The Rope Dancer Read Online Free PDF

did not pull away, staring at his face.
    After a moment he said, “I don’t think it’s broken. You must have wrenched it.”
    He heard her long, trembling sigh of relief and prayed he was right, for he had spoken more from a desire to give comfort than from real knowledge. Then, to keep her from thinking, he said he would help her deeper into the wood to the little stream so she could wash the dirt out of her scrapes, and assured her they would have time enough to get away if the men from the keep should come seeking.
    “And stick that foot in the water too,” he urged. “The cold will do it good.”
    Carys did not need his advice. Actually, she was more familiar with sprains and broken bones than Telor. Had she not jumped from the wall, she would not have suffered the moment of panic. In the stress and confusion of escape and rescue, she had momentarily forgotten how far she had run on that ankle. But as she eased it into the water and bent to soak her battered hands also, she breathed a soft “Thank you, Lady,” for the ankle would take a few days to heal. She had felt the sympathy of the tall man when he saw her fear. Perhaps he would let her stay with them until she could dance again, and then, when she could pay her way, perhaps she could make it a permanent arrangement. If not, her condition would be desperate when they left her.
    There was no way Carys could use her skills without a troupe; if she came alone to dance, she would be driven out of any town or village as a whore, even if she never took a man. In fact, the only way she could keep body and soul together, if these two men would not keep her until she found a troupe, would be by whoring. Carys’s mouth turned down in distaste. She was not above taking pay for bedding a man, and both Morgan and Ulric had always encouraged her to do so. Despite their urging, though, she had never taken anyone who did not appeal to her—except Morgan and Ulric themselves, and her cold indifference had made their demands on her small, for both could get more willing partners without trouble. They kept her for what she made dancing, which was far more than she could bring in as a whore, and neither dared beat her much or press her too hard to whore for extra farthings because she was a fine rope dancer and could have changed to a new troupe if they mistreated her. But Carys knew it took time to find a good troupe that needed a rope dancer, and if she did not stay with these men, she would have to whore or starve until she made the right connection. Still, she hated the thought of having to lie with any person who offered her a bit of bread or sup of ale no matter how ugly and cruel that person might be.
    Carys strained her eyes back toward the men. Surely that shape the tall man had unslung from his shoulder and hung on a branch was a lute or a gittern. They must be players. Then she looked at the animals; no troupe she belonged to had ever been able to afford any such animals, and she began to doubt that these men were common players. Still, she had a dim memory of riding in a little cart pulled by a goat. She had been sitting atop a mound of…something, and a hand steadied her. That had been before she came into Morgan Knifethrower’s hands. She remembered kisses too, and gentle arms around her, and sweet laughter.
    With an effort, Carys closed down the path to those few warm memories. This was not the time for them. If the tall man and the dwarf were rich players, so much the better. Surely they would not grudge the cost of feeding her for a few days, and then…then she would think of something, she assured herself desperately. She had been clenching and unclenching her hands and rubbing them gently together in the water while she thought. The pain of the cuts and abrasions had been dulled by the cold, and the grit seemed to be gone. Carys leaned farther forward to wash her arms and legs. That hurt, but she knew dirt could mortify wounds, so she kept at it, glad of