Armstrong, Kelley - Rebirth.pdf - Armsrrtong Kelley - GRY_FILMY_STREFAXXX

Rebirth

England

1802

Aaron stumbled from the tavern and gasped as the first blast of cold air slapped his face. He

paused in the doorway and took a deep breath, letting it wash some of the toxins from his lungs .

. . and maybe a few from his bloodstream as well. Geoffrey jostled him from behind, and Aaron

gave him a good-natured shoulder that sent his friend staggering back.

“Move it, you big ox,” John said, kneeing Aaron in the rear.

“Just push me out of the way.” Aaron shot a grin over his shoulder. “Or maybe you should

squeeze past instead. You’re skinny enough.”

Aaron stepped onto the cobblestone street and stopped for another gulp of fresh air. Not

exactly fresh, he thought with a grimace. The narrow street stunk of shit—horse shit, dog shit,

human shit—that’s what came of living so close you couldn’t take a crap without piling it on

someone else's. Give him farm life any day. There was plenty of shit there too, but at least there

was room to spread it around.

He squinted up and down the street, his ale-soaked brain struggling to remember which way

they’d come. That was another problem with towns. You couldn’t see a damn thing. The

Armstrong/Rebirth

buildings not only crowded your view, they crowded out the moonlight. The few lanterns

dotting the street added more smoke than light.

“Inn’s this way,” Geoffrey said, smacking Aaron’s arm. “Come on before the mistress locks

the door.”

Aaron grunted. She’d locked them out the last time, and it had been a long, cold night on

the street. Aaron and Geoffrey came to the city for a weekend every other month, bringing

goods to market. They’d finished their work this morning, but their families didn’t expect them

back until Sunday night, knowing that any young man willing to stay home and help his parents

on the farm deserved time now and then to sample the cosmopolitan treats he was missing.

One of those “treats” peered out from an alley as they passed. She met Aaron’s gaze and

batted her lashes in what he supposed was meant to be a come-hither look, but seemed more like

soot caught in her eyes. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen, the bodice of her dirty dress

stuffed to simulate the curves she wouldn’t see for another few years . . . if she lived that long.

Aaron reached into his pocket, walked over and pressed a few coins into the whore’s palm.

A look, part relief, part trepidation sparked in her eyes, then they clouded with confusion as he

walked back to his friends.

John bumped against him. “How drunk are you? You forgot to take what you paid for.”

“Oh, Aaron never has to pay for it,” Geoffrey said. “A tart sees him coming and she closes

her purse and opens her legs.”

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.”

John started to turn, but Aaron grabbed his shoulder and steered him forward.

“What?” John said. “It’s paid for.”

Armstrong/Rebirth

As they stumbled past an alley, a whimper snaked out from the darkness within. Then the

crack of fist hitting flesh.

Aaron stopped, drunken grin sliding from his lips.

“Ya gotta have more than that,” a voice rumbled. “Find it . . . or I will.”

“Aaron . . .” Geoffrey said, plucking Aaron’s sleeve. “It’s none of your business and, for

once, let’s leave it that way, or we’ll be late and spend another night on the street.”

Aaron brushed his friend off and strode into the alley. As he walked, his vision cleared and

his steps steadied, the effects of the ale sloughing off as he focused on the voices. He pulled

himself up to his full height and peeled off his jacket. That was often enough—tower over the

thug and give him a good look at the muscles earned in life on a farm, and most would decide

they really didn’t need that few pence tonight after all. As he approached the two—a

black-haired lout and a quaking shopkeeper—his gaze went to the lout’s hands, looking for a

weapon. Nothing. Good.

Aaron grabbed the lout’s shoulder. “You want to rob someone? Try me.”

The lout’s hand slammed forward. A flash of metal. Where had that come—? Before

Aaron could finish the thought the blade drove into his chest, right under the breastbone. He

shoved the man away and staggered back into the wall. His hands went to his chest. Blood

pumped out over his fingers. The lout came at him again, but the sound of running footsteps

made him think better of it and he ran off into the darkness.

“Aaron? Aaron!”

Aaron tried to take a step, but faltered and slammed back against the wall. For a second, he

stood there, knees locked, forcing himself to stay up. Then he crumpled.

Armstrong/Rebirth

Aaron twisted in his bed. Too small. The damned thing dug into both his shoulders and hit the

top of his head and bottoms of his feet. Inns. They cram as many people into a room as they

can, and if you’re more than five-foot-six, well, that’s not their fault. Eyes still closed he took a

deep breath. Flowers . . . and a faint musty smell. The mistress probably set out fresh blooms to

cover the smell, so she wouldn’t have to change the bedding more than once a month.

He should open his eyes. He knew that—but he also knew that first blare of morning sun

was going to feel like Satan’s imps stabbing pitchforks in his eyes. He shouldn’t drink so much.

He wasn’t used to it and he paid for his folly every morning after. Speaking of folly . . . he let

out a groan. The lout in the alley. Next time he decided to rescue someone, he would take that

extra moment to make damned sure the lout wasn’t concealing a knife. Now he really didn’t

want to get up. He’d been stabbed in the chest once before, and it had taken him weeks to

recover.

His father was going to kill him. He remembered the last time, when he’d been unable to

lift anything heavier than a piglet for a month. His father had to do all the chores, and he’d keep

giving him that look, muttering “Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” his weathered and wrinkled face

collapsing in a deep sigh. He kept his gaze down when he did it, to cover the pride in his eyes.

“A big strong boy with a good heart,” he’d boast to the neighbors when he thought Aaron

couldn’t hear. “What more could a father want?”

“God gave you strength,” his mother always said. “Always remember that it’s a gift, and

gifts from God are to be used in the service of God. Help those less fortunate than you, and

you’ll please Him.”

Armstrong, Kelley - Rebirth.pdf

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