Read Online Passion's Exile by Glynnis Campbell - Free Book Online Page A

menacing.
    “Ach! There’s a tale,” the woman volunteered, wiping ale froth from her pursed mouth. “I heard his companion call him by name.”
    “And?”
    The woman arched a grizzled brow. “Blade,” she confided, shuddering. “Blade! What ilk of a brute has a name like that?”
    Rose’s eyes were drawn to the dark felon again. Blade. A dangerous name for a dangerous man. Alone again, he stared somberly at the ground. She wondered where his thoughts drifted.
    “God’s hooks, dinna look at him!” the woman hissed.
    Rose ignored her. Blade. Such a cold, hard, unyielding name, like the flint in his eyes, like the strength in his hand. And yet, as with the bear, she sensed there was something tender beneath his hoary hide, if only she could reach out and touch it.
    “Ye may thank Matildis for guardin’ your virtue, lassie.” She extended a pudgy hand. “That’s my name. Call me Tildy.”
    “I’m Rose.”
    The woman’s fingers were rough, her grip strong, her hand worn from honest labor. The guild pin she wore on her ample breast marked her as a wool merchant, and her finely embroidered cote-hardie and bejeweled belt distinguished her as a successful one. She was short, squat, round. Her face was as rosy and wrinkled as a rotting apple, and her eyes sparked like pine boughs on the fire, full of life and wit and wisdom.
    “Well, wee Rose , ye’d best heed my words,” she warned, “lest some knave come along to pluck ye ere ye’ve bloomed .” She snorted at her own cleverness and gestured toward Rose’s cup. “Here, lassie, drink up. Ye’ve got a thirsty look about ye.”
    Thirsty? Aye, that she was. For ale and for adventure.
    But by the time the sun hung low and the pilgrims’ shadows stretched before them as long and thin as lances, Rose could scarcely plant one foot in front of the other. Her arm ached from transporting the falcon. Her lips were chafed and sore, and she could hardly keep her eyes open. How she longed to lay her head down upon a mossy bank somewhere, to get the sleep she so desperately needed. Her arm began to sink, and her eyelids flagged.
    She snapped awake instantly at the sudden drumming of horse hooves. Riders rapidly approached from behind them. Her pulse rushed through her ears, and dread sent a paralyzing shock along her spine.
    Bloody hell! What if ‘twas Gawter’s men?
    “Make way!” Father Peter called out. “Riders! Make way!”
    The pilgrims shuffled off to the side of the road, and Rose fell back, hoping to disappear in the deep shade of a sycamore. She turned away from the road, concealing Wink as best she could in the crook of her arm. Her heart throbbed almost painfully as she waited for the men to pass.
    But they didn’t pass, not at first. Instead, they stopped to exchange words with Father Peter. At one point, they drew so close that Rose could hear the squeak of tack and the horses’ huffing. One of the riders chuckled. His mount stamped upon the sod. The tension stretched inside her like a silken thread strained to its limit.
    And then, finally, they rode on. Rose, sick with worry, weak with relief, hazarded a glance at them as they left. They weren’t Gawter’s men. She shut her eyes tight and expelled a shuddering sigh.
    But just as she brought her falcon out and turned back toward the path, she felt his keen glare. Blade. Her breath froze in her throat. His eyes narrowed perceptively, and she faltered beneath his wordless accusation, blushing with guilt. Then his penetrating gaze left her to study the departing riders. She bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly certain Blade knew what she’d done and would reveal her crime at any moment, calling after the men to come collect her and escort her back to Averlaigh.
    But whatever suspicions he had, he kept them to himself. Sending her a puzzled frown, he lumbered back onto the road and rejoined the march.
    ‘Twas a long while before she breathed easily, but at least she no longer struggled to stay