Page 54 of Waking Roslyn

“Trust me, it is,” she said as she skipped along beside me.

“Come on,” John prompted, crossing the Bridgefield grounds. “I certainly hope that Lord Rockwell isn’t looking out one of those windows right now,” he muttered.

“Why?” I asked.

He cut his eyes over to me and then quickly away. “He did warn me away,” he said with a shake of his head.

Gretchen snorted. “And because it wouldn’t be good to have his lordship seeing John leading you off to the stables.”

“Gretchen,” John said, exasperated. “You don’t have to say everything that comes into your head.”

She gave a shrug, looking not at all sorry.

When we were rounding the corner of the house, John spotted another young man digging in the dirt. “Tyson,” he hollered.

The young man looked up and shaded his eyes with his hand.

John beckoned him over. “Come help me with something.”

The young man’s eyes went from John, to me, to Gretchen, then back to John before he grinned. Then he stood, dropping his gloves on the ground and swiping his hands across his knees several times before trotting over to join us.

“Miss Rose, this is Tyson,” John said.

Tyson gave a bow and touched the brim of his hat when he reached us. “My lady.”

I smiled and bowed my head but didn’t bother to deny the title.

“This way,” John prompted, and we all made our way to the stables.

“Why are we here?” I asked as we entered the pungent but well-kept space.

John used his height to look over the tops of the stall doors, finally stopping at the fourth one. “Here we are.” He opened the stall gate, and when I came up beside him, I saw that it was not occupied by a horse but by a giant pile of fresh hay. “If you’re going to flip a man onto his back, we’ll need a pile of straw for him to land in.”

“Wait a minute,” Tyson protested, holding his hands up at his sides and backing up several paces. “I’m not letting you flip me,” he said to John.

John smiled and leaned against one of the posts of the stall. “Not to worry. I won’t be the one flipping you.”

“I will!” Gretchen said with glee.

Tyson groaned. “That’s not all that much better. Why can’t she just flip you?” he asked.

“Because after you two provide a demonstration, Miss Rose is going to practice on me.”

The way Tyson grinned and said, “Is she, now?” made my cheeks flush, though I couldn’t say exactly why.

“Yes, and I’d rather not be tossed more times than necessary, so will you do me this favor?”

John seemed completely serious, but Tyson looked as if he’d just been awarded a handful of gold coins but was trying to hide his excitement, pressing his mouth together to keep from grinning. “Anything for a friend.” Then he turned to Gretchen. “All right, you little savage, get close to the pile.”

Gretchen skipped over and stood practically in the pile and turned to face Tyson.

He didn’t give her any warning, he just moved forward like he was going to choke her. I was startled by it, but I didn’t have any time to get truly concerned, because she immediately took hold of his arm and then tossed him over her back. Or at least appeared to. It was all too quick, so I wasn’t sure how it had happened.

Gretchen stood straight, clearly energized by her success.

“Good. Now move through it slowly, step by step,” John asked.

They did so a few times, and I was fascinated by the process. The way Gretchen grabbed his wrist with both hands, turned her back, yanked his arm forward and then threw her hips back was all brilliant. And she was only twelve! Tyson was likely close to my age, maybe a little younger, but he was certainly taller than me, and much taller than Gretchen.