Against the Wind by Regan Walker

Author:Regan Walker
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2013-03-19T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

What a strange journey she’d been on, Kit reflected as she continued to sketch the ironworks. The White Horse Inn was her seventh home in only a few months, if she counted those where she’d spent only one night, and Pentridge was a far cry from the parlours of London. Yet here she was with a new husband who was charming, intelligent and handsome—and proficient with a pistol and knife. He was more than she’d ever thought to have, and she was becoming very attached to him. Still, he remained mysterious; now even more so. This morning and here at the ironworks she had sensed some tension hidden beneath his otherwise calm surface. He was worried, but about what?

As she watched him staring at the ironworks, his ebony hair blown by the breeze in casual abandon, her heart warmed. She would have to remember that pose to sketch him when they returned to the inn.

“Come, Kit,” he said as she finished her picture of the ironworks. “Let us return. I must see to a few things with John this afternoon. Perhaps tonight our proprietress can find us some wine for our dinner. I’m already weary of English ale.”

They returned to the White Horse, where John was waiting. He had news, and once she and Martin dismounted the two men started off with the horses toward the stables, their heads bent and speaking in whispered words to each other.

As she watched, Martin’s head jerked up and he turned from John to look down the road into the distance. Then Kit heard the shrieks and screams, and she followed Martin’s searching gaze to the end of the village.

Martin returned to her side and commanded, “Stay here, Kit.” Then he and John mounted the two horses and kicked them into a gallop.

Something of great magnitude was obviously happening, and Kit would not be left behind. She hurried down the road after them and arrived to see villagers gathered around a fenced paddock. Martin and John had left their horses and were at the fence surrounding the large enclosure, watching as a drama unfolded before them.

A crying woman stood at the railing, her eyes focused on a large red-brown bull with pointed horns standing in the middle of the pen, shaking its head up and down and pawing at the ground. Several feet in front of the agitated beast was a small child, whom Kit thought could not be more than two, walking on wobbly legs.

The village men stood debating what to do. “I ain’t going in there,” said one. “That bull already skewered young Harry this week.”

Martin didn’t hesitate. He shouted an order to John, and both leapt the railing and dropped into the enclosure. The village men took a step back, expressing amazement, and the bull raised his head. Kit rushed the fence to watch.

The child stopped walking and sat roughly on his bottom, only now aware of the two approaching men and the bull. He began to wail. The woman

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