Moonstruck Madness by Laurie McBain Page B

be settled," Sabrina promised, looking at John's shoulder wound, 'Tve one to settle with our scar-faced friend."
    "Go easy, Charlie," Will entreated her. "He's different. If he ever gets his hands on us, well, I'm a big man but that look of his sent a chill up my spine."
    "Do you think I'm frightened of that town fop?" Sabrina demanded incredulously.
    "You should be, Charlie," Will told her quietly.
    Sabrina's lower lip jutted out, and with her hands on her hips and the light of battle still in her violet eyes she vowed rashly, "I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but he'll soon wish he'd never set eyes upon me, and I'll give him time to lament the fact before I send him to his grave."
    Will gazed at this little firebrand who was the brains behind their misadventures and shook his head sadly. They'd come to love her these past years, admiring her courage; but she was a tough, determined little lady who would have her own way, and he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that it would lead to ruin. He felt like they were sitting on a barrel of gunpowder with Charlie going around striking sparks off everything, fearing nothing and no one. He shook his mop of corn-colored hair in resignation. They'd end up on the gallows yet.

 
    It is a double pleasure to deceive the deceiver.
    Jean de La Fontaine
     
     
     
    Chapter 4
    S ABRINA climbed down daintily from the horse-drawn gig. To any observers she was playing Lady Bountiful to her less fortunate neighbors, bearing a basket of homemade goods, perhaps bread and soup, to the ailing Taylor son who'd hurt his shoulder chopping wood.
    Sabrina knocked once, then twice rapidly and waited, the scent of lavender and herbs heavy in the warm afternoon air. Sad-faced pansies stared back at her from the flower beds and the loud notes of a storm thrush called from a chestnut tree.
    "Ah, Lady Sabrina, come along in," Mrs. Taylor welcomed as she escorted Sabrina inside the cottage. "You don't mind going into the kitchen? I've bread in the oven and it's likely to burn if I'm not there to watch it."
    "Of course not. You know I like that room above all; it's always so warm and smells so good in there."
    Mrs. Taylor smiled. "You and the boys'll never grow up. Hoping for a piece of freshly buttered bread, are you?" She chuckled happily as she pulled out a cane chair for Sabrina to sit on.
    The large farm kitchen was full of the aroma of baking bread from the brick oven built into the fireplace, where a great kettle hung over the open fire.
    "How is John?" Sabrina asked.
    "Well, a bit feverish, but that's to be expected. I'm not worried, though, I've applied a salve and he's gettin' plenty of rest. Be himself in no time," Mrs. Taylor answered assuredly. "Now, how about a cup of coffee? I've just brewed some over the fire."
    "I was hoping you'd ask me to have some," Sabrina admitted. "I've been tantalized by it since I came in, and with the coffee mill still fragrant, it must be freshly ground."
    "Not much misses your eye, Lady Sabrina," Mrs. Taylor beamed. "Just finished grinding it shortly before you knocked."
    Mrs. Taylor took down two pewter mugs and placed them on the table, then removed two loaves of crisp, golden bread from the oven. Holding one of the loaves with the edge of her voluminous apron, she placed it on the table in front of Sabrina. Going back to the fire with the mugs, she tipped a small kettle from its adjustable hanger and filled the two mugs with the steaming brew.
    "Now, some butter." She reached for a large wooden bowl with freshly churned butter that hadn't yet been patted into shape and a small pot of honey.
    "This should do us," she sighed, dropping down in a chair at the table. "I've been on my feet all day, about worn them off."
    Sabrina took a dab of fluffy butter and spread it across the piece of warm bread, licking her fingertip as the melting butter dripped over the edge. "No wonder John and Will grew so big, with this good food inside of them."
    "Well,