Free The Bold Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) by Carmen Caine Page A

time, the room was filled with the laughter of the men at dice, and then a particularly loud protest caused heads to turn as one man good-naturedly accused his fellows of cheating.
    “And you’re a sore loser,” one man judged humorously.
    “Aye, but I’ve naught left to wager,” the man named Sean said. “And I must win!”
    “Ach, but ye do have something of value to offer,” one of the others disagreed with a glint of humor in his eye. “Let me dance with your sister, Christine, aye?”
    “Mayhap my hearing is rusty,” Sean said with a half-growl. “I dinna hear my wee sister’s name upon your lips, did I?”
    But the would-be suitor was not to be deterred. “She’s a lass of almost twenty,” the man replied. “And a bonny one, at that.”
    “Aye,” another man agreed. “With hair like honey and lips ripe for a kiss.”
    “Ye canna speak of her like that.” Sean’s voice took on a serious tone.
    Alec pushed abruptly away from the wall. “And what is it ye look for in a lass, Sean?” he asked, skillfully diverting the conversation to safer territory.
    “I only look for a warm, willing lass, with a generous heart,” Sean answered, his mood softening.
    “A warm, willing lass, but pink-cheeked and pleasing to the eye,” another man chimed in.
    “With the face of an angel,” said one more. “A face that can ensnare ye with a glance.”
    Merry’s lips twitched as she glanced at the men circled about the fire, their lips curved into silly grins. It was fair difficult to restrain herself from bursting out into laughter.
    “Aye, there’s much to appreciate in a lass,” Alec granted in a half-dreamy tone. “Slender ankles and delicate wrists. And the winsome curve of her neck, aye, lads? A generous rump, a sway in her hips, and teeth—”
    “Ach, teeth? Ye speak of a horse, not a lass!” Merry did burst with laughter then, unable to hold back any longer.
    “And what do ye fancy, Moridac?” Alec’s brows quirked in challenge.
    “’Tis simple enough,” she said with a distracted smile of her own. “A braw lad, soft of heart.”
    She didn’t speak the rest, but she thought it. Aye, she knew right well what her heart was telling her. She wanted a man with broad shoulders, long limbs, and eyes as blue as the sea. A man with a tortured soul she knew she could heal.
    It took her a moment to notice the shocked silence surrounding her.
    And then she realized her mistake.
    “A … lad?” Alec asked, clearing his throat.

Chapter Four – “You’re No Brother to Me”

    Moridac stood there, suffering a loss of words as Ewan watched impassively from the shadows.
    “Methinks the lad is a wee bit daft,” someone muttered.
    The youth gave an almost girlish giggle. “Aye, ‘tis what my wee sisters tell me they want in a lad,” he said, slurring his words somewhat in his haste. “’Tis what I pray I’ll become one day to hold the lass of my dreams.” He scanned the room before him as a look of shocked outrage belatedly suffused his face. “Ach, now, ye dinna think I was speaking for myself , did ye?”
    Most of the men appeared downright confused at this admission. A few of them were ill at ease, and Alec’s piercing green eyes narrowed into speculative slits.
    “But we asked ye what ye want, lad,” someone grunted. “Not what ye think a lass wants, aye?”
    “Aye, who can fathom what the lasses want. They’re peculiar creatures, they are,” another remarked.
    As the talk turned then to the mysteries of the female mind, Moridac withdrew from the conversation, settled back against the wall, and nervously nibbled at his nails.
    Ewan frowned and folded his arms.  He found the lad’s presence troublesome, and settling back himself, he regarded the lad from under hooded lashes.
    Since the moment he’d met him, he’d thought the lad would make a better lass. He was far too slender, too graceful, and his skin too soft. But, Sweet Mary, this evening, in the dim light of the burning