The road wound its way another mile around a shallow stream through a tunnel of trees. She followed the scent of cooking fish. The peddler’s gayly painted wagon filled with an assortment of wares and pots and pans dangling from the roof sat at the edge of the woods. Two horses chomping on the high grass raised their heads and watched her dismount before deciding she was no threat and returning to eating. She untied the two horses, encouraging them with athwackon the rump to run away.She tied the stallion reins to the wheel of the wagon and walked into the clearing.
The peddler and another man sat playing a game of dice over coins piled on a rock between them. She recognized the second man sitting with the mountebank as Geddes Graham even before he turned his head.
The peddler jumped to his feet. “Miss Rose,” the mountebank said, nervously wiping his greasy hands on his trousers.
He wore a checked waistcoat and greasy leather leggings, the same unwashed clothes she’d seen him wearing the last three times he’d come through Castleton, and for just a moment, she felt sorry for his circumstance, until she reminded herself that he’d cheated Jack of his coin.
“Mr. Rolf,” she said.
But it was Geddes whom she watched as his eyes widened a fraction on the stallion. The mountebank might be an opportunist and a cheat, but Geddes was a snake. Unlike most men Rose towered over, Geddes Graham made up for his lack of height in bulk.
“Why, if it isn’t our thorny Rose what come to visit us, Rolf,” Geddes said, resting his hand above the knife he wore on his hip like a shiny rapier sheathed in gold. “What brings ye to see the mountebank?”
The mountebank stepped eagerly forward. “Ye want a nostrum or other medicines for an ailment, Miss Rose?”
“Jack Lowell gave you a coin for a bonnet he did not receive. I want the coin back.”
Geddes snorted as he approached. “Jackie boy is a thievin’ scoundrel, Rose. That coin was no’ even his.”
“You are wrong. He earned that coin. And I want it back. Now.”
“Do ye hear that, Rolf? Our thorny Rose wants Jack’s coin back.”
The mountebank twisted his hands. “Now, ye can no’ be grudging any man an honest living, Miss Rose. Even someone as pretty as you—”
Geddes laughed. “Miss Rose, pretty? She’s as skinny as a fresh-hatched sardine, Rolf.” His leer raked the natty jacket that fell just to the top of her scuffed boots. “A man wants a woman beneath him who is no’ afraid of his touch. Look at her, Rolf. One day, she’ll be a shriveled old crone like ol’ Nessa wonderin’ why a real man would never have her.”
“I don’t see a real man standing in front of me, Geddes. I see an overgrown boy playing at being a man.”
Geddes’s eyes narrowed. He remained near enough that she smelled his fish breath. “Maybe you stole the coin the same place you stole that stud, Rose. How else would that brat get his hands on a coin?”
He made a move toward the stallion but she stepped into his path, startling him.
Rose slid the knife from its sheath on Geddes’s hip and, moving only her hand, inserted the blade between his legs, stopping him cold. “Careful, Geddes. I have never gelded a man. But if you move one inch nearer, I swear on my life, you do so at your own peril.”
“Bluidy hell, Rose,” he gasped.
“I mean what I say, Geddes.” She spoke to the mountebank without turning her attention from Geddes. “Mr. Rolf? I want that coin. Set it on the rock next to me, then move away.”
“Now,Rolf! Give her the boy’s coin. Can’t ye see she’s got a bloomin’ blade to me bollocks?”
The mountebank scurried to do as he’d been told. He put the coin on the rock then hurried to the clearing’s edge and stopped. Still holding the knife, Rose backed a step and scraped the coin from the rock. Without takingher eyes from Geddes, she slipped it into a small pocket inside her coat.
Rose narrowed her eyes on Greta Graham’s slovenly son as she backed toward the stallion. “The only reason you’re still in one piece is because I have a fondness for your mam. For some reason she loves you and I would not be the cause of her broken heart.”
“You ain’t no saint, Rose,” Geddes shouted as she stepped into the stirrups and reined the stallion around to face him. “One of these days you’ll regret you weren’t nicer to me.”
She threw the knife end over end into the ground between his boots. “But not today, Geddes.”
The horse sprang forward, clearing a fallen log and scattering the other horses. Behind her, the pair shouted obscenities but Geddes couldn’t catch her. She reached flat ground and finally allowed the stallion his head. The distance between them extended until she could no longer hear them.
She had no thought of returning to the abbey yet. She came on the old Roman road and cut through a flock of sheep, sending them scurrying in all directions. A farmer holding a scythe shouted at her, but even then she but waved at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Herring.”
“Are ye daft, girl?” he shouted. “You’ll break yer bluidy neck.”
Even wearing breeches and a cap with her braided hair tucked beneath, people recognized her. Today, she didn’t mind as she skirted the village another pair of miles and left the road, careful not to ride through the vegetable gardens. A warm breeze tugged at her clothes.
She felt as if she were riding Pegasus through the sky. Even while a part of her knew she should not have taken that horse, another part cherished the freedom.
