blacksmith’s shop, he grimaced and drew his mount to a stop. An errant cart had been abandoned across the road. Could Rosamunde have been responsible for it? Nay, surely not. He dismounted and put his shoulder to it to push it to the side. It had to weigh more than his damned horse so there was no way she moved it. With a grunt, he managed to shift it and continue on.
It was when he emerged from the largest cluster of houses that he spotted a flash of purple against the white wall of the few smaller cottages spread haphazardly around the edge of the river. He grinned to himself and tensed, like a hunter after his prey. She hadn’t gone far then. Mayhap she had decided to hide until nightfall. Whatever her plan had been, it was about to fail.
He slowed to a trot and stifled a chuckle when he spotted her darting between the houses again. In a flash of silk, she moved like a minnow in the reeds, hoping to evade the larger fish. He didn’t think she’d noticed him yet so he couldn’t quite fathom why she kept emerging from her current hiding spot, but something had her riled.
Ieuan kept up his slow pace and headed to the spot she’d scurried into last. He peered between the two houses but saw no sign of her. Then a scuffling noise drew his attention. A large pig plodded past, snorting at him in dissatisfaction before vanishing into the same place Rosamunde had. A screech split the air and another splash of purple broke the monotonous black, white and brown of the village.
It took all Ieuan’s strength not to fall from his horse when he saw her sprinting toward the nearest bridge, the huge pig on her tail. Who knew what the pig liked so much about her—mayhap her skirts reminded him of turnips—but Ieuan would have to reward the animal richly later for bringing his prey out into the open.
Skirts in hand, she paused to shoo away the animal but it only seemed to encourage him. He butted into her. She let out another squeak and dashed away. He couldn’t help but laugh. As much as he could watch this for a long time, he had a bride to return home and arrangements to make so he spurred on his horse. Her head snapped his way at the sound of horse hooves and he saw her eyes widen in horror.
Flapping a hand at the pig, she fell into a run. Ieuan shook his head. Did she really think she could outrun him? The pig followed, as did he.
“Rosamunde,” he called but she ignored him, barrelling toward the bridge on the other side of the village.
It happened slowly, much to his amusement. Her foot hit a patch of mud by the riverbank. Much of the land was muddy from carts, and puddles of water hung about the ruts and dips. She skidded one way and found her footing but when she took another step, her other foot went out from under her. Rosamunde toppled to one side and fell with an audible splash into the edge of the river. Ieuan brought his horse up beside her just as the pig approached and began nuzzling the wet, muddy pile of silk that counted as his bride-to-be. She sat in only half a foot of water and looked thoroughly miserable and defeated. A tiny thread of sympathy wound through him and he slid down, his boots squelching deep into the mud. He didn’t offer her a hand as he wasn’t sure she’d take it. She pushed the pig away and folded her arms. Rosamunde refused to look at him.
With one easy movement, he scooped the muddy bundle into his arms and set her on the horse, ignoring her squeak of indignation. He joined her on the horse and settled her shivering form against him. “Let us get you home.”
***
In spite of Ieuan wrapping his mantle around her and his arms holding her secure on his lap, a shudder wracked Rosamunde. She thought it more likely to be from humiliation than cold. The day was growing warm and her cheeks were heated with embarrassment. A drip of mud plopped from her hair onto the wool of his cloak and the dirt on her face was beginning to dry and make her feel as though her face might crack at
It was when he emerged from the largest cluster of houses that he spotted a flash of purple against the white wall of the few smaller cottages spread haphazardly around the edge of the river. He grinned to himself and tensed, like a hunter after his prey. She hadn’t gone far then. Mayhap she had decided to hide until nightfall. Whatever her plan had been, it was about to fail.
He slowed to a trot and stifled a chuckle when he spotted her darting between the houses again. In a flash of silk, she moved like a minnow in the reeds, hoping to evade the larger fish. He didn’t think she’d noticed him yet so he couldn’t quite fathom why she kept emerging from her current hiding spot, but something had her riled.
Ieuan kept up his slow pace and headed to the spot she’d scurried into last. He peered between the two houses but saw no sign of her. Then a scuffling noise drew his attention. A large pig plodded past, snorting at him in dissatisfaction before vanishing into the same place Rosamunde had. A screech split the air and another splash of purple broke the monotonous black, white and brown of the village.
It took all Ieuan’s strength not to fall from his horse when he saw her sprinting toward the nearest bridge, the huge pig on her tail. Who knew what the pig liked so much about her—mayhap her skirts reminded him of turnips—but Ieuan would have to reward the animal richly later for bringing his prey out into the open.
Skirts in hand, she paused to shoo away the animal but it only seemed to encourage him. He butted into her. She let out another squeak and dashed away. He couldn’t help but laugh. As much as he could watch this for a long time, he had a bride to return home and arrangements to make so he spurred on his horse. Her head snapped his way at the sound of horse hooves and he saw her eyes widen in horror.
Flapping a hand at the pig, she fell into a run. Ieuan shook his head. Did she really think she could outrun him? The pig followed, as did he.
“Rosamunde,” he called but she ignored him, barrelling toward the bridge on the other side of the village.
It happened slowly, much to his amusement. Her foot hit a patch of mud by the riverbank. Much of the land was muddy from carts, and puddles of water hung about the ruts and dips. She skidded one way and found her footing but when she took another step, her other foot went out from under her. Rosamunde toppled to one side and fell with an audible splash into the edge of the river. Ieuan brought his horse up beside her just as the pig approached and began nuzzling the wet, muddy pile of silk that counted as his bride-to-be. She sat in only half a foot of water and looked thoroughly miserable and defeated. A tiny thread of sympathy wound through him and he slid down, his boots squelching deep into the mud. He didn’t offer her a hand as he wasn’t sure she’d take it. She pushed the pig away and folded her arms. Rosamunde refused to look at him.
With one easy movement, he scooped the muddy bundle into his arms and set her on the horse, ignoring her squeak of indignation. He joined her on the horse and settled her shivering form against him. “Let us get you home.”
***
In spite of Ieuan wrapping his mantle around her and his arms holding her secure on his lap, a shudder wracked Rosamunde. She thought it more likely to be from humiliation than cold. The day was growing warm and her cheeks were heated with embarrassment. A drip of mud plopped from her hair onto the wool of his cloak and the dirt on her face was beginning to dry and make her feel as though her face might crack at
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