Snow White and Rose Red Read Online Free Page A

stopped and looked more closely, then smiled. Some berries still clung determinedly to the spiny branches near the center of the bush. Rosamund set her basket on the ground, then knelt and insinuated her arm carefully into the spaces between the thorns. So intent was she that she did not notice a man approaching from the direction of Mortlak.
    The man slowed as he came up behind her, and commented in a mellow voice, “A curious task for such a pretty maid.”
    Rosamund started, then exclaimed as the hawthorn scratched her hand. She turned, frowning. “The task is common enough, and better done had you not interrupted.”
    “Why, here’s a lively tongue!” the man said, his eyes dancing. His face was shadowed by a soft, broad-brimmed hat; a large canvas sack was slung over one of his shoulders, and he had to lean to the other side to balance its weight. His clothes were patched and worn, and dusty with much traveling. He was the very picture of a wandering peddler.
    Rosamund tried to meet the peddler’s eyes sternly, but after a moment she was forced to drop her gaze to her scratched hand. This irritated her more than ever, and she said crossly, “Go your ways and let me work, discourteous man.”
    “In what courtesy have I failed so sorely?”
    “You might have given better warning of your coming, goodman,” Rosamund said. “Or waited, at the least, until I’d withdrawn my hand. Now I’ve scratched myself and my berries are scattered, and all for your foolish lack of thought.”
    “Why, then, I’ll make amends,” the peddler said. He lowered his sack to the pathway. Before Rosamund could protest, he was crouched at her side, reaching delicately among the hawthorn branches with long, slender fingers.
    Rosamund studied him with interest, and a few misgivings. She did not feel afraid, though the Widow had often warned her daughters against the vagabonds and rogues who sometimes haunted the byways of the countryside, but she did not feel at ease with the man either. He was too contradictory; his actions and his hands were more those of a gentleman than a rogue, and they gave the lie to his pack and ragged clothing. Rosamund leaned forward slightly, hoping to catch a better glimpse of the peddler’s face.
    The peddler turned, and held out his cupped hands. “Bring your basket hither,” he commanded.
    Rosamund did as she was told. The peddler’s eyes smiled at her from the shadow beneath his hat; then he tilted his hands and poured a stream of hawthorn berries into the basket.
    “Is that enough to quit me of your displeasure?” he said, dusting his long fingers. “Or will you demand the golden apples of the sun, or three feathers from the firebird, before you let me go?”
    “I had not thought that bush held so many berries,” Rosamund said, staring at the shiny red pile that lay atop the herbs she had gathered earlier.
    “Oh, I’m well versed in finding the nooks and crannies where such things hide,” the peddler said in a careless tone. “But am I quits with you?”
    “Aye, and I must offer you my thanks as well,” Rosamund said. “Alone I’d never have gleaned so much.”
    The peddler winced and rose quickly. “Then I’ll go along my way. Fare you well, sweet maid.”
    “I am named Rosamund Arden,” Rosamund said as the peddler stooped to shoulder his pack. She felt she had misjudged the man, and, wishing to make amends, she added, “My home is just ahead, there by the forest. I’m sure you’d be welcome if you wish to stop and show your wares, though we’ve little coin with which to buy.”
    For a moment, the peddler hesitated; then he shook his head. “I’ll walk along with you a little way, but I’ve too far to go tonight to break my journey now.”
    “You are a most uncommon peddler,” Rosamund commented as she picked up her basket and fell into step beside the man.
    “How say you so?” the peddler said, giving her a sharp look from under the brim of his hat.
    “Why, because