Vixen Hunted (9 page)

The balding innkeeper
put a heavy iron key on the bar, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Four
shillings for the room and meal." Timothy dug out the coins and dropped
them into the thick hand. The man released the reins on his grin once the coins
were in his palm. "Last room on the right."

She swiped the key from
the smooth wooden bar, "I will go on ahead while you get dinner." She
smiled at Timothy. More than a few heads swiveled to watch her climb the stairs
to the inn rooms.

The innkeeper clapped
Timothy on the shoulder. "Looks like the stories about reds are true. She
looks to have fire between her legs. Lucky lad and poor bastard!"

Timothy cleared his
throat. "Dinner?"

"Oh, right! Can't
leave your lass waiting for too long. Alice!"

A young girl in a
greasy apron came out of the kitchen behind the bar. A tray heaped with meat, a
loaf of crusty bread, a pitcher of ale, and a pair of apples filled her thin
arms. Timothy took the tray from the girl. She glanced at his face, reddened,
and hurried off without a word. The innkeeper went back to pouring drinks and
conversing with the locals.

"Have fun,
lad!"

"Lucky
bastard."

Timothy rushed up the
stairs and away from the well-meaning, crude jests. The conversations fell to a
buzz. He shifted the tray to open the door to the room.

Kit lay on her side in
the bed. She had wasted no time stripping to her shift. Did she find clothes
that uncomfortable?

The room held a single
chair, a rough desk with an oil lantern, the bed, and little else. A small
window let in the fading sunlight. Timothy placed the tray on the desk. Her
ruddy tail wagged.

"Comfortable
already, I see. You do know we may need to escape in the middle of the night,
right?"

"You are not one with a tail confined in
hot clothing all day. My tail is stiff from so many hours under that cursed
dress. And my ears." She stroked one. "They hurt from being tied down
so!" She pointed to the wall. "Turn around. You are not allowed to
see my tail." She frowned when Timothy ignored her. "I guess we are a
little even. The look on your face!" She laughed. "I have decided it
is okay for you to look at my tail. I can be gracious, can I not?"

"The goddess of
graciousness," Timothy said.

She lunged from the bed
to the tray of food. "Rabbit!"

Timothy slumped into
the chair and removed his boots. "Must you always make a fuss everywhere
we go?"

Kit bounced on the bed,
tail dancing behind her. "It is just too fun not to! Besides, you owe me
for earlier," she said around a mouthful of rabbit. Timothy reached for
the loaf, and Kit grabbed at the escaping bread with a free hand. "Putting
up with many antics is just one way to pay off your debt to me."

Timothy managed to tear
most of the bread away from her. "It will be about another three or four
days of travel to get to Ciaran."

"You really should
visit your home more."

Timothy looked into the
distance. "Mother can be…difficult."

"She cannot be any
more difficult than you, shepherd."

"You will
see." Timothy yawned.

Kit echoed him and
stretched down to her tail. "Those are quite contagious." She yawned
again. "So we have only a single bed." She smiled. "You are
welcome to share it with me! I promise to be quiet."

"And be smothered
by your tail? I think not. I will take the floor."

She giggled behind a
hand. "This is much better than being angry. A good try if your voice had
not quivered with lust. You think bad things about my tail, do you not?"

"Quivering with a
sneeze."

Kit frowned. "You
are no fun at all." She shoved him off the bed.

"Oof."
Timothy landed in a heap.

Kit leaned over the
bed. "You need a bath anyway. I don't want to catch any fleas from
you!"

She pulled the sheet over
her head. "Good night, Timmy."

Timothy rubbed his
back. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he sat at the small table
and finished the food. Kit had left most of it.

In a few days Timothy
would have to face his mother. He guessed Aunt Mae and the fox would get along.
Maybe Aunt Mae could straighten the vixen. Fewer verbal jabs would be nice.

Orange light lanced
across the desk. Timothy stirred. He did not remember falling asleep.

Kit shrieked.

Timothy upended his
chair.

She bounced on the bed
with her shift pulled high. Small red bumps flecked her legs and thighs. Her
tail and ears bristled.

"Fleas! I have
fleas!"

"You know, I would
like to wake up just once without losing a year from my life." Timothy
rubbed the back of his head. If this kept up, he would have more gray hairs
than Kyle.

Kit danced on the bed.
She grabbed her tail and preened, smashing something between her fingers.
"They are everywhere!" She fell into Timothy, sending him back to the
floor. "Get them off me!"

"Ugh. Get off me
first," Timothy said.

Timothy yanked a small
bug from her hair. "Bed lice. They are not fleas. Looks like turnabout has
decided to come about."

"This is not a
joke!"

"You will be fine
as long as you avoid beds." Timothy said. "Next time we stay at an inn,
we will cover the bed in bean leaves and burn them in the morning."

Kit pushed against his
chest. "So they are not fleas?"

Timothy laughed,
earning a dark glare. "They are not fleas. Annoying, but they like to keep
to beds. Now will you get off me?"

"I thought you
would like me all shaking and helpless."

"Not that I
don't." He kept his eyes on her face. A few angry bumps stood out on her
neck and cheeks. A glance said the bugs were busy under her shift too.
"But, I think we should get some breakfast and find an apothecary for your
bites." So much for sleeping late.

"You surprise me.
Two things I cannot disagree with! It is still your fault though!"

Philip slopped a soapy
rag on the bar and scrubbed at a stubborn stain as he had for the past five
years. He couldn't remember what caused the stain, but a good barkeeper made
sure his bar was clean. Farmers were a dirty enough lot without him adding to
the mix. He had to cuff Beth after seeing the redhead covered in louse bites.
Beth never was worth a lick for cleaning, but she was his sister's daughter and
a looker besides. Philip refused to have an inn with louse problems. Too many
merchants who fancied themselves something passed through his town. Reputation
made a man and a man's business.

The spirited lady who
had arrived last night was the first redhead he'd ever seen. Looker did not
describe that lass. Philip grinned to himself. Her poor lad had his hands full.

"Took all I had in
me to not laugh," he told the bar counter.

The door swung open,
letting in a whiff of cool air. Philip hoped the heat had finally broken for
the year. The days heated and cooled faster and more often than Alice did. Cool
weather meant harvest. Harvest meant winter was closer. Winter brought hot ale
and stories. The money was fair, but Philip enjoyed an inn full of stories
best.

A muscular man with a
single scar running down his cheek tracked across the just-cleaned common room.
He wore forest-colored clothing designed for traveling. The man settled into a
stool at the bar.

"What will it
be?" Philip asked.

"Information and
apple ale." The man laid several coins on the table.

Philip took a shilling
and left the rest. He thumped a mug of ale beside the coins. "Depends on
the information."

"I was supposed to
meet a couple of friends, but I missed them. I heard they came this way."
The man took a pull of his mug. "One is a young lad named Timothy. The
other is a red-haired girl."

Philip rubbed at the
stain. No chance a man like this one befriended those two.

"I had a full
house last night. Saw several young lads here. I make it a point not to know
where my patrons go in the morning. It is none of my concern as long as they
return sometime." Philip spoke the truth. He had a feeling this man would
know a lie. Philip knew the man's type.

Some men hunted
animals. Other men hunted people.

The man finished his
ale. "That is answer enough." He waved at the coins. "A tip for
being helpful, innkeep. May God look over you."

The strange man thumped
out, leaving a trail of mud. Philip frowned. A man like that was usually hard
to handle, and trouble besides. Philip gripped the bar with a burly hand.

He shrugged and
relaxed. "I am too old to toss people out on their ears anyway." He
reached to scoop the coins.

A single red hair clung
to the bar.

Chapter 6

"My tail is
soaked," Kit said again.

The summer heat had
broken three days before, in a deluge to rival the stories of Noah. People
stuffed the road shelters. Timothy ignored the curious looks from the doors of
the shelters. Only fools plodded through this mud. Timothy would rather be
stuck in the rain and taking shelter under pines for a month than dealing with
what awaited them ahead.

"I think I see
it!" Kit's ears strained against her sodden head scarf. A familiar shape
emerged from the mist. Cat shook rain off her wool, splashing Timothy. Not that
his clothes could hold any more water.

Kit and the lamb raced
for the shelter of the eaves while Timothy kept his measured pace. Soaked was
soaked. Running would not make him any less so now. He looked forward to seeing
Aunt Mae again.

But he dreaded seeing
his mother.

A brass bell clung to
the rough stone doorframe. Timothy took a long breath and reached for the rope
that hung from the bell. He hesitated.

"Just ring the
bell, shepherd, or I will use your head as a door knocker." Kit hugged
herself.

The bell's sound split
the unrelenting rain.

A few moments passed
before the door creaked open. A young nun poked her head out. "Oh, you are
completely soaked! What are you doing out in this? Come in. Come in. We have a
fire and warm clothes for you." The nun stared at the lamb for a moment
before opening the door.

Time did not touch the
abbey. A few new plants stood in the windows, but otherwise it was the same
simple hall Timothy knew. Whitewashed walls gleamed and the floor looked
freshly swept. The deluge outside droned on the tile roof. Timothy remembered
the silence. That was the best part, next to the books. The knot between his
shoulders loosened.

He was home.

The nun led the trio
down to the guest hall. Timothy saw no one else. He guessed it was about time
for Vespers, anyway.

"My name is Sister
Tera." The young nun glided in front of them, almost achieving the dignity
of the older nuns. "What brings you out in such dreadful weather? No, no.
It is okay. You do not have to tell me. You are welcome here. Your rooms are
this way. I will bring you dinner after you are settled."

Sister Tera led them to
the guest wing. A few torches lit the hall. Timothy remembered the entire abbey
being merrily lit whenever the weather was poor.

"'A lit home makes
for a light heart,'" Timothy said. Aunt Mae loved that saying.

"What was that?
Oh, here we are. Here is your room, miss." The nun opened a door.
"You can find dry towels and clothes in the wardrobe. We have not had any
guests for a while. So please feel welcome and rest."

"As long as there
are no bed lice." Kit muttered. Timothy nudged her upper arm. "I
mean, thank you!"

Kit closed the door
behind her. Cat thumped her nose into the door and huffed. He stared at the closed
door, wondering what would happen when Aunt Mae met Kit. Kit had better not
cause trouble. Aunt Mae did not tolerate much.

"Your room is this
way, sir." Sister Tera glided toward the men's hall. Cat clopped after the
nun.

"I'm sorry, Sister
Tera. Are you new here? I don't remember seeing you last time I visited."
Timothy followed the thin nun.