Vixen Hunted (7 page)

Timothy stumbled, and
the tray slipped out of his grip. He closed his eyes and braced for the
inevitable crash.

"Seriously, shepherd.
Food is far too important to just drop on the floor."

Timothy opened his eyes
to see Kit kneeling with the tray in her hands and sniffing at it with a smile.
The blanket slipped a little.

"How did
you—" Timothy cleared his throat and looked away. "Just what are you
doing?"

"Saving
dinner." She peered under the brown cloth over the tray.

"I mean…"
Timothy glanced at her through the corner of his eye.

"Meat! And is
that…raspberries!"

He cleared his throat
again. "Why are you not wearing clothes?"

She turned and sat the
tray and clothing on a nearby barrel. The draped blanket revealed milky skin.
Her tail blended with the base of her spine. Timothy averted his eyes.

"Fleas." She
gestured with a biscuit. "This barn is full of fleas! Do you know how much
I hate fleas? Of course you don't. Besides, I am wearing something. I am not
immodest." She hesitated. "And because I trust you. You see me as
me
rather than as a fox. I…I like how you look at me as a person. Even now you
look away out of respect for me." She grinned. "You passed the test.
I am still not used to you seeing me as me, and I want to enjoy it as often as
possible." She threw a biscuit at him. It bounced off his head.
"Wasting food now?" She shook her head. "You smell, shepherd. Go
wash before you eat." She shifted the blanket. "Best hurry before I
eat it all! Oh, and thanks for being you."

Timothy kept his eyes
on the straw-strewn floor. She thrust another biscuit under his nose. "Eat
this one. I can't have my hero passing out in his bath." She smiled.
"Good job keeping your eyes where they should be, Timmy."

"Just put
something on, please?"

She giggled. "You
didn't see anything I didn't want you to see." She patted his head.
"I had to say thanks somehow. You are the first—never mind. Go! You stink."

Timothy devoured the
biscuit before he made it to the water trough behind the small barn. The cold
water felt good on his hot, sunburnt skin.

He stripped down to his
drawers and scrubbed, washing the mud and dirt off his clothes. He wrung them
out and put the clothes back on. The damp cloth felt good. The night scorched,
and the feel of late summer reminded Timothy of the last time he had seen Kyle
drunk. His friend had tried again and again to see how high he could jump, only
to fall flat on the ground. The air felt the same way now as it had that night.
Timothy offered a silent prayer, grabbed his boots, and padded back to the
barn, yawning.

Kit sat on barrel.
Thankfully, she wore a short brown shift she had found somewhere. A pair of
mules watched him from their stalls. Timothy sensed a hayloft looming just
outside the lantern's glow. Snorts whispered from the other stalls just beyond
the light. Straw piled against the corner of the back wall. Timothy's stomach
demanded more food.

Kit handed him a wooden
plate layered with a small piece of juicy meat, a biscuit, carrots, and various
other garden greens. "You now only smell like sheep. You were too slow for
the raspberries, Timmy."

The food tasted
wonderful. The biscuits were heavy and hearty, much like the ones they served
at home. Kit tugged at her shift and eyed him. He ignored her and gulped his
cider.

She huffed and pulled
the shift's shoulder strap back in place. "All right. No more teasing for
tonight. You are so fun to tease, though, shepherd. There is still the matter
of fleas."

Timothy chewed.
"Fleas are the least of our problems." He gestured with a biscuit.
"We are being hunted, you know. And, I don't know anything about
you."

"Fleas are most
certainly a problem!" She stroked her tail. "You are right. You have
helped me when no one else has. I have no way to repay you…"

Timothy held up a hand.
"I would be less of a person if I didn't help someone in need without
asking anything in return. It is our duty to God to help our fellow man.
Besides, you didn't leave me much of a choice."

"Quite right. But
still, for all the trouble I've caused"—her ears wilted, and she hugged
her tail—"I need to do something in return."

"Keep your fleas
to yourself." Timothy decided to give up on keeping his tongue reined.

Kit looked him up and
down. "You are wet." She twisted and rummaged behind her and finally
tossed a ball of clothes at him. "Put these on. The farmer gave us both
clothes. So wear them! I don't want my husband getting sick."

"I am not your
husband. I'm fine. It is warm tonight."

Kit crossed her arms.
Her feet kicked at the barrel. "Do you want me to take them off you?"

Timothy saw fangs in
her smile.

He sighed and set his
empty plate on a crate. He knew she would. He picked up the ball of clothes and
brushed the dirt and straw off of them. "Do you mind?" he asked.

She set an elbow on her
bruised knee and planted her chin in her hand.

Timothy yawned. He did
not have the energy for games. He turned away to change outside.

"No, Timmy. I
rewarded you!"

"I don't—"

"Just the shirt
then. Sheesh."

"I—"

"Off. Now. If it
makes you feel better." She grabbed the hem of her shift.

"Stop. Fine,"
Timothy said. Her hands kept moving upward. Her shift was already too short.
"I said fine!"

With one hand, Timothy
unlaced his shirt. It had seen better days. He dropped the rag.

"You are actually
not bad," she said.

Timothy's free hand
drifted to the scar on his shoulder. His face heated. "Happy now?"

"A wife must know
the measure of her husband." She smiled over her cupped hand and waved him
off. "You may go."

Timothy sighed and
stepped out into the darkness. The gray shirt was well made, if a little baggy,
and the knees of the brown trousers lacked wear. He made a mental note to thank
Abel.

Kit pointed to the
wooden crate beside her. "Come before you fall over."

He just wanted to eat
and sleep! Timothy settled into the straw a little distance away. Her tail
curled across her knees. Timothy did not know what to expect from a fox. He
couldn't think of her as a demon.

"Yes, well, I said
I would not tease you anymore more tonight. But you deserve to know a little
about me so you know how not to cause more trouble for me!" Kit said.

"Well, you are the
first fox demon I've met. I would say you are walking trouble. The Church
burned all the demons on the continent because of the trouble they
caused." Timothy winced. "Sorry."

"I am not a demon.
I am just a lonely, sweet, lost girl."

"Sure."

"I will pretend I
didn't hear that. Would a demon be so gracious?"

"If only to lull
her victim into a false sense of safety."

Kit frowned. "You
do have some wit to you. Do you want to keep fencing, or shall I keep you from
getting into more trouble?"

Timothy bit into a
biscuit.

"Good answer. I
don't know anything about my kind. I only know there are very few of us."
She stroked her tail. "I might be the last—Grammie used to say so. She
said my home is a town to the east. She died a year ago."

"I'm sorry."
What else could he say to that?

"After Grammie
died—she wasn't a fox, just a kind old lady—I have been in trouble." Kit
looked at Timothy with those deep green eyes. "I want to go home. I have
to know if I…I am alone."

She pulled her knees up
to her chin, and her tail wrapped around her feet. "Grammie was a
traveling merchant when she found me. She gave that up because of me. I don't
remember anything before Grammie. I only know my home is east."

She fell silent. The
moment stretched, broken by Cat's breathing. The lamb twitched in her sleep.
Timothy had read about fox demons and had heard of this town to the east. What
was the town's name? Was this girl really a demon? Her antics were unsettling.

Kit stared into the
distance. Bitter sweet memories drifted across her face. He did not consider
her a demon. She was different, but different was not demonic. Aunt Mae always
said that action revealed a person. This fox girl liked to tempt, but she never
went beyond playfulness.

"I remember
reading about a town of foxes," he said.

Kit looked up. The hope
that spread across her face twisted his heart.

"The book is still
probably at my home. I am not certain if it—"

"You will take me
there!" She leaned so close they almost touched noses.

"It is a long
walk. I haven't been there for a while."

"You will take me
there, shepherd! Promise me!" Small tears beaded in the corners of her
eyes.

The last two words hung
in the air, and Timothy hesitated. How many times did he hear those words from
his mother?

"Promise me,"
she said.

He sighed.
I am a
fool.
 
I won't be able to leave it at just telling her where the town
is. I will end up going with her too.
Aunt Mae raised him too well. There
was always another mile to walk. "I promise I will see you home."

Kit leaned back and
crossed her knees, the tension slipping from her. "I will hold you to your
word. Do not think I will not. Perhaps we should seal it in blood?"

"What? No!"

"I joke. I believe
you will keep your word. So why do you not visit your home?"

Timothy shrugged.
"I visit every year or so."

"You don't get
along with your family?" She held up a finger. "It's your mother,
isn't it? You look like a mother's boy."

Timothy said nothing.

"It is! Well, this
time you can show off your wife!"

Timothy rubbed his
face. "Ugh, after Aunt Mae sees you, you will actually be my wife."

"You get the
better end of that deal, Timmy," Kit said. "I only get a has-been
shepherd." Her ears flicked.

"The story was
your idea. You could simply be my sister."

Kit laid a finger on
her chin. "Now that is a scandalous story! An ugly brother and beautiful
sister traveling the world alone! It will cause no end of trouble for you
should men think I am your sister."

"Yes. Well, I
think I have trouble enough." Timothy sprawled on the straw. He yawned.
"I need to sleep."

"I cannot sleep in
that. The straw will stick to my lovely fur, and fleas like to hide in
it." Kit wagged a finger at Timothy. "You will wash before you get
near me with your fleas, shepherd!"

Heavy weights of
exhaustion pulled at Timothy's eyelids. "Then sleep perched on that
barrel." A yawn cracked his jaw. "Good night."

He hoped his promise
would not turn into a mistake. Hunters were the worst of her troubles, right?

"Sleep well, my
shepherd."

Chapter 5

"Wake up! Timothy.
Wake. Up."

Timothy bolted upright.
Kit's fingers dug into his shoulders. "What is it? Is it the
hunters?" He scrambled to stand. His vision spun from sitting upright too
fast.

"I need
breakfast." A single sharp tooth poked through her grin.

Timothy flopped back
into the straw. "Don't do that to me. I thought they caught us."

"You will wish
they caught us if I don't eat soon." Kit sat on her knees in the straw.
The white fur on the tip of Kit's tail teased his nose.

"I thought you
didn't want my fleas."

She hissed and snatched
back her tail. She combed through the white tip with her fingers. Cat
stretched.

"No fleas. Lucky for
you." Kit rose to her feet. She still wore only the brown shift. A few
beads of sweat clung to her forehead. Timothy wiped his own brow. Would the
heat of summer ever end?

"Now go earn some
food! I want more raspberries!"

"Why don't you
earn it?" Timothy worked a knot in his shoulder.

Kit leaned in so the
shift fell open at the neckline. "I will in my own way."

"Will you stop
that!"

Kit laughed. "Our
teasing truce ended with the sunrise."

Timothy staggered to
his feet. "Fine. I'll go." He jammed his shirt into his trousers and
stalked toward the barn door. "I just saw a flea jump from your ear."

Kit squeaked and tugged
at her ears. Timothy grinned. Served her right.

Timothy found Abel
across the field mending a fence that was beyond mending. Despite the stoop in
his back, the farmer stood taller than Timothy. The man reminded him of a tree
that stood in his favorite pasture.

"You're looking
better, lad. Still tired, but better. Hope your red slept well."

"Better than since
we started our travel. She wants some breakfast. Oh, and I am grateful for the
clothes." Timothy adjusted his collar. At least Kit's short shift covered
better than that blanket. Now if only she would put on the rest of the clothes
Abel provided.

"So you're looking
to get to wherever you be going. I made some morning meal with berries for you
on the porch. Can't be having you starving on me. Anise would have my hide when
I see her again."

"Actually, we
would like to stay for a few days if you don't mind. Of course, we will work to
earn our meals. I am not in a hurry to take her home with me yet."

"Oh, I see, lad.
Your mother and pap haven't yet seen her, eh? I remember my boys being the same
with their ladies. Anise and me never were for forcing weddings. Made my boys
think about who they chased." Abel smiled.

"Yeah, you could
say that." Timothy ran his fingers through his hair.

"You're welcome to
stay as long as you work. Plenty to do around here. Work gets ahead of me
nowadays."

"I will first feed
my…my wife and then join you."

"You can start
with scything the field over there."

Timothy swallowed his
sigh. He needed more sleep. His nerves felt frayed.

Abel was as good as his
word. Two bowls of porridge waited with fresh wild raspberries and
blackberries. Timothy finished his before he made it to the barn.

"Breakfast!"
Kit wrenched the bowl out of his hands before he was through the barn's door.
She wore the clothes Abel provided. The simple cream blouse with a laced
neckline hugged her, and a long skirt of deep green ended at Kit's ankles. A
matching green scarf hid her ears. Cat brushed past him on her way to her own
breakfast.

"Berries are truly
wonderful!"

"Well, you should
be able to enjoy them for at least two more days," Timothy said.

She spluttered.
"What! We are supposed to be going to your home. You promised!"

Timothy wiped porridge
from his face and breathed deeply. His voice still sounded strained to his
ears. "We will. There is no hurry. We still have people hunting us,
remember? I doubt they will look for us on a run-down farm like this. They will
know you will want to stay away from people and the main roads."

"The fat man is
more resourceful than I want to admit. You make sense, shepherd. He will expect
me to keep to the woods." She pulled at her red locks. "I will stand
out."

She skewered him with
her gaze.

"What? I didn't do
anything."

"Not yet! But I
know how twisted a shepherd's mind can be. Do not think I will be easy prey one
night. You will not worm out of your promise either."

The quip struck a
nerve. Maybe it was the strain of events or the unexpected shift in
conversation or being scared awake, but Timothy felt his calm shatter.

"That is not
something to joke about! I am not that way. I keep my word!"

Her spoon froze on her
lips. Her smile withered.

"I have work to
do." He banged the barn door shut. How dare she accuse him of being a
promise breaker!

Abel kept Timothy too
busy for his anger to hang on for long. The farm showed its long history in how
much needed to be done. Timothy spent an itchy morning scything the brown hay
field and bundling it for storage.

Timothy leaned on the
scythe and drank from a water skin, his shirt soaked with sweat. The scent of
grass clung to his nostrils. He felt bad for snapping at Kit. She had to be
feeling more strain than he was. He needed to apologize. Timothy looked at the
late summer sky and wiped his brow.

Then he heard the dogs.

Timothy's breath
caught. His hands tightened on the scythe.

A leathery farmer
sauntered out of the fields with a pair of hounds. "Abel! I see you have
yourself a hand!" The two young beagles yipped and leaped over each other.

Abel's hammer continued
its work. "Just found help for a day. What brings you, Quinn?"

Timothy exhaled. The
beagles noticed Cat grazing out in the field. The tongues with fur bounded over
to play. Cat heaved a sigh Timothy could hear even at that distance.

"You didn't hear
the news, I take it?" Quinn rubbed his hands. Timothy wondered if all
farmers made tree stumps look soft.

"Nope." Abel
straightened and leaned on the fence post. It creaked. He dug out his horn
pipe. "But you're gonna tell me."

Quinn bobbed his head.
"I saw a couple nobles out hunting."

Cat and the beagles
romped in the field. The lamb bleated with annoyed patience.

"Hunting? This far
from the wood?" Abel stuffed the pipe with a thumb.

"Aye. Caught my
attention it did. A fat noble and a squirrely one with all their hands."
Quinn leaned against the fence slat. The slat bent under his weight but held.

"They carried
muskets." Quinn spat. "I fancy my bow and spear."

Abel puffed his pipe.
Timothy gathered the newly shorn hay and listened.

"They were riding
west when one large bloke with a scar on his face stopped. He looked like he
had drunk turned milk." Quinn leaned closer to Abel, but his voice grew
louder. "You want to know what bloke he was? Well, one of the noble's
hands stopped and called after him. Wondering what was going on. The hand
called the bloke Tahd."

"Tahd," Abel
said. One of the beagles yelped as Cat held it by a dangly ear.

"You know. Tahd
the Hunter. The bloke is said to have hunted everything there is to hunt. And
he looked like Tahd."

"Who you've never
seen."

Quinn waved his hand.
"Doesn't matter a bit. I heard the stories enough to know what the bloke
looks like. What he was doing with a fat noble has me scratch me head. I heard
something else too."

"Might as well out
with it." Abel puffed a series of smoke rings.

"There is a fox
around."

Timothy froze. A gust
of hot wind kicked up dust and grass. He sneezed.

Abel hesitated.
"Bah. All the vixens be dead now." Abel straightened. "Essa be
on you if you're drinking again."

"Just what I'm
hearing. What else would a fat noble and Tahd the Hunter be hunting? I wonder
what makes Tahd ride off east when the noble went west?"

"Not for folk like
us to know." Abel tapped out his pipe. "There is more work for me if
you want to help."

"Naw. Essa has
enough to keep me busy. She wants you to come over for supper some night soon.
Course, Mary be invited too."

Abel grimaced. "I
am not some lad to be matching up."

"Essa just thinks
you need a woman to help you around the homestead."

The beagles growled,
their ears and tails bristling. Their eyes locked on Kit, who had paused a
distance away, three rabbits dangling from her hands. Leaves clung to her
skirt. Cat skidded between Kit and the dogs, bleating as if warning the dogs to
stay back. The rear of Kit's skirt flitted up.

Quinn clapped his
hands. "Here now. None of that. Come over here now!"

The beagles looked at
Kit once more before slinking back to their master. "Sit right there."
He cuffed each on the nose.

"I'm sorry, lass.
I don't know what came over them." Quinn bobbed his head.

Kit stalked past
Timothy. "I hate dogs," she muttered. Cat followed beside her,
keeping an eye on the dogs.

"I think it is the
rabbits I caught. I wanted to give a little thank you, Master Abel, for
allowing us to stay."

Quinn smirked at Abel.

"None of that,
Quinn. She be the lad's. I will join you and Essa and…Mary some night."
Abel turned to Kit. He tapped his pipe against the fence and ground the dabble
into the dirt. "No thanks be needed, lass. You be earning your stay."

"Well, I thought I
would cook rabbit stew tonight."

"There be
vegetables in the garden around back. I see you are good with a sling. Best be
careful, lad. A red with a sling." Abel shook his graying head.
"Stove be needing cleaning yet, so the fire pit will have to do."

"I will get
started then." Kit ignored Timothy. The lamb followed her to the house.

Timothy went back to
gathering the grass. Quinn whistled. Timothy doubted the man did anything
quietly. "She be a looker." He grinned at Timothy. "You be a
lucky man, laddie!"

"Give Essa my
blessings. I need to get this fence mended." Abel lifted his hammer and
trudged to the next fence post.

Quinn nodded. "I
have some things Essa wants me to do. I'll let you know when we have that
supper. C'mon now." The beagles followed the farmer as he crossed the
fields and disappeared down behind a hill.

"Pay Quinn no
mind, lad." Abel hefted his hammer. "He be one for stories more than
truth. Besides, we have enough to keep us busy."

Abel proved true to his
word.

Dusk found Timothy
washed and stretched out on his straw pile. His arms felt heavy after helping
Abel with the hopeless fence and cleaning out the wood stove inside the house.
He still smelled grass. His ears itched.

Kit slipped into the
barn, wearing her brown shift. Her ears stood up in the lantern light. He
wished she would be more careful.

She bounced the bag of
coins he received back at Fairhaven in her hand. "What is this?"

"Where did you get
that?" He thought he had slipped it into his new shirt pocket.

"If you had this,
why didn't we just pay the man instead of doing all this work?"

"I hadn't thought
of it. We might need it later." His eyes itched. She wouldn't take the
money and run, would she? Then again, it might be easier if she did.

"You hadn't
thought of it? With this much money, we could hire a carriage to your home
instead of walking and sweating!"

"There isn't that
much money there. Besides, a carriage draws attention. We hardly look like we
should have money."

"We could buy
clothes! They are silver coins, are they not?"