Read Online Claimed by a Scottish Lord by Melody Thomas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melody Thomas
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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 taking her 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.
And a sudden memory of her childhood surfaced an impression that had stayed with her despite the years. It confused her for it was from a time before the abbey and the man in her memories was not the evil man her mother was running from but of one who had once set her upon a pony and told her that one day she would know how to ride like the wind.
As Rose galloped Lord Roxburghe‘s stallion through the high grass toward a crimson sunset, she no longer let herself worry if Mrs. Simpson was right about the wishing ring being dangerous. Tonight was a full moon.
By the time she returned to the abbey and reined in the stallion, her thick hair had unraveled from its plait, and streamed in windblown tangles to her waist.
Having given up on keeping the cocked hat on her head, she‘d shoved it in her knapsack miles ago. The thought of spending hours combing out her hair did not make her regret ridding herself of the hat. Some decisions were like that, she realized—like borrowing the stallion for a day.
Yet, a sudden chill went down her spine. The horse tossed his head. She rubbed her hand along his neck. ―What is it, boy?‖
She looked toward the abbey. The late-afternoon sun shone on its stone walls like a beacon of light—or a warning. The main keep tower, slightly higher than the abbey itself, also seemed to glimmer in the dying sunlight. For a bare fraction of a second, she held the stallion‘s restless pacing in check.
Friar Tucker lived and worked in the rooms that overlooked the fields. The curtains were opened.
The abbey had guests!
Chapter 4
“I refuse to listen to a holy man lie to me.‖
Ruark turned to face the man standing in front of the window. The curtains were partly drawn, but the sun had set and shadows obscured most of the room. One candle burned on the desk. Tucker was a tall man but not big, yet he had always seemed larger to Ruark. He still wore his
― 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 taking her 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.
And a sudden memory of her childhood surfaced an impression that had stayed with her despite the years. It confused her for it was from a time before the abbey and the man in her memories was not the evil man her mother was running from but of one who had once set her upon a pony and told her that one day she would know how to ride like the wind.
As Rose galloped Lord Roxburghe‘s stallion through the high grass toward a crimson sunset, she no longer let herself worry if Mrs. Simpson was right about the wishing ring being dangerous. Tonight was a full moon.
By the time she returned to the abbey and reined in the stallion, her thick hair had unraveled from its plait, and streamed in windblown tangles to her waist.
Having given up on keeping the cocked hat on her head, she‘d shoved it in her knapsack miles ago. The thought of spending hours combing out her hair did not make her regret ridding herself of the hat. Some decisions were like that, she realized—like borrowing the stallion for a day.
Yet, a sudden chill went down her spine. The horse tossed his head. She rubbed her hand along his neck. ―What is it, boy?‖
She looked toward the abbey. The late-afternoon sun shone on its stone walls like a beacon of light—or a warning. The main keep tower, slightly higher than the abbey itself, also seemed to glimmer in the dying sunlight. For a bare fraction of a second, she held the stallion‘s restless pacing in check.
Friar Tucker lived and worked in the rooms that overlooked the fields. The curtains were opened.
The abbey had guests!
Chapter 4
“I refuse to listen to a holy man lie to me.‖
Ruark turned to face the man standing in front of the window. The curtains were partly drawn, but the sun had set and shadows obscured most of the room. One candle burned on the desk. Tucker was a tall man but not big, yet he had always seemed larger to Ruark. He still wore his
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