muttered.
Liam gave her a slanted glare, then, "I fear I and my associate have fallen on hard times."
The gentleman narrowed his eyes. "What is this about the king?" he asked, seeming unconcerned by their personal woes.
"Twould be best to keep your voice down," Liam said. "Tis, well...tis not widely known that His Majesty has hired us to perform for him."
"Perform?"
"Aye. Just..." He shrugged as if modest. It was all Rachel could do not to snort. Modesty was not his forte. "Just a touch of magic and a wee bit of juggling."
"It must be more than a wee bit if it be good enough for the king."
Liam all but blushed. "Some say I have a gift."
"Well, let us be the judge," said the gentleman, sweeping a hand toward the onlookers.
"Nay," Rachel managed to say, but Liam scowled her down.
"I fear my assistant is unwilling to allow me to show our tricks to any but the king."
"Then show us other tricks."
A small crowd had gathered now. The faces were bright with curiosity. A few nodded.
"My assistant..."—he glared at Rachel again—"has lost our props as I've said. But mayhap I could improvise."
"Aye."
"Do."
The crowd was pressing in, making Rachel feel a bit breathless. But Liam smiled and spread his arms. "Very well, then. I'll need a few things. Let's see... a rope, strung between those two trees."
"I've one inside," said the blacksmith.
"Then fetch it if you will," Liam said. "And I need something to toss about, balls, stones..." He shrugged and glanced around him. His gaze snagged on a group of folk gathered outside a pottery shop where an old woman leaned from inside to dicker with the tanner. "Mugs," he said. "Jamie, be a good lad and ask the potter if we might borrow a few mugs. Assure him all will be well."
Rachel thought she should probably feign an argument. Indeed, she opened her mouth to try to force out a few words, but Liam hushed her before she had a chance.
"Go now. Let us not keep these good people waiting."
The potter turned out to be the woman who leaned out of the shop, an old, gnarled-faced crone with clay-covered hands and a sullen expression. Still, for the promise of recompense, she loaned out the mugs and made her crotchety way to the place where a rope had been strung tightly between two trees.
Rachel set three mugs into Liam's hands, and noticed, with growing stomach butterflies, that the crowd had more than doubled.
"Gather round then. For unless you will be at the king's feast, you'll not see the like of my performance again," Liam called, and tossed a trio of mugs into the air.
The elderly potter gasped, but Liam laughed as they spun one after another around in his hands.
"Not to worry," he said. "This is child's play." He backed up a step or two. "But this..." He paused for a moment and tossed the mugs high into the air. The crowd lifted their gazes to watch the pottery, and in that instant, Liam reached for the rope above his head.
When he snatched the mugs out of the air the next time, he was balanced atop the tightrope.
"This is more difficult," he said.
The crowd stared at him, stunned and silenced.
Liam smiled, nodded, teetered on his perch then laughed at the oohs from below. "Worry not,"
he called. "I am not about to splatter on the ground like a squashed melon. Not when my very meal depends on my performance. And neither am I about to disappoint you, for you already know that this be an act fit for a king.
"Jamie, lad, toss me another mug."
Rachel forced her mouth closed. Liam had always been swift of hand and light of foot, but it had been many years since she'd seen him perform.
He grinned at her, seeming to read her thoughts. "Come now. Even the king will understand that we must eat. Toss it toward my chest."
Sweet Mary, she thought, she had no way of paying for something as simple as a mug should she break one. Still, there was nothing she could do but comply. Nervousness made her throw tilt off center. It wobbled toward his shoulder.
Nevertheless, he caught
Liam gave her a slanted glare, then, "I fear I and my associate have fallen on hard times."
The gentleman narrowed his eyes. "What is this about the king?" he asked, seeming unconcerned by their personal woes.
"Twould be best to keep your voice down," Liam said. "Tis, well...tis not widely known that His Majesty has hired us to perform for him."
"Perform?"
"Aye. Just..." He shrugged as if modest. It was all Rachel could do not to snort. Modesty was not his forte. "Just a touch of magic and a wee bit of juggling."
"It must be more than a wee bit if it be good enough for the king."
Liam all but blushed. "Some say I have a gift."
"Well, let us be the judge," said the gentleman, sweeping a hand toward the onlookers.
"Nay," Rachel managed to say, but Liam scowled her down.
"I fear my assistant is unwilling to allow me to show our tricks to any but the king."
"Then show us other tricks."
A small crowd had gathered now. The faces were bright with curiosity. A few nodded.
"My assistant..."—he glared at Rachel again—"has lost our props as I've said. But mayhap I could improvise."
"Aye."
"Do."
The crowd was pressing in, making Rachel feel a bit breathless. But Liam smiled and spread his arms. "Very well, then. I'll need a few things. Let's see... a rope, strung between those two trees."
"I've one inside," said the blacksmith.
"Then fetch it if you will," Liam said. "And I need something to toss about, balls, stones..." He shrugged and glanced around him. His gaze snagged on a group of folk gathered outside a pottery shop where an old woman leaned from inside to dicker with the tanner. "Mugs," he said. "Jamie, be a good lad and ask the potter if we might borrow a few mugs. Assure him all will be well."
Rachel thought she should probably feign an argument. Indeed, she opened her mouth to try to force out a few words, but Liam hushed her before she had a chance.
"Go now. Let us not keep these good people waiting."
The potter turned out to be the woman who leaned out of the shop, an old, gnarled-faced crone with clay-covered hands and a sullen expression. Still, for the promise of recompense, she loaned out the mugs and made her crotchety way to the place where a rope had been strung tightly between two trees.
Rachel set three mugs into Liam's hands, and noticed, with growing stomach butterflies, that the crowd had more than doubled.
"Gather round then. For unless you will be at the king's feast, you'll not see the like of my performance again," Liam called, and tossed a trio of mugs into the air.
The elderly potter gasped, but Liam laughed as they spun one after another around in his hands.
"Not to worry," he said. "This is child's play." He backed up a step or two. "But this..." He paused for a moment and tossed the mugs high into the air. The crowd lifted their gazes to watch the pottery, and in that instant, Liam reached for the rope above his head.
When he snatched the mugs out of the air the next time, he was balanced atop the tightrope.
"This is more difficult," he said.
The crowd stared at him, stunned and silenced.
Liam smiled, nodded, teetered on his perch then laughed at the oohs from below. "Worry not,"
he called. "I am not about to splatter on the ground like a squashed melon. Not when my very meal depends on my performance. And neither am I about to disappoint you, for you already know that this be an act fit for a king.
"Jamie, lad, toss me another mug."
Rachel forced her mouth closed. Liam had always been swift of hand and light of foot, but it had been many years since she'd seen him perform.
He grinned at her, seeming to read her thoughts. "Come now. Even the king will understand that we must eat. Toss it toward my chest."
Sweet Mary, she thought, she had no way of paying for something as simple as a mug should she break one. Still, there was nothing she could do but comply. Nervousness made her throw tilt off center. It wobbled toward his shoulder.
Nevertheless, he caught
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