Free Wren (The Romany Epistles) by Rachel Rossano Page A

prizes to capture or kill.”
    “How many siblings?”
    “Eight other than myself.” She tucked the message deep into
a pocket.
    “Who was that from?”
    “An elder brother, most likely. So, what do you plan to do
about the enforcer?”
    I lowered my head and shrugged. “Pray and hope the Lord will
reveal a way for us to take.”
    When I finally did look up, she studied my face. Although I
couldn’t see her eyes on me, I could feel their steady scrutiny. “I will pray
as well,” she replied. Then in one fluid motion she rose to her feet.
Unaffected by the sheer drop three stories to the cobbled courtyard below, she
stepped from stone to stone to the rickety stairs and disappeared down them.
    How does she figure in all of this, Deus? She has come out
of nowhere like an answer to prayer, but which prayer? I lowered my head again,
rubbing my scalp with my fingertips. Please give us a clear indication soon.
     
     
Wren
    Two weeks passed without event. Then the rain came. It
started with a few drops, catching the nose and cheeks, speckling the dust with
dark splotches. We raced to get the last of the grain from the fields as we
prayed that the Lord would hold it off a few hours longer. In His grace, He
did.
    With the last of the grain under a tarp in the wagon behind
us, we stood just inside Farmer Hanor’s barn and watched the overburdened skies
unleash their load in a torrent.
    “Praise the Lord, we made it,” Arthus murmured, his voice
only slightly louder than the pounding of the rain.
    “Aye,” Svhen agreed.
    “We are still going to have to walk home in it,” Dardon
pointed out with a grimace. “I wasn’t planning on a drenching or I would have
brought my cloak.” None of us brought our cloaks. The walk home promised to be
wet and cold.
    “So, what is next?” I asked Tourth, who leaned against the
door jam at my left and stared moodily into the downpour. Even as the words
fell from my lips, a lone rider appeared on the lane to the homestead.
    “Who is it?” Dardon asked.
    Svhen answered, “He wears the livery of the enforcer.”
    Within moments, the four men disappeared without a sound.
Svhen melted into the shadows beyond one of the stall walls; Arthus slipped
into the wagon, beneath the grain; Dardon swung up into the overhead loft; and
Tourth slipped out the back exit that opened into the paddock. I was left
standing, hay fork in hand, in the overly wide doorway when the stranger
approached and dismounted to bring his horse out of the weather.
    “Pardon miss, where might I–” He paused upon studying on my
face. “You were the maid wearing trousers.”
    I lowered my head and curtseyed clumsily. “Aye, sir. How
might I help you?”
    “You are a pretty one,” he commented studying my lowered
head. There was no malice in his tone. “Your brother shouldn’t let you roam out
alone. You might catch the enforcer’s eye.”
    I curtseyed again. “I will tell him, sir. Do you seek anyone
in particular?”
    “I do. Is this the land of Farmer Hanor? I need to speak to
him on a matter of great urgency.”
    “Farmer Hanor is not at hand, but his wife is within the
house.” I pointed to the building across the yard. “Do you wish for me to seek
her?”
    “No, I will.” He threw his horse’s reins around the nearest
post and knotted them. “Thank you for your help.”
    I nodded, not meeting his eyes and busied myself with
unloading the last of the hay from the wagon while he walked away. When I
thought he was far enough to no longer hear, I gently poked Arthus’ hiding
place. “You should leave before he returns.”
    He rolled out of the hay, wisps clinging to his hair, to
frown up at me. “Are you sure you will be fine?”
    “Of course she will,” Dardon commented, jumping down from
the loft. “Have you seen what she can do with a knife?” I demonstrated a small
sampling of my skills for him the week before.
    “No. But regardless, she shouldn’t be left alone.”
    Svhen hurdled the