captive. With a mighty heave, the young man pulled away, tearing the grubby collar of his linen shirt. Rees was left with a handful of dirty cloth. But he knew who the lad wasâone of Farleyâs boys.
He rushed to Lydiaâs side. Sobbing with fear and humiliation, she was attempting to smooth her skirt over her bare legs. Rees helped her to her feet and folded her into his arms, glaring at the people standing around them. One final egg came flying through the air. Rees felt it break against his shoulder. He craned his neck and saw another lad join Farleyâs son. Rees vowed he would find those boys. And beat them bloody until they cried for mercy.
âLetâs get her to the church,â Potter said, joining Rees in the square. Raising his voice, he shouted, âNothing more to see. Go back to your business.â
Rees looked around, defying those who remained to say or do anything further. Most dropped their eyes, unable to look at him, whether from embarrassment or fear Rees could not tell.
Potter took Lydiaâs other arm and together they supported her over the short walk to the church. Once inside, Rees pressed Lydia into a seat in the back pew and examined her. Blood streamed from a cut on her forehead. The handkerchief she pressed to the wound was already crimson and a thin line of red ran down her hand and into the sleeve of her gown.
âIâm all right,â Lydia said, but her wobbly voice gave a lie to her words.
âItâs just a scratch.â
âMore than a scratch,â Rees said, trying to move her hand away. It was a long cut, although not deep, and blood was still seeping from it. He took out his handkerchief and pressed it to the wound. âWhat happened?â
âPeople started shouting,â Lydia said. âSomeone threw a rock.â Rees stared at her as she put her face in her hands. He knew she wasnât telling him everything.
âWill,â Potter said. And when Rees looked up Potter jerked his head toward the street outside. Rees hesitated, reluctant to leave his wife. Potter motioned emphatically toward the door and the bright sun beyond.
âIâll just be outside,â Rees murmured. Lydia nodded but did not open her eyes. With a final pat on her arm, Rees followed Potter to the slate walk outside.
âIt was an attack,â he said baldly.
âI saw Farleyâs sons,â Rees said.
âThey came from the Bull, liquored up and ready for trouble. Caldwell is trying to hunt them down now.â Potter hesitated, his eyes shifting from Reesâs.
âWhat?â he asked. âWhat else?â
âThey not only assaulted your Lydia,â Potter said in a hushed voice. âThey called her names.â
A wave of nausea swept up from Reesâs belly and into his throat. âWhatâwhat names?â He knew some, if not all, of the men in the Bull blamed him for Wardâs death. That was clear. Were they attacking Lydia because of him?
âWitch. I heard one of themâhe shouted, âThou shalt not suffer a witch to live,â as he threw a stone.â
âWhat?â Rees stared at Potter. âThey openly accused Lydia of being a witch?â
âIt was probably just, well, you know.â Potter shook his head in disbelief. âProbably just the worst accusation they could imagine.â
âIâll wager everything I own that Farley was at the back of it,â Rees said grimly. âHe believes in witches and all manner of foolishness.â
âMaybe. The constable can certainly tell you more. He saw it unfolding.â Potter glanced over his shoulder, as though he could see the market from the church. Except for the stalls at the very end of Main Street, nothing else was visible and those few tables appeared to have been abandoned. âTake your wife home. Where is your wagon?â He looked around as though expecting it to spring up with Hannibal already
C. J. Cherryh
Learning to Kill: Stories
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