Chapter 3

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One moment, Iris was walking forward, engrossed in the novel she held tightly in her hands.  The next, a strong arm wrapped around her abdomen and pulled her backward and out of the street.  She gasped—too breathless to scream, otherwise she might have—clutching the book to her chest and stumbling until she and her rescuer crumbled to the ground.  He had taken the brunt of the fall, but Iris was too distracted to consider the vulnerable position in which she now sat between his legs, her back pressed up against his chest.  While one of her hands still held the book close to her body, the other clasped the arm at her waist like it was a lifeline keeping her from drowning.  A panicked, riderless horse came galloping down the road.  Had the man behind her not intervened, the stallion would have no doubt run her over.  Two men ran after the animal, one of them screaming enough obscenities that Iris felt her face blush despite her own sense of terror.

The arm around her waist remained firm until the momentary bedlam had calmed and the yelling had lessened.  The grip loosened, finally allowing her to turn around to watch as the man stood up and offered her his hand.  One pale blue eye met hers.  The other was covered by sandy blond hair, which the man quickly shoved away.  His skin was stained and his cuticles were dark from his work.  When Iris took his hand, he pulled her up easily, like she weighed no more than the book in her arm.  How strong was he?

His eyes went up and down her body quickly to assess her for any injuries; oddly enough, she did not feel embarrassed by his perusal, even though anyone would know it was wildly inappropriate.  When he noticed none, his body language immediately relaxed, and he took a couple steps away from her to put a more respectable amount of space between them.

"Is everything all right?" The man turned toward the soft, feminine voice as another woman approached.  Iris was careful to focus on her face and not on the crutch she had under her left arm.

"Yes," Iris managed. She swallowed, looking up at the blacksmith's son. "Thank you."

"Thank Enda.  She's the one who saw the horse," he said with a nod.

Iris responded with a nod of her own and loosened her grip on her book as the woman named Enda stepped up beside her.  Enda's pale blond hair was long and wavy, part of it pulled away from her face but the rest flowing down her back.  She shifted her weight to her crutch and held out a hand to Iris with a smile. "I'm so glad you're well."

Iris self-consciously smiled and nodded once.  Words had escaped her.

"The name's Bren, by the way.  Bren Fintan." The tender way his lips curled up in a smile released some of Iris's tension.

"I'm Iris."

"You're visiting?" Enda asked.

"How could you tell?" It was Iris's turn to smile, this one genuine.

"Most people know better than to read while crossing the road." Bren winked at her.

Iris blushed. "I guess I got carried away."

"It happens." That came from Enda.

"You would've thought I'd have learned my lesson; a different horse almost trampled me earlier today."

"Have you been here long?" Enda asked.

"Several hours, maybe?" Iris said. She turned her attention to Bren. "I apologize for pulling you from your work."

"Trivialities." He waved his hand.

"'Trivialities?'" Enda repeated.  She poked him in the side, and he feigned pain. "I'll make a courtier of you yet."

The light exchange did more to relax Iris than she might have thought possible.

"Hopefully that did not ruin your first impressions of Remalna-city," Bren said, still rubbing his side.

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