The Ballad of Rosamunde Read Free Page A

bottom of the boat.
    She was not prepared to have two other men
assault her in the darkness, to be leapt upon and beaten. It
happened quickly, upon turf she did not know. The purse was ripped
from her belt, Eugene was stabbed, the other two relics fell to the
ground.
    Her blade was snatched, she was struck
across the face and fell to her knees. A man seized her from
behind. The other attacker lunged toward her, his blade flashing,
and Rosamunde feared she was done.
    She certainly was not expecting the
blue-eyed man to leap out of the shadows behind her attacker.
    “Oi!” he shouted and the attacker spun in
surprise.
    The blue-eyed man sliced him from gullet to
groin and kicked his carcass into the sea. The one holding
Rosamunde released her and ran. The bishop’s man pursued him,
stabbed him until he moved no more, then returned to Rosamunde.
    She meet the determination in his gaze as he
handed her the fully laden purse that had been stolen from her.
    “I sicken of his thievery,” he said softly,
his voice as steady as his gaze. Rosamunde checked Eugene and was
glad to find that he yet breathed. The blue-eyed man helped her
move him to the dingy, Eugene wincing as he was rolled into the
boat. Thomas, unfortunately, was beyond aid. Rosamunde would see
him buried at sea, which would have been his choice.
    She looked up at the man who had saved her.
“I thank you for your aid.”
    “You are most welcome.” He glanced inland,
then back at her and smiled, a quick conspiratorial smile. “I fear
I have lost my employ this night. Have you need of another man on
your ship?”
    Rosamunde found herself liking this man a
great deal. “I always have need of men with stout hearts and quick
blades.” The bishop’s henchmen did not move, a sign of this man’s
effectiveness. “Have you a name?”
    “Padraig Deane.”
    Rosamunde shook his hand, liking the heat of
his skin, the firmness of his grip. It was not in her nature to
remain on land, and she always yearned to be back at sea. But this
man made her think about lingering.
    “Welcome, Padraig. There is no better
compliment than knowing a man can be trusted with one’s own life.”
She saw him smile, glimpsed his flush, then they gathered the
relics and the fallen men. She watched the moonlight play on his
muscles as he rowed them all back to the ship. He was determined,
stalwart, unafraid to do what he believed to be right.
    And Rosamunde wondered how she had failed to
see the full merit of Padraig in all the years he had served
her.
    What lifted the scales from her eyes
now?

    *

Part
Two

    Padraig wandered the streets of Galway,
paying no attention to his course until he reached the gate in the
Norman wall. He glanced back toward the harbor, then ahead to the
hills cloaked in starlight and shadow. He chose to pass through the
gate and walk out of town, knowing that the way was not without
risk. He was but half-Irish, half of town and half of country,
though there were those who would have little interest in the
details.
    He did not care about his fate as much as he
once had.
    And he had no taste for human company on
this night. He should love it here, the place where he had been
raised, but instead he felt at home only upon the sea.
    Rosamunde had been the same way.
    He walked as the moon rose ever higher in
the sky. He walked as the church bells sounded far behind him. He
walked as the stars glinted overhead.
    He heard the rustle of small animals in the
underbrush and the tinkle of running water. He felt the ale loosen
its hold upon his body and grief well in his heart.
    He paused in the middle of the road, hours
after his departure, and cast a glance back toward the sleeping
town. His feet ached and he knew he should turn back.
    Padraig just made to do so when he heard a
woman singing, singing more beautifully than ever he had heard
anyone singing. It could have been an angel he heard, and he was
drawn to the sound.
    He could not hear the words, and