Free Sing Me Home by Lisa Ann Verge Page B

Englishmen who wouldn’t give a moment’s worth of thought for her welfare. If he hadn’t shown up, she could have ended up on her back on the smithy’s floor, servicing the lot of them.
    “This good apprentice,” she began, trying to wiggle the weight of his arm off her shoulders, “has been kind enough to explain how metal is molded.”
    “That’s not all he’ll mold, if he gets a chance.”
    She tilted her head and gave him a scolding eye.
    “My lady,” one of the apprentices said, as he shifted a bellows off his shoulder to set its point in the dirt. “Is this your husband?”
    “No … no,” she said, “He’s just—”
    “Then leave her alone, minstrel.” The apprentice eyed Colin’s cape and the jagged hem of his tunic. “Such a fine lady won’t be meddling with the likes of you.”
    Colin’s nostrils flared. The apprentice was young and burly, with swelling, work-reddened forearms. As a rule, Colin avoided tangling with the village blacksmiths wherever he traveled. They were strong enough to pull teeth out of a man’s jaw. But after seeing the traitor O’Kelly riding the roads surrounded by armed retainers this morning--a man against whom Colin's only weapon could be words--Colin was primed to flex his muscles at the first opportunity that presented itself. He felt a familiar rush to his head, a warmth of anticipation in his blood, as he curled his hands into fists.
    Maura seized his arm but he shrugged it off.
    The smith lunged first, tossing the bellows aside before barreling into him. Air whooshed from his lungs as he heard Maura cry out. He and the blacksmith, locked in a hold, plunged onto the road, bumping into passersby until they tripped to the ground. Pebbles needled Colin’s back as they skidded to a stop against the alehouse wall. Then Colin seized the blacksmith by the scruff of his leather jerkin and tossed him off, leaping up just as the apprentice rolled to his feet. The blacksmith charged again, but another man emerged from the shadow of the shop and darted between them, holding out one meaty hand to stop the apprentice from attacking.
    “Do your fighting on your own time, William. You’re mine until vespers.” The sweaty-faced master blacksmith fixed his glare on Colin, assessing him up and down. “A piece of sterling says my William will beat the guts out of this one.”
    Then Maguire Mudman twisted out of the crowd like a whirlwind. “Is it going to be a fight, then?” With a toothless grin, he flipped a silver coin in the air. “A piece of silver, then, for the minstrel.”
    “A ha’penny on the magician!”
    “A groat on the blacksmith—”
    “Double that for me—”
    Maguire pulled out a wax tablet and began scratching wagers. Colin took measure of the blacksmith as he wiped the blood from the corner of his lip. Aye, the apprentice was strong and quick, and the blow to the belly had been a surprise, but Colin had several inches and a good two stone on him. Staring at this puffed-up young man, Colin didn’t give a damn about the bids. No matter how the wagers fell, he intended to beat the stuffing out of the boy.
    Then there she was, standing before him, anger radiating from her like heat from a kiln stone.
    “What are you thinking,” she whispered, “haggling over me like some market day harlot?”
    “What are you thinking,” he retorted, “wandering around this town alone?”
    Her gaze faltered, but only for a moment. “I may be alone,” she said, “but I’m in a public place, amid a crowd—and not far from where you and Maguire were working.” She crossed her arms. “I’ve been traveling on these roads long enough to be aware of some of the dangers, Colin.”
    He grunted. She shouldn’t wear that coif, Colin thought. Hair like that shouldn’t be hidden under a bit of linen. “You’re dressed well for your wanderings.”
    “Don’t change the subject.”
    “Where’s Nutmeg? Your bells, your silks?”
    “It’s best, in some cases, that