My Fair Maiden by Del Robertson

Author:Del Robertson [Robertson, Del]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Romance
Publisher: Affinity Ebook Press NZ LTD
Published: 2013-09-30T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Four

I moaned and rolled over. My movement scattered the rushes spread about on the floor and I heard a rustling sound. Something mid-sized and fur-covered scurried across the room and into a hidey-hole in the wall. Beady eyes blinked and peered out at me from the shadows.

I braced my weight on the palms of my hands, fingers flexing into the dirt floor. A groan escaped my lips as I pushed myself up into a sitting position. My skull throbbed as if it would split open and when I placed a hand to my head, I felt matted blood. Still, I considered myself lucky. If the blacksmith hadn’t struck a glancing blow, I wouldn’t be feeling anything at all.

Sunlight streamed in through cracks in the daub walls and I recognized the interior as that of the blacksmith’s shop. My swords were sheathed in their twin harnesses and hanging from a peg on a wall. My knife and dagger rested on a workbench. Not that it did me any good if I couldn’t reach them. My wrists were manacled, heavy chain running from the cuffs to an iron ring fixed to the wall.

A door swung open and I held up both hands to shield my eyes from the bright sunlight. A set of boots crossed the threshold, their owner tripping on the uneven surface of the floor. A tray of food went flying and a pitcher of water went sailing as the lad fell forward.

I surged to my feet and rushed him. At five paces, the slack went out of my chain and I was jerked to a halt. I turned and grasped the chain in both hands and tugged as hard as I could. My boots slid, unable to find purchase on the rushes and I went down, hitting the packed dirt floor.

As I started to get up again, I saw the tip of a blade pointed at my nose. I looked up, recognizing the lad from the tavern. Bits of dirt, straw and food were stuck to his clothing and chin. His feathered cap was on his head, the plume crushed from his fall. He held his knife at arms’ length, using a double-handed grip. Both his hands and his knees were shaking profusely.

“Take another step and I’ll…I’ll cut you,” he said.

I held both my palms up as I slowly climbed to my feet. He shuffled his feet in the straw, but seemed to relax as he realized I had no weapon. I reached out and plucked his knife from his grasp.

Just as I turned the knife on its owner, something blotted out the sunlight in the room.

“Gerald, boy? You done feeding that—” Devon stopped, his big bulk blocking the doorway.

Damn. Spirits knew I could take the boy, even with both hands chained. The blacksmith, though, was something else entirely. I drew myself to an at-ease position.

Gerald took two quick steps forward and snatched his weapon out of my hand. He scurried across the floor, much like the mouse had done.

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