The Daring Heart (The Highland Heather and Hearts Scottish Romance Series) by Carmen Caine Page B

the ship about in the waves like a toy.
    At the captain’s insistence, Liselle remained below deck, huddled in her cabin as the ship heaved and rolled.
    Day upon miserable day passed as the incessant winds mercilessly pounded The Michael, each day an eternity in which she could do nothing more than groan as her stomach lurched and churned with the ship. And each night the snapping of the sails and creaking of the ship’s timbers made sleep impossible.
    Several times each day, Pascal poked his head through her door to mercilessly tease her about her green complexion. And on each occasion, she found his smug grin even more aggravating than before.
    The storm finally stopped, and she fell into the first deep sleep she had known since the voyage began. And when she woke once again, it was to find her cousin’s smirking face planted mere inches from hers.
    “You’ll never find Dolfin skulking below decks like this,” he observed with a careless shrug. “And I’m not finding him for you.” Straightening, he adjusted the red-velvet sleeve of his doublet and meticulously brushed imaginary lint from his gold-colored hose.
    Scowling, Liselle swung her feet over the edge of the bunk. “When have you ever done anything that wasn’t in your own best interests, Pascal?” she asked in a scathing tone.
    “Does anyone?” he queried philosophically, tossing his long, dark hair over his shoulder.
    She eyed him from head to toe and didn’t bother to reply.
    “Albany’s quite fascinated with you,” he drawled, raising a brow. “You should use that to your advantage.”
    Liselle snorted. “Why? I’ve already learnt all that I can from the man. He’s no longer useful to me. He scarcely knows Dolfin.” Picking up her mantle, she threw it about her shoulders and added, “Dolfin was looking for someone—someone he was certain would appear wherever Albany tarries. I believe we will find the old man in Fotheringhay.”
    “So you say.” Pascal yawned as if he found conversation with her tedious. “And I still doubt your reasoning.”
    “I care little what you think, dear cousin,” Liselle replied sweetly as she shoved him away from the door.
    Brushing past him, she strode down the narrow passage and up to the ship’s deck.
    The retreating storm hung low on the horizon, and the gulls rode the winds high above her head as she emerged from below, wincing in the bright light.
    As a sudden gust of cold, bitter wind tore through her garments, she scowled, “Will this journey ever end?”
    “Look there, bábia ,” Pascal’s lip curled into a superior smirk as he pointed behind her.
    Scowling at being called a fool, she turned to see a long dark ribbon of land painting the horizon.
    “ Inghilterra. England, ” Pascal murmured in her ear. “We’ve arrived.”
    They watched in silence as the land rose to fill the skyline. And soon they were sailing past the dramatic white cliffs of the Isle of Wight and heading inland up the river, past the reedy salt marshes to the sheltered port of Southampton.
    Eager to get off the boat and to leave the tempestuous winds and stormy waters behind her, Liselle followed Albany down the rough-hewn gangplank at the earliest possible moment after the ship dropped anchor.
    They were met by a red-haired, square-jawed man with a bushy beard and a small scar under his left eye. Grinning widely, he strode forward to soundly slap Albany’s back in greeting.
    “That is Archibald Douglas, the Fifth Earl of Angus,” Pascal softly informed Liselle. “A Red Douglas.”
    “Because of his hair?” Liselle whispered, her mouth twisting in wry humor.
    Pascal sent her a dark look. “Heed my words well, bábia! You must learn these clans if you wish to succeed!” He waited until she erased the smile upon her face before continuing. “The Clan Douglas is a great clan holding vast lands. The Black Douglases were named so for their dark deeds, and nigh on thirty years ago sided with the Yorkist kings of