Page 60 of Fair as a Star

His clothing was rumpled, his filthy hair partially covered by a ragged woolen cap. He wasn’t a small man. He was a big bruiser of a fellow, not much older than forty if Mark was to guess.

“Mr. Priddy,” he said. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Priddy gave him a sullen glare. “Looking for my wife, ain’t I.”

“That’s the cider stall you’re headed for,” Mark pointed out.

“No crime in having a drink first.”

It looked as though he’d already had several. He wasn’t a very nice man when he was drunk. Quite the opposite. There was no telling what havoc he might wreak.

“You and I need to talk,” Mark said grimly. “Shall we go into the church?”

“Ain’t going to no church. And won’t countenance your meddling, Curate. This is between me and my missus.”

“There you’re wrong. When you harm someone weaker than yourself—”

“She’s my wife.”

“And should therefore be treated with respect.” Mark’s voice roughened with suppressed anger. “You broke her arm. Battered her face. Left her with no means to make her living.”

Priddy waved the accusations away as he moved to walk past. “I never did nothing to that woman.”

Mark blocked his path. “Shall I summon the doctor to recount her injuries?”

“Ah, what a load of—”

“You deny that you struck her?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is when you’re a tenant of Rivenhall Park.” Mark shouldn’t have said it. He had nothing to do with Henry’s tenancy agreements. No say in estate matters at all. Had Priddy not been so provoking, Mark might have kept his mouth shut. As it was, he knew at once that he’d gone too far. A threat to a man’s tenancy was a threat to his home, his very hope of survival.

Priddy’s large fists clenched at his sides. “I pay my rents.” His words grew loud with belligerence. “You ask that man of Sir Henry’s. He’ll tell you.”

Some of the villagers stopped to stare. There were whispers and even a giggle or two.

“There’s no need to make a scene,” Mark said. “We can talk at the church.”

“I won’t be preached at,” Priddy said. “Don’t care who your brother is.”

“Come.” Mark took Priddy’s elbow to encourage him away from the fete. “It will give you time to sober up.”

Priddy jerked free of Mark’s grasp, and without warning, punched him in the face.

Mark’s head snapped back. Stars exploded behind his eyes. He staggered back a step, but quickly regained his footing, more surprised than hurt.

“Out of my way,” Priddy said. “Unless you want more of the same.”

Mark was vaguely conscious of blood trickling from his nose. He ignored it. Mrs. Priddy had endured far worse. “I’m not going anywhere.” He continued to bar the man’s path, preventing him from storming off to find his wife. “Indeed, I think it’s time you learned what happens when you pick a fight with someone your own size.”

“I said out of the way.” Priddy swung again.

This time, Mark was ready. He sidestepped Priddy’s fist, and drawing back his own, struck a blow squarely across Priddy’s jaw. It landed with an ominous thud.

Priddy dropped like a felled oak, grunting as he hit the ground.

Astonished gasps echoed through the crowd of onlookers. Some of the men cheered. “That’s it, Curate! You show him!”