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his voice shouting even through our closed
carriage door. Their argument was none of my business; she could
have been his wife, but I could not pull my eyes away. The man
pulled the young woman away from the carriage and threw her across
the yard, pointing at the Inn. She stumbled and dropped in a heap
against the dirt.
    A deep anger that I had not felt in a long time
overtook me, and I snapped. Grabbing my walking stick, I threw open
the carriage door, leapt to the ground, and ran to where the man
was towering over the young woman as she knelt on the dirt.
    “You there, I say halt!” I shouted
as I ran forward, placing myself between the woman and the
man.
    He had to be at least six feet tall, a good six
inches above me, because I found myself looking up into his thin,
long face, which closely resembled the face of a horse. Patches of
yellow hair stuck out at all angles from under his hat, and small,
protuberant, blue eyes stared down at me. His mouth was hanging
open like a fish for a moment before he again found his tongue.
    “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
    “That is what I would like to know. I shall not
allow you to mistreat this lady,” I said and turned, holding my
hand down to her.
    My eyes locked on hers, and the angry man, the dusty
yard, the gawking eyes of the stable boys all faded away. My breath
felt labored; I could not move, her eyes were holding me
transfixed. My heart started to beat as if it were playing along to
a highland reel.
    Her eyes that were between a blue
and a purple reminded me of my mother’s favorite flower, the
hyacinth, and I suddenly understood her liking for it. The young
woman’s oval face, the color of purest ivory and untouched by
blemish, was framed by a bonnet that covered her hair, but a few
strands fell across her smooth brow. The corners of my lips creased
into a smile. Two years past, I would have called her hair red, but
a mission in which Bess had donned a red wig, she taught me that
the color was auburn, not red .
    Her small eyebrows lifted, causing me to snap out of
my stupefaction.
    “Allow me to assist you to stand.” As my fingers
wrapped around her gloved hand, our hands fit as if they were two
pieces of the same puzzle, finally finding their match. I shoved
such ridiculous thoughts away and helped her to stand.
    The man again demanded my attention. With a growl,
he grabbed the young woman’s wrist, jerking her hand from mine.
    The dog! I
struck his arm hard enough to bruise it with the ball of my walking
stick. He leapt back rubbing the offended place.
    When he took a step forward and grabbed the front of
my coat, I lost my will to remain calm. I threw my fist against his
jaw with enough force to make him stumble back.
    With a hand against his jaw, he shouted, “Do you
know who I am?”
    “No. Nor do I wish to know a man who mistreats
women. You, sir, are a pestilence, and I shall not stand by as you
force your plagued attentions upon this lady.”
    The man sputtered in rage. “Those are fighting
words, boy,” he said, as if he were so many years older than I.
“You had better be able to stand behind them.”
    “When and where you please,” I replied, my gaze
never wavering.
    The man looked like he wanted to murder me. We held
each other’s gaze for a few warring moments; then his eyes
fluttered to something beyond me. He slammed his mouth shut, took a
step back, and turned his eyes upon the woman, snarling.
    “We shall see what your guardian has to say about
this.” He cast me a look of pure hatred before stomping to where
his horse was tied. He rode wildly out of the yard leaving a cloud
of dirt behind.
    There. I
tossed my stick lightly in the air, caught it and turned to look at
the young woman beside me. I was not a tall man by any means, but
the beauty smiling at me was even shorter than I.
    She held out her hand. “Thank you, sir, for your
gallant rescue.” Her voice was sweet, musical.
    “It was a pleasure, madam,” I said as I