Free The Rope Dancer by Roberta Gellis

A flicker of regret passed through Telor as he remembered the brutal way he had refused her offer to couple with him. It would be hard to wipe that from her memory and make her willing to come to his bed. And then Telor repressed the idea sternly. What was he thinking! It would be monstrous to take advantage of the girl’s helplessness.
    “No,” Telor said, picking up the blankets, quite unaware of how long he had been staring at Carys. “I want to take them out and give them a few strokes with my cudgel to shake the fleas out. I would not sleep on the pallet the alewife offered and brought in clean straw, but—” Suddenly his voice faltered and a slight flush stained his cheeks. Then he walked rapidly away to get his quarterstaff, which had been leaning against the wall, but, as if to make up to her for what he had admitted, he flung over his shoulder, “It did not help much. I suppose the pests come right out of the walls.”
    Carys had stiffened warily when Telor stared at her without reply, but the wariness had passed into amusement at his first words. She felt a flash of disappointment and anger when she realized it was not for kindness that Telor had given her all three pallets; it seemed he had assumed that she would not mind the fleas or had so many already that a few more would not matter. But she could not remain angry. Now that she was clean, she realized how far down she had sunk in Ulric’s company from what she had been while Morgan managed their troupe. It had happened little by little, day by day, so that she had not noticed what she had become.
    Besides, she was amused by Telor’s thoughtless confession and his embarrassment over it. Obviously lying was not his greatest skill. A skillful liar like Morgan always remembered both dishonest acts and spoken untruths. In addition, what Telor had said seemed so much at odds with the way he had looked at her that Carys began to wonder whether he actually knew why he wanted to conceal the fact that she was a woman.
    “I am afraid these clothes do not make me look much like a boy,” she said to his rapidly retreating back.
    He paused and half turned. “Oh, well, we can stop on the road and attend to that. I will send Deri in to carry you out.”
    A devil of mischief entered Carys, and she laughed. “I think poor Deri can hardly carry himself. A man who sleeps the sun as high as he did must have good reason.” She paused to give Telor a chance to say he had forgotten Deri’s condition and offer to carry her himself, and when he did not but started on his way again, she said, “I do not need to be carried. I can come with you.” And hopped rapidly across the floor after him.
    Amazement flashed across Telor’s face, and then he laughed. “Of course, not having two feet to balance on should not mean much to a rope dancer. I had forgotten.”
    “Or having no feet at all,” Carys said as the braies slid down and she flipped over to walk on her hands. That hurt her sore palms, so she let herself down and sat to tuck the braies up more firmly while Telor stared.
    “Yes, and that is the reason that I prefer you be thought a boy,” he said, as she got up and they went into the yard toward a tree with a low bough. “You cannot work before you heal, so we cannot look for a troupe that will suit you at once. In any case, I have no time to spend hunting troupes of players just now. I must be at Castle Combe by evening tomorrow at the latest, for I am summoned to sing at the wedding of de Dunstanville’s eldest son.”
    Carys had kept pace with him easily and felt no surprise at the reason he gave for wanting her to look like a boy. As he hung one blanket over the low branch and struck it sharply, she cried eagerly, “A wedding! Then there will be several troupes of players there, and great weddings in castles last some time. I will be healed enough to dance for the guests before they go, and the other players will see me—”
    “No,” Telor said.
    Carys