Free A Lily on the Heath 4 by Colleen Gleason Page A

close, his shadow loomed over her.
    Tabby swallowed hard. He was big and burly, and the scar made him appear even more forbidding. Fool! You should not have angered him! She gripped her knife more tightly and, cuddling the rabbit close in her skirt, rose. “Prithee, let me pass,” she said.
    “What do you have there?” he asked. Despite his demand, his voice was kind. Almost gentle. To her relief, he didn’t make a move toward her.
    She relaxed a little, but still held the knife behind her. “’Tis naught of interest to you, I trow.” Tabby edged to the side, hoping he would allow her to pass.
    “Are you injured?” asked the man suddenly. He stepped closer, now reaching toward her tunic.
    “Nay, ’tis not from me,” she replied, realizing blood from the rabbit had seeped through her linen clothing. “’Tis only the fault of you.” And now she moved her arm away to reveal the injured rabbit.  
    “’Sblood, what do you mean to do with that?” he said with amusement in his voice. “Verily, ’twould make a fine stew.”  
    “Nay,” she cried and stepped back. “’Tis because of you he is injured at all. Can you not leave the poor beast free of your violent hand?” Tabby edged further away.
    “Ah, miss, I meant it only as a jest,” he said, clearly taken aback by her violent response. “Have you never eaten rabbit stew?”
    “’Twas a sad jest,” she spat in return. She was no longer wary of the man, she was furious with him. How dare he say such a thing?
    He nodded gravely and rubbed his beard. “’Twas a sad jest indeed. Mayhap I have been in the company of men too long to have a care for what comes off my tongue.”
    “Then I pity your wife if you return to her with such unpleasant words about such a helpless creature,” Tabby told him. “Now, pray, allow me to pass. I mean to heal the mess you’ve made of this poor beast.”
    The man bent toward the grass, and when he straightened he was holding the arrow she’d pulled from the rabbit’s haunch. “’Tis a pity I must correct you,” he said, reaching into the quiver on his back. “For as you will see, should you care to look, ’tis not my arrow you withdrew from the creature.”
    Tabby hardly glanced at the two arrows he showed her: the broken one and the one from his supply. “Very well. ’T may not have been yours on this time, but it could well be in the future.”
    “Nay, miss. For I am a much better shot than whoever loosed that arrow,” he said. And for the first time, Tabby caught a glint of humor in his eyes.
    “And so you say. I doubt I should ever find out the truth of that statement or nay,” she told him, slipping her small dagger back into its sheath. “Good day, sir.”
    She’d walked hardly three steps away when he called after her. “What is your name, then, comely miss?”
    She hesitated, then flung an answer over her shoulder, “I am called Tabatha.” Her feet kept at a rapid pace, but somehow when she heard movement in the grass behind her, she wasn’t surprised he’d followed.
    “Truly, what do you intend to do with that mangled creature, Tabatha?” asked the man as he fell into step with her. His long legs took one pace for every two of her shorter ones. “Methinks there’s little hope for the wee beastie.”
    “If I cannot heal him, then at the least he will die in comfort and safety. Which is more than I could say for my papa, who died alone and on a field of battle.” Tabby’s eyes widened, for she couldn’t believe those words had spilled from her mouth. Was Lady Judith’s loose tongue now become contagious to her?
    “I’m very sorry for your papa,” her unwanted companion replied.  
    Tabby made a sound of dismissal and continued to walk at a fast pace. They’d reached the edge of the orchard now and there were others in view. She kept the still-trembling rabbit wrapped closely next to her, however, for she cared not to draw more attention to herself.  
    “Good day, O nameless