Lady Thief - By Rizzo Rosko Page 0,90

her gown, caking her legs, chest, and face in the sludge that horses tread and shit on.

She struggled to lift herself out of the clinging, wet dirt, but only made it as far as her hands and knees. She threw off her hood in spite of the heavy rain, and gaped at the image that shocked her into halting in the first place.

There was a naked man in front of her.

His body did not so much as twitch to give her proof of life as he lay face down in the middle of the road. There was no sign of a horse, nor any small item that could have belonged to him.

He had been robbed.

Elizabeth pushed her hands against the mud to pull herself to him. She crawled as her feet struggled for purchase in the slop, but her skirt, heavy with muck and rain, hampered her.

His face lay half inside a rain puddle that grew and filled with every heavy raindrop that spattered inside, filling the pool and endangering him.

If he did not wake on his own his fate would be sealed. He would drown if she left him like this. Elizabeth gave up on her feet and pulled herself to him with her arms.

‘Twas easy with the slime-like quality of the muck. She reached his still form, took his shoulder and pulled hard until he lay on his back, out of danger from inhaling the brown water.

The dirt that darkened his face washed away in the warm rain, revealing a square jaw, prominent brows and cheekbones, and a nose with only a slight crook in it. No bruise marred his perfect features.

"How did this happen?" She asked before deciding that the answer may lie beneath his mud caked hair.

Her hand hesitated before gently moving forward. She probed her fingers through the rough string. Mud and rocks slipped away with the intrusion until she found what she searched for.

A lump the size of a robin’s egg sat stiffly on the back of his head, it cracked open like an egg as well, trickling blood into her curious fingers.

She shook her head, terror filling her gut as she twisted her head in search of anything he might posses, anything she had missed that the wretched band of thieves may have left behind. A horse could take her to the nearest village where she could sell it for medicine. Surely he would not mind in his condition.

She held back a sob as the bending trees, the sloppy road, and some leaves swirling in the whistling wind crushed her prayers. "Those brutes. Evil son's of swine."

Elizabeth stared down at the man in her arms, who did not stir at the sound of her black tongue. Her small body provided him with no protection against the weather and her helplessness engulfed her.

If she left him here he would surely die. Yet, she had naught with which to carry him back to shelter with, no cart, no horse, not even a mule.

Elizabeth ran her finger through his orange hair. She would not leave him to this monstrous fate. She would not have the blood of a man resting on her soul because a group of foolish men had to excite themselves by taking their games too far.

Elizabeth threw off her cloak. The rain soaked through the material long ago, making it useless to dry him, but it could spare the man's dignity well enough. Perhaps when he awoke and discovered that she had dragged him by his hands through mud, twigs, and filth, he would not take his anger out on her.

Luckily her hut was not far.

***

Blaise's head burned. The heat ravaged his skull so harshly that he turned over in his sleep to angle himself away from the fire. The flames followed him.

"No more logs," His slurred voice commanded. His bed felt rough and gritty, bits of straw poked him and made his body tingle and itch. He would command the servants to laundry the sheets when he decided to awake. It felt as though he slept on a mound of hay.

A hand touched his shoulder. His father, surely, for no one other than he would dare enter his chamber to wake him. But no, the hand that touched him was small and thin, not large like that of a man. His step-mother?

In another of her playful tempers that only caused him more annoyance.

Blaise pushed the hand away. "Off with ye, Marianne. I am in no mood for yer games."

"Marianne?" The feminine voice