Free Bones for Bread (The Scarlet Plumiere) by L.L. Muir Page A

and if the smell in the air was to be believed, there would be snow again tonight. She only hoped by the time it began to fall, she and Martin would be long gone from this place.
    She refused to believe he was not inside.
    All night she’d wavered between excited anticipation and anger at herself; thrilled by the hope of finding her brother after all, and angry she could not force her thoughts to quiet so she could get some sleep. She would need a clear head if there was fighting. If she were overly fatigued, she’d be no more effective than a drunken English lord.
    For the hundredth time she chided herself for not having the courage to face the trio and explain what she’d seen and show them the ransom note. But she could not change horses mid-stream. She would see her plan through, allow the gentlemen to believe immediate action was necessary. When all was said and done, she’d face the consequences. Consequences were not her greatest concern at the moment, however.
    The note had been securely attached to Ash’s finger, but what was her guarantee the note would be read?
    None.
    She wasn’t any cleverer than the dark man after all.
    Wrapping her cloak tighter around her legs, she reclined beneath the boughs of an aspen and resolved to imagine herself back in the Scottish Highlands, to listen to the rustle of the newborn leaves, and sleep.
    Sleep.
    Please, sleep.
    ~ ~ ~
    The gloaming was settling in with the lovely pink hues of sunset at her back. The wee forest surrounding her had blocked the sun for the past two hours. The truth came upon her slowly, like the stretching of the shadows. . .
    She must enter the keep alone.
    Though she was thirsty, she decided against drinking the last of her pouched wine, for she would need her wits about her if she was to talk her way through the door. After that, she was going to need a great deal of luck.
    First, she secured her horse. If she managed to find Martin and even get him out the door, they would need the beast quick to hand.
    Next, she tossed back her hood and twisted her mass of curls into knot and secured it to her crown, both to keep it out of the way once the fighting began, and to attempt a more alluring look for the role of a whore. Truth be told, she could not think of any other way to gain entrance. A respectable woman travelling alone would raise suspicions. A whore looking to earn a coin might well be expected to look for that coin wherever men gathered.
    Once she got inside, she would do whatever necessary to get her brother out intact and leave the worry over her soul for another day.
    A deep breath. Then another. Then she moved to the edge of the trees and looked beyond the crumbling wall to the path that ran alongside the miniature citadel and around to the front door. In spite of the chill air, she untied the laces at the top of her bodice, pushed the fabric off her shoulders and allowed her cloak to drape off her elbows. It would have to suffice.
    She set her first boot onto the short grasses that stretched between her hiding place and the path, but it was pulled back sharply when a hand came around her waist and another clamped firmly across her mouth. Neither of her feet touched the ground as she was whisked back into the trees.
    She held onto the arm that held her head against her assailant’s chest, but she did not struggle.
    She had no ken if a whore would struggle, and if the man were from inside the keep, she must act as expected. On the other hand, if he were one of the Englishmen come late to the party, she didn’t want to hurt the man. And judging the distance from the ground, it was the large one who carried her.
    Or perhaps the large man from the keep?
    Her blood ran cold with the unknowing.
    She was lowered to the ground and unfriendly faces surrounded her. But at least they were English faces she knew well enough.
    “Good evening, my dear,” said Harcourt.
    She gave him a small nod.
    “You’re bloody lucky we caught you,” the blond