Read Online The Emerald Swan by Jane Feather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jane Feather
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don’t stop screaming!” Gareth ran forward, catching her shoulders. “Speak to him calmly.”
“But he’s on fire,” she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks, her face white, her lips even whiter.
Gareth swung sideways, picked up the bucket by the pump, and hurled the contents over the screaming monkey. Then in almost the same movement he turned on the convulsed louts. He had his sword in one hand and with his other he was unbuckling his belt before anyone understood what was happening. Then he was in the middle of the group of ruffians, the flat of his sword swinging in one arc, his thick studded belt in another, and now the lads were screaming to rival the monkey, racing to escape this devil of vengeance and the agonizing cuts of steel and leather.
They were gone in a squealing, earsplitting scramble like so many stuck pigs and Gareth’s arms slowly ceased their windmill action. He rebuckled his sword belt, sheathed his weapon, and came over to Miranda, who, calmer now, had managed to catch the sodden Chip and removed the brand from his tail. She was cradling him in her arms as she examined his singed fur.
She raised her tear-stained face to Gareth and her eyes were brightly vengeful as she said with ringing triumph, “Oh, you really thrashed them! But I wish they hadn’t escaped so soon.”
Gareth, who could guess how much damage he’d inflicted in a rage more violent than any he’d experiencedin many a long year, thought they had probably escaped in the nick of time. But he said only, “How is he?”
“Just a little charred fur. He’s more terrified than anything. How could they do such a thing?” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I’m sorry I was stupid. I should have thought to throw the water … but I couldn’t think clearly.”
“No, that’s hardly surprising,” he said, reaching to brush a lock of hair, sticky with tears, from her cheek. “Bring him inside now.”
The monkey pushed his head out of the sheltering curve of Miranda’s arm and surveyed his rescuer with glittering eyes that Gareth would have sworn had tears in them. The monkey chattered softly, lifting one small scrawny hand toward the earl.
“He’s saying thank you,” Miranda interpreted and Gareth, for all his skepticism, was inclined to believe her. “He’ll always trust you. He’ll be your friend forever now,” she said.
“How lucky can I get?” Gareth murmured and was rewarded with a watery smile before she returned to soothing the still-quivering Chip. Her head was bent, her glowing hair parting on her nape to swing behind her ears. Gareth, in a manner rapidly becoming familiar, put a hand on her shoulder to urge her inside. Then he stood immobile, staring down at the pale slender column of her exposed neck. His hand moved from her upper arm to her neck, his fingers tracing the tiny silvery crescent mark tucked up against her hairline.
“How did you get this?”
“Get what?” She raised her head against the warmclasp of his fingers, twisting to look at him over her shoulder.
“This little crescent mark. It’s a scar of some kind.” He moved her head around again, bending her neck so he could look more closely. The blood was suddenly racing in his veins.
Miranda reached behind her neck, trying to feel what he was talking about. “I don’t know what it is. I’ve never seen it … not having eyes in the back of my head,” she added with a tiny laugh that did nothing to disguise her sudden unease. She could feel his tension in the fingers on her neck and she began to have the unpleasant sensation that, all unknowing, she had been carrying some deforming stigma around with her all her life.
“You don’t recall ever cutting your neck, falling perhaps?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Whatever it is must be a part of my skin. Is it very nasty-looking?” She tried to sound indifferent, casual, but there was a residual quiver to her voice.
“Not in the least,” he said swiftly. “It’s
“But he’s on fire,” she cried, tears pouring down her cheeks, her face white, her lips even whiter.
Gareth swung sideways, picked up the bucket by the pump, and hurled the contents over the screaming monkey. Then in almost the same movement he turned on the convulsed louts. He had his sword in one hand and with his other he was unbuckling his belt before anyone understood what was happening. Then he was in the middle of the group of ruffians, the flat of his sword swinging in one arc, his thick studded belt in another, and now the lads were screaming to rival the monkey, racing to escape this devil of vengeance and the agonizing cuts of steel and leather.
They were gone in a squealing, earsplitting scramble like so many stuck pigs and Gareth’s arms slowly ceased their windmill action. He rebuckled his sword belt, sheathed his weapon, and came over to Miranda, who, calmer now, had managed to catch the sodden Chip and removed the brand from his tail. She was cradling him in her arms as she examined his singed fur.
She raised her tear-stained face to Gareth and her eyes were brightly vengeful as she said with ringing triumph, “Oh, you really thrashed them! But I wish they hadn’t escaped so soon.”
Gareth, who could guess how much damage he’d inflicted in a rage more violent than any he’d experiencedin many a long year, thought they had probably escaped in the nick of time. But he said only, “How is he?”
“Just a little charred fur. He’s more terrified than anything. How could they do such a thing?” Her eyes filled with tears again. “I’m sorry I was stupid. I should have thought to throw the water … but I couldn’t think clearly.”
“No, that’s hardly surprising,” he said, reaching to brush a lock of hair, sticky with tears, from her cheek. “Bring him inside now.”
The monkey pushed his head out of the sheltering curve of Miranda’s arm and surveyed his rescuer with glittering eyes that Gareth would have sworn had tears in them. The monkey chattered softly, lifting one small scrawny hand toward the earl.
“He’s saying thank you,” Miranda interpreted and Gareth, for all his skepticism, was inclined to believe her. “He’ll always trust you. He’ll be your friend forever now,” she said.
“How lucky can I get?” Gareth murmured and was rewarded with a watery smile before she returned to soothing the still-quivering Chip. Her head was bent, her glowing hair parting on her nape to swing behind her ears. Gareth, in a manner rapidly becoming familiar, put a hand on her shoulder to urge her inside. Then he stood immobile, staring down at the pale slender column of her exposed neck. His hand moved from her upper arm to her neck, his fingers tracing the tiny silvery crescent mark tucked up against her hairline.
“How did you get this?”
“Get what?” She raised her head against the warmclasp of his fingers, twisting to look at him over her shoulder.
“This little crescent mark. It’s a scar of some kind.” He moved her head around again, bending her neck so he could look more closely. The blood was suddenly racing in his veins.
Miranda reached behind her neck, trying to feel what he was talking about. “I don’t know what it is. I’ve never seen it … not having eyes in the back of my head,” she added with a tiny laugh that did nothing to disguise her sudden unease. She could feel his tension in the fingers on her neck and she began to have the unpleasant sensation that, all unknowing, she had been carrying some deforming stigma around with her all her life.
“You don’t recall ever cutting your neck, falling perhaps?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Whatever it is must be a part of my skin. Is it very nasty-looking?” She tried to sound indifferent, casual, but there was a residual quiver to her voice.
“Not in the least,” he said swiftly. “It’s
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