Chapter 13
Kidnapped
The hamlet boasted neither a smith nor a stable from which Luke might borrow a replacement for his lame horse.
“Nay, there be a smithy in Warley—five mile that road.”
The farmhand pointed in the direction Luke needed to go. “Comes out t’ us’n when we needs ’im, like. Most times we goes t’ ’im.” Considering for a long moment, the man ventured, “Course, there be three smithies in Brentwood. Nine mile frum ’ere, though.”
Luke fumed. He’d have done better to stay on the turnpike and walk to Brentwood. Now he was even farther from certain help. “In Warley, is ’e? Five mile?”
“Aye, down that road.” The man chewed his pipe stem. “Course, ’e’ll be in t’ pub this hour.”
Luke nodded. “I ’spect so. Be there an inn there I can get a ’orse?”
The man shook his head. “Dunno ’
