Tainted Gold Read Free Page A

past her head.
    Fussing with her skirts and feigning a fearful, wary posture, Quillen made her way to the front of the crowd and curtsied. Realgar stood before her, his hands on his hips, a glower on his face, and reached out with his right hand as she rose. His fingers just brushed her earlobe and laced a shiver down her spine as he raised his hand and held aloft two copper coins.
    “How did you come by these, mistress?” he demanded, his expression stern as he gave her an upstage wink the audience couldn’t see. “This is a considerable sum for one so lowly born to possess.”
    “I know not, my lord!” she gasped, lacing and twisting her fingers as she played along with him. “’Tis witchery, I swear!”
    “’Tis thievery,” he countered as he gave his right hand a dismissive wave and the coins disappeared. Clasping his right hand on her left wrist, he tugged her around to face the audience. “Such a crime is punishable by dunking or the stocks. What say you, good people? Which shall it be?”
    Oh, no, Quillen groaned again, she’d been wrong—it was worse. Unless, she thought, her mind racing as the audience called out their preferences, I can get myself out of this.
    “Mercy, my lord, have mercy!” she wailed, falling to her knees and clinging with both hands to his wrist. “The black death took my husband and my children are starving! Please, my lord, I beg you! What will become of my babes?”
    From the audience, a chorus of sympathetic murmurs overrode the chant of “Dunk her! Dunk her!” With a quick wag of her eyebrows that challenged the wizard to top that, Quillen glanced up at Realgar’s face. Amusement glinted in his deep blue eyes, and his unyielding expression softened as he drew her to her feet.
    “You poor unfortunate creature,” he said, his voice dripping pity. “Good people, what say you? Compassion for the widow or justice for the king’s law?”
    Quillen won the loudly shouted vote hands down, and curtsied to the crowd. When the accompanying applause died down, the wizard waved his hands in the air and, with a magic word Quillen didn’t quite catch, materialized two pieces of silver to replace the copper.
    “This, good woman, is enough to feed your children for a year,” he said as he put the coins in her hand and closed her fingers around them. “With sufficient extra,” he continued, his bearded mouth quirking mischievously, “to buy a new dress and catch another husband.”
    The audience laughed and applauded and rose from their seats as Realgar bowed deeply. Taking Quillen’s hand in his, he bowed again and she did the same as the crowd began to disperse. As she straightened, the smile on her face froze. She saw Desmond Cassil standing in the midst of the audience, his thin mouth curled in a crooked, smug expression.
    It’s a smirk, Quillen decided, a surge of anger tightening her throat. A smirk that says I’m-still-here-and-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it? She started toward him, unmindful of the hand still holding hers.
    “Whoa,” Realgar said as he pulled her to a halt and then stepped in front of her. “Don’t rush off until I have a chance—”
    “Excuse me.” Quillen tugged her hand free of his and ducked around him.
    “—to say thanks,” he went on, moving quickly and blocking her path, “for being such a good sport.”
    “You’re welcome.” She dodged him again and caught just a glimpse of Cassil threading his way through the crowd toward the Gypsy Camp before the wizard stepped in front of her a second time.
    “I wouldn’t have let them dunk you,” he persisted, trapping her shoulders in his hands. “But I might put you in the stocks myself if you don’t hold still.”
    Peeking around his gray-robed arm, Quillen could see no sign of Cassil. She sighed as she looked up at Realgar’s face.
    “Sorry,” she apologized. “I thought I saw someone I know.”
    “Oh, well then, I’m sorry,” he replied, but the smile on his white-bearded