Highland Wolf (Highland Brides) Read Online Free

brows could lower to a surprising degree. "What are you babbling about?"
    "I always sleep in the north room." Marrow belched again. "For luck."
    "Not here you don't. The north room's taken, and if y' wake up the Scot I'll toss you onto the street myself," he said, leaning forward aggressively.
    Marrow backed away, holding up a hand. "Did I say north?" he squeaked. "I meant..." He let his head wobble a bit as if the room had begun to spin. "This'll be ..." His head bobbled more violently. He staggered toward the bed. "Perfect," he said and crashed facefirst onto the mattress.
    For a moment the landlord stood watching him in silence, then, "Aye. It will," he said, and closed the door behind him.
     
    Roman made his way swiftly and silently through the night. Stopping in the shadow of a wattle-and-daub building, he held his breath and listened for anyone who might be following. There were no such noises, but that did not mean he was alone. A score of eyes had seen the jewels he kept in his sporran.
    Striding down the street again, Roman cursed himself for being a fool. It wasn't like him to become distracted. But there was something about the woman called Betty, something that drew him. Still, he knew better than to let a maid sway his concentration. Mayhap it was simply fatigue that had made him lose focus, for he was indeed weary. Bone weary. Firthport was not unlike other cities he knew. There was a desperation here, an undercurrent of evil that wore at him. But he would soon be returning home. He had but to stay the night, then deliver the necklace to Harrington in the morning. By the following evening he would be returning to the soothing peace of the Highlands.
    But first he must survive the night.
    The Queen's Head appeared through the mist. For just a moment Roman stopped to reconsider. Was there something sinister there, or was he seeing ghosts where there were none? Perhaps he should go to a different inn. But no. He made the decision quickly. The sooner he was out of sight of prying eyes the better.
    Herr Krahn opened the door at Roman's second knock. The narrow stairs up which he traveled seemed unduly steep. Roman opened the door and stepped heavily into his rented room. Fatigue washed over him like a tugging tide, but this night he would not sleep, for it was far too risky. No, tonight he would stay alert and guard the jewels.
     
    Midnight had long ago come and gone. Roman paced. The floor was cool beneath his bare feet. The bright red ceremonial tartan he had worn lay in a heap near the bed. Piled not far from it were his tunic and footwear. But for the amulet that hung from his neck and the sporran suspended from his shoulder, he was naked. Still, the air from the open window did little to revive him.
    He paced again, singing in Gaelic and trying to think—about David who needed him, the MacAulay who trusted him, Lady Fiona who believed in him.
    He would not fail her. The candle sputtered out. Darkness washed in, heavy and dank with fetid memories.
    He would not fail, he repeated. He was a Forbes—the son of Fiona and Leith. But he was not truly of Lady Fiona's blood. His steps slowed. The blood of Dermid flowed in his veins. Dermid! The man's face appeared like an old scar in his mind. Roman started, certain for a moment that he was there in the room with him. He heard his own childish whimper of fear. Or was the noise from some other source? He couldn't tell. For a moment he was thrown back in time to when he was young and helpless, alone in the world but for Dermid, a man who harbored evil, unspeakable secrets.
    He must escape. But... No. Roman shook his head. Dermid was dead. There was no danger here, and he was an adult with a sacred task to perform. He must not fail. The necklace must be given to Harrington. David MacAulay must be escorted back to his homeland.
    But how could he do that without sleep? The bed called to him. He had to sit for spell or surely he would fail. But he would not sleep. The straw