odor of money.
Within the pit a pair of cocks with shaved necks and sharpened spurs were circling each other. One of the birds emitted a low-throated rattle that reminded Jessalyn of the sound the wind made as it whipped through the gorse.
"Ye ought t' lay a shilling on that red-breasted cock," Becka said, stuffing the last of the pastry into her mouth. "He's got a fire in his eye. Me da always said, bet on the bird what got the fire in his eye."
Gram was the one for betting on cockfights. Jessalyn couldn't even bear to watch them. Just then the cocks flew at each other in a fury of spraying blood and feathers. Jessalyn started to turn aside, but the crowd had closed in around her, pinning her next to the ring.
"Aagh! That pie was some awful," Becka said, licking her fingers. "She be stuck in me throat now. I'll be needing a pint to wash 'er down." Her new hair ribbon swaying, Becka pushed her way through the men, heading toward a tent that sported a banner advertising Bang-Up ginger beer.
Jessalyn had opened her mouth to call after the girl when she saw him again. That Trelawny man. He stood on the other side of the cockpit, the sun at his back. His tall, lean body cast a shadow across the blood-splattered sand. She could not see his face, yet she knew he looked at her. For one suspended moment the bellows and shrieks of the cockfight faded until all Jessalyn could hear was the beat of her pulse, thudding hard and fast in her throat.
Someone jostled her, breaking the spell. She pressed her way through the crush, almost running. Back among the tents and booths again, she looked over her shoulder to see if he followed... and slammed into the chest of adragon.
She barely kept the scream from getting past her lips, before her wits informed her pounding heart that the dragon wasn't real. She had walked into the middle of a group of costumed strolling players who were passing out handbills for that night's performance.
The gilt and spangled dragon clutched at her with his claws. He roared a laugh, breathing gin fumes, not fire. "Eh, girlie, wha's yer hurry? Give us a kiss."
Jessalyn struggled in his scaly embrace. For a dragon he was a pathetic specimen, missing a wing and two teeth, his green paint chipping. She elbowed him in the belly. He wheezed a fumy breath and let her go. When she looked behind her again, that Trelawny man was nowhere in sight. Obviously he was not the sort, she thought with a sudden smile, to rescue fair damsels from gin-breathing dragons.
Alone now, Jessalyn walked aimlessly past a stall selling ships and whelks in bottles. A caning man offered to reweave a chair seat for her while she waited. Beside him, tied to a stake, was Toby, the learned pig that could guess, so his master claimed, the date of her birth and predict her future. She was tempted to ask the pig whether the man she married would be fair or dark, when her gaze fell on the most beautiful bonnet in the world.
The booth was the most splendid one along the row, for it was covered with a canvas roof, striped and fringed like a Moor's tent. The awning shaded a trestle counter piled high with a colorful profusion of fur and velvet and straw. But one hat stood out above all the others.
Jessalyn picked up the hat and stepped out from beneath the awning to study it better in the fading sunlight. It was tall-crowned, made of midnight blue curled silk and trimmed with enormous rose passionflowers. She smiled at the woman behind the counter. "How much is it?"
"Two pound ten, miss."
"Two pound ten!" Jessalyn didn't need to pretend her shock at the price. "Is this a hat you're selling or the crown jewels?" She laughed, and the sound of her laughter floated over the noise of the fair so that several people turned to stare and then smiled and laughed along with her.
"Don't buy it."
Jessalyn whirled, her fingers gripping the hat's wide brim, crushing the stiff silk. She looked up into a pair of dark, penetrating eyes. "Why are you following
Within the pit a pair of cocks with shaved necks and sharpened spurs were circling each other. One of the birds emitted a low-throated rattle that reminded Jessalyn of the sound the wind made as it whipped through the gorse.
"Ye ought t' lay a shilling on that red-breasted cock," Becka said, stuffing the last of the pastry into her mouth. "He's got a fire in his eye. Me da always said, bet on the bird what got the fire in his eye."
Gram was the one for betting on cockfights. Jessalyn couldn't even bear to watch them. Just then the cocks flew at each other in a fury of spraying blood and feathers. Jessalyn started to turn aside, but the crowd had closed in around her, pinning her next to the ring.
"Aagh! That pie was some awful," Becka said, licking her fingers. "She be stuck in me throat now. I'll be needing a pint to wash 'er down." Her new hair ribbon swaying, Becka pushed her way through the men, heading toward a tent that sported a banner advertising Bang-Up ginger beer.
Jessalyn had opened her mouth to call after the girl when she saw him again. That Trelawny man. He stood on the other side of the cockpit, the sun at his back. His tall, lean body cast a shadow across the blood-splattered sand. She could not see his face, yet she knew he looked at her. For one suspended moment the bellows and shrieks of the cockfight faded until all Jessalyn could hear was the beat of her pulse, thudding hard and fast in her throat.
Someone jostled her, breaking the spell. She pressed her way through the crush, almost running. Back among the tents and booths again, she looked over her shoulder to see if he followed... and slammed into the chest of adragon.
She barely kept the scream from getting past her lips, before her wits informed her pounding heart that the dragon wasn't real. She had walked into the middle of a group of costumed strolling players who were passing out handbills for that night's performance.
The gilt and spangled dragon clutched at her with his claws. He roared a laugh, breathing gin fumes, not fire. "Eh, girlie, wha's yer hurry? Give us a kiss."
Jessalyn struggled in his scaly embrace. For a dragon he was a pathetic specimen, missing a wing and two teeth, his green paint chipping. She elbowed him in the belly. He wheezed a fumy breath and let her go. When she looked behind her again, that Trelawny man was nowhere in sight. Obviously he was not the sort, she thought with a sudden smile, to rescue fair damsels from gin-breathing dragons.
Alone now, Jessalyn walked aimlessly past a stall selling ships and whelks in bottles. A caning man offered to reweave a chair seat for her while she waited. Beside him, tied to a stake, was Toby, the learned pig that could guess, so his master claimed, the date of her birth and predict her future. She was tempted to ask the pig whether the man she married would be fair or dark, when her gaze fell on the most beautiful bonnet in the world.
The booth was the most splendid one along the row, for it was covered with a canvas roof, striped and fringed like a Moor's tent. The awning shaded a trestle counter piled high with a colorful profusion of fur and velvet and straw. But one hat stood out above all the others.
Jessalyn picked up the hat and stepped out from beneath the awning to study it better in the fading sunlight. It was tall-crowned, made of midnight blue curled silk and trimmed with enormous rose passionflowers. She smiled at the woman behind the counter. "How much is it?"
"Two pound ten, miss."
"Two pound ten!" Jessalyn didn't need to pretend her shock at the price. "Is this a hat you're selling or the crown jewels?" She laughed, and the sound of her laughter floated over the noise of the fair so that several people turned to stare and then smiled and laughed along with her.
"Don't buy it."
Jessalyn whirled, her fingers gripping the hat's wide brim, crushing the stiff silk. She looked up into a pair of dark, penetrating eyes. "Why are you following
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