Grey clouds rolled overhead, the wind lifting. The weather had turned bad, alongside the mood in the marketplace.
“Why then have you dressed your servant, clearly a woman, in a boy’s clothing? In order to smuggle her under cover of your cloak?”
The man questioning them was brutish looking, but dressed in expensive-looking clothing, a cravat at his throat, and a heavy waistcoat under his fancy frockcoat. His boots were shiny and he didn’t take his hat off to anybody, the way other people had.
He grasped her by the shoulder and hauled her away from Cullen’s side.
That was the last straw. “Take your hands off me, you brute,” Sunny declared, wrenching free of his grasp.
The man reacted fast, drawing out his sword from its sheath and pointing it at the base of her throat.
Her heart hammered against the wall of her chest, her mouth turning dry.
“Do not lay your hands on my woman!” Cullen ordered.
His woman? Her legs grew weak.
His words only seemed to anger the bailiff. He dragged the point of his blade down her breastbone, drawing blood, and ripped the fabric apart, exposing once and for all exactly how much of a woman she was. The fine lawn tore easily. Her skin stung, and her blood boiled.
The crowd of onlookers exchanged opinions, and many looked at her with sympathy. Sunny swallowed, realizing her mistake. She should have kept schtum. Pulling the torn shirt together, she attempted to cover her bared cleavage.
“I am the bailiff in these parts,” the man declared, pointing his sword now at Cullen. “It’s my job to seek out and punish criminal acts.”
“No crime has been committed,” Cullen replied angrily, his hand on the pommel of his sword, “but there will be, should you touch my woman again.”
The bailiff chortled. “Your mind is clearly addled, for you are a nobleman and yet this strange creature you call your woman... have you lost your faculties?”
Sunny looked around the crowd.
There was no one else of color amongst them.
In her time, Raven’s Landing was a diverse community. It was 1820 though, and the likelihood of them having seen anyone of mixed race or ethnic minority was possible, but slender. She was dressed in men’s clothing and accompanying a man whose reputation was currently under a cloud. They’d walked into it, but there was no other way to reach Cullen’s rendezvous point.
Across the cobbles, the crowd thickened, observing the stand off from a safe distance. She saw sympathy on many faces, curiosity on the rest. She had the feeling they’d have let them walk on by, if it hadn’t been for the overbearing interference of the trader, and the bailiff.
For a moment she thought Cullen would walk away, but he didn’t. Instead he unsheathed his sword, and assumed a fencing position.
Sunny’s jaw dropped. This couldn’t be happening.
“Not content with the blood of one man on your hands, Thaine?” The bailiff spoke more to the onlookers, as if trying to impress them, but he didn’t put his sword away, and assumed a fighting stance. “Are you sure you wish to add to your misdeeds by confronting the law bringer?”
“The only injustice here is delivered by you, bailiff,” Cullen responded through gritted teeth.
“Cullen, be careful.”
Several men in the crowd cheered Cullen on.
The man in charge wasn’t universally liked, Sunny figured.
“I will have you in the stocks before mid morn,” the bailiff declared in a warning tone.
Cullen looked the bailiff up and down with some doubt, then stepped forward, clashed his sword against his opponent’s, then defended and quickly returned.
Sunny watched, astonished.
Their blades rang again, the sound of steel on steel magnifying the fear she felt. If Cullen sustained an injury in some bizarre machismo exchange, she’d never forgive herself—and as for the threat of the stocks and punishment, it just didn’t bear thinking about. Her dream truly had become a nightmare.
They traded blows, their weapons lancing.