Frankish wine of yours, aye?”
    The frown on the man’s face deepened. “I run a respectable inn, my lord. I do not employ demoiselles of the kind you seek.”
    Julian gave a loud groan, but judging he was on the verge of losing Orazio’s trail, he heaved a disappointed sigh and stumbled towards the front door. He paused on the threshold a moment and grinned at the innkeeper who huffed in disgust, and then Julian stepped out into the cobblestoned street.
    Once out of the innkeeper’s sight, Julian dropped the act and set off in hot pursuit of Orazio and his companions.
    Shafts of morning sunlight fell in crisscross patterns through the narrow, crooked lanes as he hurried to the market square in the center of the town. It was still early, and most of the stalls were closed, but for a thick-lipped man with a bulging belly arranging baskets of mushrooms, and a lad with a face more fit for a lass, driving a flock of geese into a pen.
    At the edge of the market square, he caught sight of Orazio and the others striding determinedly towards a stone cottage with a walled courtyard and red-shuttered windows. Herbs grew in pots on the sills, and ivy covered the courtyard walls and half of the brown slate roof as well.
    Pausing before the cottage’s gate, Orazio peered over his shoulders in both directions.
    Quickly, Julian ducked into a nearby alleyway, inadvertently startling a flock of pigeons. He frowned as the birds fluttered to rest on the rooftop ridges of the narrow buildings flanking him. No doubt, Orazio would see and know he was being followed.
    Cursing under his breath, Julian waited longer than he liked before peering cautiously around the corner, just in time to see Orazio disappear behind the gate.
    Apparently, the man hadn’t suspected he’d been followed.
    Julian expelled a breath of relief, stretched, and glanced around.
    Already, there were more people on the street, and they were growing more numerous by the moment. As a cart rumbled by, Julian stepped out of the alleyway to casually weave through the square, approaching the stone cottage from the back. It was easy enough to scale the courtyard wall and peer inside the enclosure.
    There was a garden, and it was small, barely room enough for its single raised herb bed and several large clay pots. A tree grew near the smoke-stained sandstone wall of what appeared to be the cottage’s kitchen. Swinging his legs over the wall, he dropped lightly on his feet and swiftly darted to the nearest window.
    The soft murmur of voices met his ear, but he couldn’t make out any words. He was ready to move on when a loud laugh caught him by surprise.
    He would recognize that laugh anywhere.
    It was Albany.
    “… and I’ve been assured that ye are the finest spy in Christendom,” the Scottish prince was saying gruffly.
    Julian rolled his eyes in scorn. The fool had been misled. Orazio was an assassin, not a spy. And even if he were a spy, he was nothing akin to Le Marin .
    “Aye, the reason I’ve need for your particular kind of service is that I’m on my way to England and will need my own man to watch my back and to uncover what those