Cards & Caravans Read Online Free PDF

difference as the food. It seemed wrong to sleep away her last few hours but surely that was better than sitting here counting the minutes. She set the dish and flask aside and allowed her head to sag back against the wall.
    There was no way to tell how long she’d dozed when the door of the gaol slammed open again and heavy footsteps pounded on the floor boards. There was a cracking sound, not loud enough for a gunshot.
    “What...” Johnny Gilchrist, the young gaoler gasped and then something large slumped to the floor.
    “Who’s there?” Belinda called.
    “Connor MacKay.” There were more sounds, shuffling and grunts, and then the big man strode into the aisle between the cells with Johnny’s inert body tossed over his shoulder. Johnny’s hands had been bound behind his back and he was gagged, so she supposed that meant he wasn’t dead. MacKay dropped Johnny into the far cell and closed the door, mumbling something under his breath.
    The lock clicked.
    Belinda gasped. “Magick.” She looked up at MacKay, a tremor rattling her bones. “That was real magick.” Her voice shook and she shrank back against the back wall of her cell.
    He nodded. “Please don’t scream. I’m trying to save your life.” With another muttered incantation, the padlock on her cell popped open. His light blue eyes were almost mesmerizing—she couldn’t tear her gaze away from his.
    She moistened her lips. “Why? What difference is it to you?” Was he a real witch—or warlock, or whatever? Did he have some nefarious purpose in mind for her? And if he did, would that be better than dying?
    His smile was kind and perhaps a trifle sad. “I just don’t like seeing innocent people die. I’m taking you somewhere safe while your trial is investigated by the proper authorities.” He opened the grated door and held out a hand. “Now will you come? He won’t be unconscious for long, and once he wakes, he’ll likely start yelling. Sooner or later, someone will hear him and they’ll be after us. I’d rather not steal a horse, so we’ll have to flee on foot, at least to the next village—unless you have horses on your farm?”
    She stood and took his hand, still clutching the blanket around her with the other. “Only an old mule. I sold the last of my horses last autumn, when my crops failed—again. But I’m healthy. I can walk.”
    “Good.” He dragged her out of the gaol, closing the door behind them. The High Street was empty, but even in this weather, there were lights and noise coming from the pub. Someone could come outside at any moment. Being just a few inches over five feet, compared to his six feet and then some, she had to run to keep up with his long strides. “Which way is the nearest train station?”
    “North or east,” she answered easily. “There isn’t one to the west for quite some distance, and not until you cross the border into England if you go south. You needn’t worry. I’ll go alone—that way they won’t come after you.”
    “No.” He didn’t bother explaining his curt reply. “Now which direction is your farm?” A block past the gaol, he pulled her into the alley behind the greengrocer’s and the butcher shop and slowed his stride so she didn’t have to run.
    “West,” she said, panting. “Just about a mile and half. But won’t they look there first?”
    “Perhaps. I’d check the nearest stations first if it were me. That’s why I want to leave by a roundabout manner.” He glanced down at her. “Besides, we can spare a moment for you to put on dry clothing and a proper coat. It won’t serve anyone’s purpose but theirs if you catch pneumonia and die anyway.”
    “True.” She quickened her pace again. “That lane over there leads to my farm.”
    A man strolled down the street toward them so they lingered in the alleyway until he’d passed, then darted across the open village green into the lane. They hurried down it, keeping as close as possible to the shadows of