Shepherd Hunted (11 page)

“Tonight you will lose that fur,” Kit said. She patted Timothy’s bearded cheek with her knuckles.

“What?”

She tugged his chin. “I am done with this fur.”

“So you are jealous,” Timothy said.

“I am going to ignore the way you insulted my tail.”

“Not so loud!” Timothy glanced around the room.

Kit laughed, knuckled his cheek again, and approached the innkeeper at his counter.

“What can I do for you, lass?” the man asked.

Kit’s hand dropped a few coins on the counter. The innkeeper watched her hand more than the coins. Timothy knew those hands lied. They looked delicate, but they could crush boulders. Well, not boulders. Mountains perhaps. But those hands looked thinner than he remembered.

Was she serious about his beard?

“A room with one bed,” Kit said.

“Three beds,” Timothy said.

Kit’s foot smashed his shin. Her smile never faltered. “One bed. We need hot wash water as well.” She must have thought him better to return to her normal level of fond abuse.

The innkeeper made the coins disappear. His hands were huge, with course black hair across the knuckles. He smiled.

“Name’s Al Doni. Call me Big Al. Do you know any good stories? It looks like you’ve seen the road a ways.” He bounced the coins in a meaty hand. “A good story for one of these coins back.”

“Have you heard of a story of a fox and a shepherd?” Kit asked.

“Don’t think I have.”

“Kit…” Timothy said.

Kit giggled and snatched Timothy’s arm. “Well it is a dull one. It looks like my husband is anxious for a warm bed.” Despite her light words, Kit’s glance told Timothy she was still concerned about him.

Big Al boomed a laugh. His shirt strained against his broad chest and stomach. “I can’t fault him with a chill night like tonight. We don’t get many travelers this way, so welcome. The room is down that hall. Fourth on the left. I will keep these coins until you tell your story, lass.”

“A black-haired girl will be coming in shortly,” Kit said. “Mind sending her with the wash water?”

“Sure. Saves one of my girls from doing it.” Big Al cocked his head. “Not many in these parts have servants. From the looks of you, I should expect some good stories, eh?”

“Like you’ve not heard before, I’d guess. Thank you.” Kit led Timothy down the hall. “I think you are well enough for me to play with again. It has been a long while.”

Timothy shrugged. Memories of Honheim, though fragmented, still hounded his sleep.

Kit whispered, “You can’t let what happened bother you. You are alive.”

Timothy had thought he was doing good job of hiding how much Honheim troubled him. But apparently he had not.

She nestled his arm against her chest as they walked. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Yes, but…” Timothy said.

“Here it is,” Kit said. She opened the door. A single bed with a dark green coverlet dominated the room, and a small fire crackled in he hearth. She flung Timothy at the bed hard enough that he bounced on the hard mattress. She leaned into him, a hand pressed against his chest.

“No buts. You forget it, and I will also forget it. It bothers me too, you know. I lived. You lived, and you are with me. That is what matters.” She hesitated. “I…I am sorry for what I did.”

“No! I—sorry for what?”

Yuzu entered with a steaming wash basin balanced in her arms. Her tongue stuck out at the corner of her mouth. She stopped at the sight of them. An eyebrow lifted before she shrugged, sloshing a little water on the floor. Yuzu plunked the basin on the room’s table and crossed her arms. “I didn’t join you to be your servant. I was barely through the door before some girl shoved that at me.”

Timothy tried to sit up. Kit shoved him back and lay on his chest. Her ears pushed her green head scarf, and she smiled at the dark-haired girl. Timothy expected to see sparks. Instead, Yuzu laughed.

“Could you teach me how to do that?” Yuzu asked.

“Do what?” Kit kept her head on his chest. Her warmth felt nice.

“That.” Yuzu waved her hand. “I was so awkward around Allen. He made no end of fun of me for that.” Her voice broke, and her eyes glistened. She shook her head and crouched at the hearth, out of Timothy’s limited vision. “How you handle him, I mean,” Yuzu said.

“How I handle him?” Kit asked. She pushed away and regarded the hapless shepherd. “I’ve had  enough of that beard.”

Timothy did not like the sound of that. Kit rolled off of him and rummaged in a travel pack she had tossed onto the floor.

“Ah!” She produced a knife and a whetstone.

She slid the knife along the whetstone with an amused gaze aimed at Timothy. Yuzu coaxed more heat from the hearth. Timothy made for the door.

Yuzu moved and cut off his escape. Her wide, delighted smile condemned him. “Big Sis is right. That beard needs to go.”

Kit paused her sharpening. “Big Sis?”

“I always wanted a big sister,” Yuzu said. “I think I can learn a lot from you. You are more capable than me.”

Kit frowned, and the knife whispered against the whetstone faster.

Shish, shish, shish.

Timothy scratched his beard. Did fleas like beards? He could shave himself. His hand did not tremble that much. He wondered if he could move the dark-haired girl.

“Unlike face fur, some things are hard to get rid of, it seems,” Kit glanced at Yuzu.

Maybe Kit doesn’t like Yuzu because as long as she is here, she has to keep her ears and tail hidden.

 “I will not tolerate fleas.” Kit’s gaze lanced Yuzu. “Or antics.”

Shish, shish shish shish.

“So you grew up on the streets, Yuzu?” Timothy asked, his beard beginning to feel resigned to its fate.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is losing that beard.” Kit held the knife up in the feeble sunlight that filtered through the window.

“I can do it myself,” Timothy said. Just then a knee decided to buckle, and he had to put a hand on the wall to keep from falling.
Maybe no one noticed,
he thought.

“You are still too weak,” Kit said. “I can’t have you accidentally killing yourself after all the trouble I’ve gone through to get you here. Yuzu, if you are going to be here, make yourself useful.”

“Food,” Timothy said. “I’m hungry. Do you smell stew? Smells good doesn’t it? Maybe it will even have beef.”

The women ignored him.

“I’ve never shaved a man before. Allen liked his beard.” Yuzu smiled and herded Timothy toward the bed. His knees gave out, and she plopped him on the mattress.

“I can do it myself.”

Kit brandished the knife. The edge caught the hearth’s light. “I think not.”

“He is weak still,” Yuzu said.

Kit glanced from the knife to Yuzu, and she smiled.

Timothy’s mind spluttered. Just a moment ago they had looked ready to pounce on each other, and now they were smiling? He tried to get up. “I am fine.” But Yuzu’s hands on his shoulders held him firm.

“His hair is too long,” Yuzu said.

Kit nodded and looked at the blade. “I remember we had scissors in one of the bags.”

Kit approached him with the knife in one hand and a bar of soap in the other. “I’ve never shaved a man either.” She grinned.

Maybe she is my punishment for my childhood pranks.

A moment later, lathered almost to his eyebrows, Timothy tried to remain completely still. The fire Yuzu managed to stoke failed to drive all the cold away, but his cheeks were hot under the lather. He sat in dignified silence. Yuzu held his shoulders firm and massaged them. As if he was going to stand up with that knife against his throat. Both women wore wide smiles now, and he worked to keep the frown from his face. Kit’s hand held steady as she worked, but the tip of her tongue stuck out between her lips as the knife caressed his throat.

“Do you know anything about the fox spirits, Yuzu?” Timothy asked while Kit wiped the knife on a rag. He trusted Kit, but to have anyone run a knife over his throat wrenched his nerves. Yes, he did trust Kit. Best not to move too much though.

Kit tsked.

“Only what I told you.” Yuzu’s fingers dug into his shoulders. Couldn’t they see he had already given up? How long would he be treated like an infant?

“Timothy is already possessed by this vixen,” Kit said.

“I just might let you have him,” Yuzu said. Her voice brimmed with concealed mirth.

Kit froze. “We will see.” She returned to work.

Timothy groaned. Kit looked like she wanted to use the knife on Yuzu’s throat. Finally, she wiped the knife on the towel and pointed the blade at him. “You are nothing but trouble.” She laid the knife aside and wiped off the remaining lather on his cheeks with the towel.

Timothy’s bare cheeks felt cold, but he had escaped without a single nick. He ran a hand over his smooth neck.

“I should have cut you on purpose. A beauty scar,” Kit said. She turned and rummaged in the pack.

“Beauty scars.” Yuzu made an approving sound and run a finger along Timothy’s temple. “Not large, but not too small. Allen had one on his temple.”

Kit caught something between her fingers and flicked it away. She produced a pair of scissors. “If your beard gave me fleas, Timmy…” She shook the scissors at him. “I’ve never cut hair before.”

“I have.” Yuzu held a hand out.

Kit grimaced. “I will let you only because I don’t want my shepherd bald.”

Yuzu had to take them from Kit. “I rather like hair on a cold night. We should leave it a little long.”

Kit snorted. Timothy could do nothing but endure with dignity.

“Timmy is cute when he sulks, isn’t he?” Kit said. She mussed his long hair.

Yuzu’s smile wilted. “Should we really be doing this? After all we’ve seen?”

Timothy’s mood slipped.

Kit grimaced. “Do what? Live? We have every reason to laugh. We are alive.” She ruffled Timothy’s hair again. “The best way to remember people is to live and appreciate it. At least that is what Grammie used to say.”

A grin flashed on Yuzu’s lips before fading and returning wider than before. “You are right, sis! Allen, Mira, Hoss, and Colt would want me to be happy.”

“Sis?” Kit tasted the word and frowned.

Timothy shook his head, earning a glare from Kit. “I’m not disagreeing,” he said. “It’s just—”

“Just nothing.” Kit patted his cheek. “I am glad you made it. You have to repay me for the trouble you’ve caused me.”

He sighed.

A half hour later, Timothy escaped to the common room with pleas of needing to eat and take care of nature. Kit offered—offered!—to help him with nature because he was still too weak.
At least I managed to distract her.
He left the two staring daggers at each other when he mentioned he would sleep on the floor. Kit could be indecent with her jabs, but Yuzu seemed to be trying to one-up her for whatever reason. He doubted Yuzu had any interest in him. She seemed focused on dogging Kit like a sheepdog after a stray lamb. But then, he wasn’t sure.

The common room broiled. A fierce fire danced in the hearth that dominated the far wall; a stuffed stag head watched with glassy eyes from atop the fireplace. The antlers, Timothy guessed they were called, were wider than the dressed stone hearth. The equally wide innkeeper strained his apron behind a long bar. Leather farmers filled half the room.

“O-ho! There, my lad. I am surprised to see you so soon. Jer over there had bets going on how much creaking we would hear and when. Why, what happened to your face, lad? No. No. I know what happened. That redhead of yours kept frowning at you. A man needs a proper beard and meat on his bones if you ask me, but women have a different view on the matter.” Big Al stroked his own bushy, paunch-length beard.

Timothy took a seat at the counter. Jer, Timothy assumed, shot a grimace from his seat at the other end. Apparently the wager hadn’t gone his way.

“Do you know of a place called Belafonte, uh, Big Al?” Timothy asked.

Jer groaned, and the innkeeper laughed. “Belafonte? That’s the forest close to the Grove Mountains. Certainly, my boy. Elsie!” Big Al shouted at a plump woman tending to tables. The woman straightened after plunking a mug in front of a red-haired man. The man looked at Timothy. He wore a brown bandana over his scalp, and his coat was a worn mix of brown and green.
His hair is as red as Kit’s!

“Get some warm cider for the lad. And some roast with mash. He needs meat on his bones,” Big Al said.

Elsie glared, and Big Al scratched his cheek with a finger.

“Please, honey? I mean, Mistress Doni?”

Elsie tossed her gray-streaked hair. “You will know manners one day.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

“Yes, well, wives are stories of their own,” Big Al said. “Now, my story! Oh, it’s all on the house for listening. These louts don’t know a good story if it grabbed them by the ears. And I think you have ears to listen.”

“That’s because we hear it every week,” a grizzled farmer said.

“And you never add anything new,” another added.

“Bah. A good story doesn’t need lies to spice it up,” Big Al said. Elsie reappeared and slapped a plate heaped with slices of roast and gravy placed on top of some type of lumpy white vegetable. “There you go; eat up so you don’t look so sickly. A woman needs a strong man. Two women need a thick man.” Big Al boomed a laugh. Elsie shot him a long-suffering look before returning to the tables.

“I hope the room is cold enough for ya, lad. Cold is good for getting a woman to bed. Needs to be colder for two.” Big Al winked. His lined face became serious. “You saw that stag over there, lad. When I was young, I used to live by Belafonte. Hunted there often, I did. That stag was from my last trip five years back. My story is from my younger days. It is a pity it is such a long ride. I am too old for two weeks in the saddle now. Burn my bones for true.”

“You are too old and fat for walking to the dinner table,” the grizzled farmer said. The common room filled with laughter.

“Could you add something new this time? I don’t care if it is a lie or not,” Jer said.

“Be quiet, Marc. You are older than me! You haven’t heard this story, Jer. It’s one I never told nobody. Never thought I would either.”