Part 22 (2/2)
What Gossamyr wouldn't give to conjure a trace of glamour. Blight! Half a dozen mortal men should not prove any more difficult than a few large trolls.
Slapping an ax in the meat of his palm, the man cracked a brown grin. ”Two coins,” he said, and looked beyond her to the mace man.
”Three,” she heard from behind.
”I will give you ease, my lady!”
”Four, and you can hold her down,” called out from the crowd.
They were...bidding for her debauchery?
And the melee began. Shouts for five and six were matched by the man with the mace by ten sous. One promised a corn-fed fowl along with his coin.
What manner of vile creature were these people? Did they not revere their holy sisters? Was she not worth at least twenty gold pieces?
A glint of silver captured her notice. One of the women had handed a dagger to another liveried man and nodded. Do the deed.
A hand grasped her around the waist. Gossamyr lunged forward and spun out of the clench, grabbing the handle of an ax as the heel of the blade hit the man's palm. Using the wooden handle to steady herself, she kicked up and behind and caught the mace man in the jaw with her heel. Using surprise to her defense, she easily plucked away the ax and spun it in her fingers, landing the heavy heel of the steel blade in her palm. The metal did not burn. Bone. A twist of her wrist slapped the handle between the eyes of the scarred man.
Then, as if the floodgates had cleaved wide, all men poured in upon her. She feared no man in combat. It was the many, many blades and a.s.sorted weapons that would hamper her. Had s.h.i.+nn known she would encounter such opposition? The fetch had been strangely absent since pa.s.sing through the gates to Paris.
As quickly as it began, the heavens suddenly rumbled. Dust sifted down from the roof upon the heads of the men. Women screamed. Gossamyr ducked to avoid the swing of a kris dagger. While down, she beat a fist into the saggy-hosed crease of a knee, bringing down another man.
A soot-blackened beam creaked and fell into the center of the crowd- thunk-dispersing her attackers. Thatching and heavy field stones from the chimney began to shower the tavern. Not caring what was happening, Gossamyr used the distraction to escape.
Slipping through the melee, she reached the door. Ulrich gripped her hand and pulled her outside.
”What was that?”
”A rotting beam and a length of rope.”
”Well timed, Ulrich.” She leaped to embrace him, closing her eyes and squeezing him dearly.
”Someone has to look out for you, Sister.” He pushed her from him. Wonder brightened his eyes. ”How often is it the English are served a treat like a nun? You would have been ripped to shreds by those licentious beasts-and their women would have cheered them on.”
”You did not try to heed my entrance.”
”I was busy doing your bidding, hobbling the horse.”
A sneeze erupted and Gossamyr blindly followed her rescuer to the mule. He shoved her onto the saddle and mounted behind her. ”Where are we-achoo-headed?”
”Someplace new mortals won't stand out so conspicuously.”
”I cannot.”
”You must.” Ulrich pointed to a line of laundry strung between two buildings. ”What of that one? It is brown, simple yet stylish.”
”I require braies and a s.h.i.+rt or doublet.”
”Nay, my lady. There is not time for the spoiled princess to be choosy. A gown it must be. I see no light in the house. Let's to it.”
She reached to pull Ulrich back, but he scampered to the laundry line just ahead.
Searching the darkness, Gossamyr leaped from Fancy's side and joined him. Tall buildings leaned in on one another, blocking the sky and, pray, their antics.
Ulrich pulled a chemise and gown from the laundry line and offered it to her. ”Take it. It is less conspicuous than the underthings and rosary.” He shoved the gown into her arms and turned to pick over the other items on the line. ”So, a spoiled faery princess convinces her father to let her go off and save the world.”
”Faery.”
”Sorry, Faery. What was daddy thinking?”
”My appreciation for your rescue declines. Rapidly.” She studied the gown. More itchy, heavy wool. But the white chemise he tossed on top of the gown was a soft thin fabric.
”That goes on beneath,” he explained.
”I know that.” She almost made a snide face, but prevented it. The man did not deserve such treatment after saving her hide. And that hug. He'd made no comment. Best to leave that slip in propriety unmentioned. ”I could wear it alone-”
”Oh, no, it is an undergarment, Gossamyr.”
”To wear both would prove c.u.mbersome. Just the ugly piece then?”
”Very well. Go there, in the shadows behind that horse cart, and change.”
Momentary indecision held Gossamyr beneath the laundry line, holding the clothing to her chest. She could just tug on the clothes right here. Before the eyes of this man. Who she suspected desired her as much as she desired him.
”I know what you're thinking.”
She tilted her head. ”I wager you do not.”
”You think I don't know that women turn and gaze when I pa.s.s them by?” He smiled, revealing brilliance. ”It's the teeth, yes? Difficult for any sane female to overlook. You cannot decide whether to tease me with a display or to follow orders.”
”Tease you? You think very highly of yourself. Are all mortal men so...”
”c.o.c.ksure?”
”I don't think that is the word.” Now he'd completely gone and decided for her. No way would she display anything for this l.u.s.ty mortal. Not when he expected it. She turned and sauntered into the shadows. Sure of anonymity in the darkness, Gossamyr quickly pulled off the habit and tugged the brown fabric over her head.
Itchy and short. Gossamyr lifted a foot; her ankle was bared well above the k.n.o.bby bone. Should serve, until she spied a line with braies. Tugging at the snug fit about her arms, she skipped out from the shadows. A tug to the shoulders worked at the tight seams. Too small by far, this gown.
”Lovely,” Ulrich declared with a nod.
”Think you?”
”Why, yes.”
A stroke of the back of his finger across her cheek stirred a sudden s.h.i.+ver to her spine. Mortal touched! Gossamyr jerked away.
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