Free Flight of the Earls by Michael K. Reynolds Page A

of the cart. They pulled back on the bridles and coaxed the horses to a standstill.
    Clare’s eyes were now wide with dread. She sought strength from Finn, but he appeared defeated.
    â€œWhat’s the hurry, old man?” The tinker gawked at him with dark, penetrating eyes, and flowing from his chin was a scraggly beard. “It appears you’ve forgotten the toll.”
    He brandished a long knife in one hand and stroked his facial hair with the other. “These are hard times. All of these fine animals in your possession and there are children without a clean bone to pick. What justice is in that?”
    â€œJust leave us be.” Finn’s lower lip quivered.
    The tinker sneered, his blackened teeth showing. “No. No sir. We won’t be leaving anyone be. We all deserve to eat.” His voice raised in anger. “Would you have us all starve?”
    The hair on Clare’s arm lifted as she realized the second man was creeping beside her. His ears sprouted wide from the sides of his head and there was a large gap in his teeth. He gaped at her with hunger.
    A chortle came from the bearded tinker. “It seems me brother Orin has taken a fancy to your daughter, old man. Or would she be your grandchild? Don’t worry, young miss. Ol’ Orin is not much of a talker, but they say he’s quite a fine kisser.”
    Clare felt her arm being touched, and she drew it back from Orin and glared at him in disgust. His fingers reached up to feel her hair. She heard a crack and he stumbled back with a squeal. A thin line of blood appeared on the side of his cheek. He put his hand to the wetness and red liquid flowed over his fingers.
    A shout was heard and Clare turned to see the bearded tinker dragging Finn off the wagon. In a moment, the old man was tossed to the ground, his whip tumbling out of his hand.
    Orin came around and both men pounced on Finn, kicking him as he tried in vain to block their blows with his arms.
    Clare leapt from the seat, screaming as she desperately attempted to pull them off of Finn, who had ceased fighting back. “Please stop. You’ll kill him.”
    She was flung and rolled painfully on the dirt. When she managed to get back up again, the tinkers departed to the rear of the wagon. The sound of the back latch opening, and the gate’s hinges creaking was followed by the heavy steps and snorting protests of the pigs. Clare crawled over to Finn and held him close.
    Relieved to feel his chest rising and falling, she took her handkerchief out from her dress pocket and wiped the blood and dirt from his face. His eyes opened slowly and he was disoriented.
    â€œKeep down,” Clare said quietly.
    From her position on the ground, Clare could see the legs of pigs moving away and toward the foliage. “Please, God. Make them go.”
    Suddenly, Orin appeared from around the wagon. Smudges of blood stained his cheek, contrasting eerily with his smile.
    Clare’s pulse throbbed and she gasped.
    The bearded tinker shouted from the trees, “Orin. Let’s go. We’ve got to get going.”
    Disappointment came over Orin’s face. He turned, looking over his shoulder once before disappearing behind the wagon. In a few minutes, the sounds of the pigs and the chatter of the tinkers could no longer be heard.
    Finn struggled to get to his feet and Clare gave him her hand in support. “Shouldn’t you lie down for a while?”
    â€œThey’ll be back for the mares,” he said. “And you.”
    Clare didn’t need any further motivation. She helped Finn climb back in the seat and wrapped her arm around him to make sure he wouldn’t topple. The old horses seemed anxious to leave, and without the heavy load behind them, they galloped ahead.
    A sudden concern came over Clare. Her pack! She leaned over into the back of the wagon and was relieved to see the bulge in the straw where it had been covered. In their haste, the thieves