Free Runaway by Marie-Louise Jensen

the time to glance back. I raced around a corner only to find myself trapped in a dead end.
    I attempted to dodge my pursuer; as I ducked past him, his hand grasped my sleeve. I used the force of it to swing around and let fly a blow to his face. It was too late to stop by the time I realized that I did know the face, but it wasn’t either of the ones I’d feared.
    Even as my eyes widened in horror at the mistake I was making, my fist connected with his chin. I felt the pain of the blow through every bone in my hand and gasped. The young man released me and reeled back, clutching his jaw with an oath.
    I staggered away from him but didn’t flee. Instead, I nursed my bruised hand, watching him from a safe distance as I caught my breath, both wary and apologetic.
    ‘What are you chasing me for?’ I gasped.
    ‘There’s gratitude for you,’ said the young man, shaking his head as if to clear it. He bent over, panting and rubbing his jaw ruefully, his eyes on me. They were hazel; striking in his rather pale face. As he straightened up, I realized he was quite a bit taller than me. His face looked stern.
    ‘I sent you a message and the next thing I knew, the maid told me you were running off up the road. You are the lad they call Charlie, are you not?’
    ‘I am.’ I was still wary, watching him suspiciously, wondering what he wanted from me. Was I in some kind of trouble, more than I knew of?
    ‘Do you recognize me?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes. It was your stallion last night.’
    ‘That’s right,’ he nodded. ‘We met once before, didn’t we? On the road to London? You were with Mistress Martha.’
    I gave a wary nod, still wondering what he wanted. ‘Why were you chasing me?’ I asked again.
    ‘I’m clearly mad. I was impressed with your handling of my young horse. I was considering offering you work.’
    ‘You were?’ I could hear my voice was suddenly eager.
    A slight smile crossed the young man’s face. ‘They let you go from the John of Gaunt. Why was that?’
    I frowned. ‘You heard what Mr Phillips said.’
    ‘Yes, but I’d like to hear your version of it,’ he replied.
    ‘He didn’t like that I noticed a horse was injured before he did. And he didn’t think I worked fast enough.’
    ‘I see. Well, I know you worked for Mistress Martha while her boy was laid up. I know she was pleased with you, because I’ve seen her and spoken with her recently. I need a new personal groom. Mine is elderly and the work is too much for him; it’s time he had someone to start training up. I’ve rarely seen a lad who can handle horses like you showed me you can yesterday. Nor do I often see lads with that kind of courage. My horses take some handling. If you are honest and hard-working, I’m interested in giving you a chance.’
    I stared up at him. ‘Really?’ I managed to say at last.
    His eyes twinkled, making his face look less severe. ‘Really. How old are you?’
    ‘Thirteen,’ I said. It was safer to give him a younger age to explain why I wasn’t as strong as other boys.
    ‘Parents?’
    I shook my head.
    ‘Bailiffs or constables after you?’
    ‘No!’
    ‘Then why were you running off?’
    ‘You frightened me.’
    ‘Not in any trouble I should know about are you?’
    I shook my head vehemently. He definitely shouldn’t know anything about it. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong,’ I stated honestly.
    ‘What experience do you have?’ he asked me.
    ‘I’ve spent my life around horses. I can ride them, groom them, care for them when they’re sick, injured, or in foal.’
    ‘Can you care for their tack, their harnesses?’
    ‘I can.’
    ‘What about driving?’
    ‘No,’ I said regretfully.
    ‘That’s something we can address. I think we might suit,’ said the man. ‘You would be paid a shilling a week, after board, lodgings, and clothing have been subtracted. Will you come and work for me?’
    I grinned at him, struck by the absurdity of the situation. A few moments ago, I’d been