With This Kiss

the reins a hard jerk and the horse landed back on the cobblestones with a jarring thump. Then he gave the animal one stern look. “No.”
    The horse’s face was wet with sweat and froth; his eyes were filled with terror and rage. The idiot at his feet had managed some solid blows to the shoulder, because Colin saw a streak of blood along with wood chips and dark sweat.
    Colin wound the reins around his hand, keeping the horse’s head close to him. “No more,” he said quietly. The beast made a huffing noise and tried to back away, shaking his head violently.
    Just then the fool on the ground managed to stagger to his feet, hand still cupped over his privates. “Who the devil are you?” he screamed, his voice rising higher into the air.
    Colin noticed that some villagers had finally noticed the noise; a baker in a white apron was walking from the far end of the alley, followed by a few others. He ignored the man’s question. “What in the devil were you doing to this animal.” He made it a statement, not a question; they both knew the answer.
    “Beating what is mine,” the man cried, staggering forward and trying to snatch the reins. “That limb of Satan is mine, and if I want to strike it dead in front of the church, I’ll do it. You give me back my horse!”
    The baker stopped, hands on his hips. “Joshua Bunbutt, you are no more than a drunken rogue, beating that horse in such an unprincipled manner. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
    “Well, I ain’t,” Bunbutt said, with a snarl that raised his top lip in a remarkably unattractive fashion. “You can throw me in the jug when you decide I’ve drunk a bit more than you fools consider necessary, but you can’t stop me from dealing with a problem that I own . So just take your sanctimonious arse back into the bakery, Wadd.”
    He swung back to Colin. “Give me back my reins, you son of a—”
    “I wouldn’t,” Colin said softly.
    Bunbutt obviously caught the likelihood of violent engagement in Colin’s eyes; he fell back a step. “Look here,” he said with a bit of a whine, “just give me the damned horse and I’ll take him home with me.”
    “Home!” the baker snorted. “You haven’t got a home, you old scoundrel. Your missus told everyone in the church the other day that she’s kicked you out. She’s a decent woman, and you’ve worn her to a nub.”
    “My wife is none of your business!” Bunbutt said, his voice rising again. “She’s another limb of Satan. I’ve got nothing but betrayal on all sides.”
    “How much?” Colin asked.
    He could hear the horse breathing harshly behind him but he had settled, and was merely moving from hoof to hoof. It sounded as if he wore only three shoes.
    “I ain’t selling him,” Bunbutt shouted. His cheeks were turning red again. “I know your game! You’re trying to take away my livelihood, and then you’ll let me starve by the side of the road. An’ my Christian wife will walk by and spit on my head. I’ll take my horse!”
    He charged forward again, so Colin gave him a stiff uppercut to the jaw.
    “I’ll have the parish constable on you!” Bunbutt cried, reeling backward, a dribble of blood coming from his mouth.
    Colin took out a gold sovereign and tossed it, deliberately, so that it fell on the ground between them.
    Bunbutt’s eyes followed the flash of gold to where it lay on the cobblestones. “Yer trying to buy me horse for a measly—”
    Another followed.
    “That animal isn’t worth more than two,” the baker said, stepping forward. “The poor thing has been abused by this fool here for the past three years.” He turned and poked Bunbutt in the chest. “And no saying where you got him from. He’s too fine an animal for you to own, and we all said so from the first. You stole him!”
    “I did not!” Bunbutt screamed.
    Colin threw a third sovereign.
    “That’s too much,” the baker said.
    “I’ll take another!” Bunbutt said greedily. “You want this horse, you have to pay for him. And pay good. He’s a fine animal, of a championship pedigree.”
    Colin didn’t give a damn what pedigree the horse had. What he saw was a dumb beast, beaten and abused by a drunken, uncaring bastard. In fact, the world would be a better place without Bunbutt.
    The man must have seen that thought in his eyes because he suddenly dropped to his knees and scrabbled for the sovereigns.
    “He’s yours, then!” he said shrilly, backing away so sharply that he struck