Defying Destiny (14 page)

“So is this how your village makes

money?” Maralee asked.

“We are fairly self-sufficient,” he

said. “We trade furs for the few things we

cannot find in the forest.”

“Like cigarettes?” she teased him.

“My one guilty pleasure,” he agreed.

“Are you ready?”

“I don’t suppose I could get my sword

back before we go?”

“Not yet,” he said. Carsha clung

fearfully to Nash’s leg. “You won’t need

it until the next full moon, right?”

Maralee avoided the child’s frightened

golden eyes. She would have insisted

upon the return of her sword if Carsha

hadn’t been so obviously terrified of it. “I

suppose.” She sighed. “I guess I’m ready

then.”

They headed in the direction of

Sarbough, Carsha staying protectively by

Nash’s side, while Maralee picked her

way through the dense underbrush a few

paces behind them. The sun was higher in

the sky now, and the frost was beginning

to melt from the bare branches of the trees

and the edges of the dried leaves beneath

their feet.

“How often do you go to Sarbough?”

Maralee asked Nash.

“Usually only once a month.”

“On the night of the full moon?”

He paused briefly before continuing

forward. “That’s right.”

“You don’t kill them, do you?” she

asked.

“What?” His hand moved to Carsha’s

shoulder and tugged her closer.

“The Wolves. Do you just frighten

them away, or what? You seem to think of

them as your friends. I mean they swarm

around your village unhindered.”

Carsha glanced back at her, eyes wide

with wonder. “I thought she didn’t know,”

she whispered.

Nash scooped Carsha up into his arms

and tossed her skywards. She giggled,

clinging to her small bundle of furs, and

Nash caught her again with one arm.

“Now is not the time to talk about

that,” he said to Maralee, before tossing

his niece into the air again.

Assuming he didn’t want to frighten

the girl with talk of Wolves, Maralee held

her questions for another time. Strangely,

when she was alone with him, she

couldn’t muster a logical question at all. It

was only when he wasn’t distractingly

close that her mind was able to function in

a coherent state.

“I could carry that for you,” she

offered, as Nash caught Carsha with his

free arm again.

She had meant his bundle of furs and

buckskin, but he handed the young girl to

her instead. “She does get heavy.”

Carsha wrapped her arms hesitantly

around Maralee’s neck and then after a

moment, buried her small face against her

neck. “You smell good today,” the girl

told her. “You smell like Uncle Nash.”

Maralee glanced at Nash. He was

smiling to himself as they continued down

the indiscernible path to Sarbough. When

they reached the edge of the village,

Maralee set Carsha back to her feet.

Before she straightened again, a posse of

men surrounded Nash. They raised

weapons menacingly in his direction.

“Uncle Nash!” Carsha screamed, running

towards Nash with no concern for her

safety.

“Carsha, stay where you are,” Nash

ordered, before turning his attention to the

group of armed men. He had the look of a

cornered wolf, ready to fight for his life,

unarmed, if necessary. Carsha stopped

abruptly, but Maralee burst through the

crowd.

“What is the meaning of this?” she

asked angrily. She shoved several startled

men aside as she moved to stand beside

Nash.

“Miss Decatur, we thought you were

dead…or worse,” the innkeeper said.

“This is the missing young woman?” a

man gripping a scythe asked the innkeeper.

“That’s her,” the innkeeper agreed,

lowering his ax.

“She doesn’t look like she’s been

harmed in any way,” another man said. He

looked her over carefully.

Maralee was glad her cloak hid the

bloodstain on her shoulder.

“I’m perfectly safe,” Maralee assured

them. “I got lost in the forest and this man

directed me back here.”

“You would be smart to stay out of the

forest, Miss Decatur. It isn’t safe,” the

innkeeper said.

Many of the men in the group began to

return to their homes. “That was a bust,”

one of them commented.

“Nothing exciting ever happens around

here,” said another.

“She’s safe as long as she’s with me,”

Nash told the innkeeper. He continued to

give off the dangerous aura Maralee had

witnessed a few times the day before.

“Uncle

Nash?”

Carsha

said

uncertainly, glancing around at the few

men who were still standing by with their

improvised weapons.

“Everything’s fine,” Maralee assured

her. “It’s just a misunderstanding.”

Carsha sidled over to Nash and put her

tiny hand in his. He gave her a reassuring

smile and she huddled against his leg.

Maralee turned her attention to the

innkeeper then. “Are you serving breakfast

this morning?” she asked. “We’d like to

eat, if that would be all right.”

The innkeeper nodded, glancing at his

fellow villagers with a look of shame.

“Sorry to raise the alarm, fellows. When

she didn’t come back to the inn last night, I

couldn’t help but think the worst had

happened.”

“Gordon, you get loonier every year,”

one of the men proclaimed and the

remaining members of the posse scattered.

“I do appreciate your concern,”

Maralee said to the innkeeper and he

beamed.

“I haven’t had a young lady to look

after since me daughters married,” he

said. He turned his attention to Nash and

said,

“I

apologize

for

the

rude

welcoming.”

Nash nodded at him in acceptance, but

he was still tense and wary.

“Can we go home now?” Carsha

asked.

“Who’s this beautiful little girl?” the

innkeeper asked, smiling warmly at

Carsha.

The girl hid her face in the folds of

Nash’s long coat.

“Her name is Carsha,” Maralee told

the man. “She’s a bit shy.” Which was an

outright lie, but she could tell Carsha was

afraid and who could blame her after the

way the town’s people had greeted them.

“Is breakfast ready?”

“It won’t take long,” he said. “I’ll go

tell Phyllis you’re on your way and with

guests, too. She’ll be thrilled.”

When he was out of earshot, Maralee

turned to Nash. “Sorry about that.”

“It was not your doing,” he said

guardedly, and turned in the direction of

the mercantile. Carsha remained glued to

his side, pale faced and trembling.

“I’m sure they’ll both want to visit the

village regularly from now on,” Maralee

muttered to herself. She called after them

before they reached the end of the lane that

turned onto the main street. “Nash, I need

to go up to my room to get some coins. I’ll

meet you at the mercantile in a few

minutes.”

He nodded, indicating he’d heard her,

but didn’t turn to look at her. It seemed as

if he didn’t want anyone to realize they

were together. Maralee sighed forlornly

but trotted off towards the inn without

confronting him. They could talk about this

later when they returned to his cabin and

he dropped his guard again.

She entered the inn and hurried up to

her room. The innkeeper followed her up

the stairs. He gave her a concerned look

when he caught up with her at the door to

her rented room.

“You’re not from around here, so you

don’t know about the Forest People, but

they aren’t like us.”

“That’s what I like about them.”

“You don’t understand. They aren’t

like
us.”

Maralee had no tolerance for bigots.

She never discriminated against the

differing cultures of the various villages

she had protected from the Wolves and

she felt the Forest People—as the

innkeeper had referred to them—deserved

the same courtesy. “I’ll be checking out

after breakfast. I’ll settle my bill and pick

up my things then.”

“I’m only concerned for ye, girl. You

should think twice before getting mixed up

with them,” the innkeeper persisted.

“They are my guests, and if you cannot

treat them with the respect they deserve

then I will take my business elsewhere

and spread word about the unsavory way

you conduct your enterprise.” This was an

idle threat, but her tone did not belay her

bluff.

The innkeeper looked saddened by her

proclamation. “I won’t mention it again.”

Maralee opened a drawer and pulled

out her money pouch. It was uncommonly

light. Typically, she would have turned in

the carcasses of slain Wolves for their

hefty bounties. Unfortunately, Nash had

claimed the single Wolf she had killed that

month. She wondered fleetingly if he had

collected her bounty. She wasn’t crude

enough to ask him. He was allowing her to

stay under his roof. She considered it

payment rendered. She brushed past the

innkeeper, who was still eyeing her with

fatherly concern, headed down the stairs

and out of the inn to the mercantile.

When she arrived at the store, the

proprietor was looking over Nash’s

collection of animal hides, while Carsha

wandered the aisles, wide-eyed and

breathless with wonder. Nash watched his

niece, keeping half an eye on the merchant

as if unconcerned by the rotund man’s

diligent scrutiny of the items he offered for

trade.

“Fine quality as usual,” the man said,

glancing up at Nash, before turning a

nervous eye to a pad of paper he used for

his calculations. “Six coins each for the

buckskins and two for the rabbit. That

comes to…” He paused as he figured the

sum.

Maralee’s brow knotted. She came to

stand across the counter in front of the

sweating shopkeeper. “Six for buckskin?

Are they severely damaged?” Maralee ran

her hands over Nash’s fine suede pelts.

They were perfect, without an arrow hole

or a single bloodstain. The merchant

glanced at her, dark eyes bulging. “These

are worth twenty, easy,” Maralee said to

him. “You’ll probably resell them for

fifty.”

“I always sell them for six,” Nash

interrupted. He looked unconcerned by the

shopkeeper’s cheating.

“Then I’ll buy them from you for

twenty.”

She knew she didn’t have enough

money to cover the cost, but she saw the

glint of greed in the eyes of the paunchy,

balding merchant.

Nash’s forehead crinkled. “Why? I’d

give them to you, if you wanted them.”

Maralee gave him cautionary look.

“I’ll buy them from you for twenty-two,”

she offered. She then glanced at the

merchant as if concerned he would outbid

her.

“I’ll go as high as twenty-five,” the

man said. He gave Maralee a very dirty

look, but smiled hopefully at Nash.

“Twenty-five?” Nash murmured.

“I can’t beat that price,” Maralee said,

hoping

she

looked

convincingly

disappointed.

Nash seemed to come out of some

daze and looked at the shopkeeper.

“Twenty-five it is.”

“And how much for these rabbit furs?”

Maralee asked, reaching for one of the

soft pelts.

The merchant snatched it out of her

hand. “We’ve already settled on five each.

Correct?” he prompted Nash.

Nash nodded. Maralee hid a smile.

“Maybe we can make a deal,” she said to

Nash, who looked utterly bewildered by

her fur-trading savvy. “If you bring all

your furs and hides to me, I can always

give you twenty-two for buckskins and

four for rabbit. Can you get bearskin?”

He nodded, and she could tell he

wanted to question her strange behavior,

but suspected her ulterior motive was