I suck in a surprised breath. Two gold coins just for permission to hunt in the king’s forest? That’s absurd. It would take me an entire season of catching rabbits to earn that much.
Stunned, I begin to shake my head and back away. As I murmur my apologies for wasting his time, I glare at Puss.
“You dropped these,” a voice says from behind my shoulder.
I turn, and there he is again. Kerrick stands in front of me, two gold coins in his hand.
“I thought you left,” I say.
A crooked smile tips his lips. “I remembered something.”
His eyebrows raise with expectation, and he extends his hand a little farther.
“Those aren’t mine,” I say, my embarrassment growing.
“Of course they are.”
The man behind the desk, looking amused as well as exasperated, clears his throat and holds his own hand up, ready to receive the coins. After Kerrick hands them to him, the man scratches on a bit of parchment. “Your permit, mademoiselle. Just sign your name.”
For the first time, I’m truly glad my father taught me to read and write before he passed. I sign the parchment and then accept it when the man hands it to me.
Satisfied, the clerk nods and looks away, dismissing me.
“Thank you,” I murmur to Kerrick as I clutch the permit close.
With nothing else to say, I step past him. When I turn to leave, he follows. Uncomfortable, I hurry along until he places his hand on my arm.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” His blue eyes are bright with good humor.
How could anyone forget a man with eyes like that?
“Did your father like the book?” I ask instead of directly answering him.
A quick smile flashes across his face, but he quickly subdues it. “He did.”
We continue walking, and I try not to fidget. First, I cross my arms. Then, feeling foolish, I let them drop to my sides. Puss stays at my heel, thankfully silent.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you to be a huntress,” he finally says.
I glance at my cat, looking for answers. Puss yawns.
Apparently, he’ll be no help.
“I’m learning.” For the first time, I’m self-conscious in my breeches. Yes, they fit well. But in front of Kerrick, they feel scandalous.
As if sensing my discomfort, he motions to my outfit and says, “The occupation suits you.”
My cheeks grow hot, and I purse my lips to trap in a nervous giggle.
We leave the castle and step into the courtyard. I shield my eyes from the bright sunlight as they adjust. It’s another hot, sunny day.
“I could teach you a bit if you like.” Then, sounding as if he’s striving to be humble, he adds, “I’m rather skilled myself.”
Lowering my hand, I turn to Kerrick. “You would?”
At that, Puss butts his head against my leg and yowls. I shake him away.
After giving the cat a questioning look, Kerrick looks back at me and nods.
He isn’t handsome in the same way Beau is. Kerrick is like one of the elven Alfars of the western forests, perfect and golden. The two men are both tall and lean, but there’s a softness about Kerrick, a perfectness. As my eyes travel his face, I absently note that his bottom lip is just ever so slightly fuller than his top.
Daydreams flit to my mind, and I blink the thoughts away before he catches me staring at him like a besotted fool.
I clear my throat. “I’d like that.”
“I’m leaving tomorrow to visit my uncle,” he says. “But I’ll meet you next week?”
“All right.”
“Noon? Where the road meets the king’s forest?” he asks.
I nod.
As he turns to leave, I stop him. “Who are you?”
He glances at the castle and then back at me. “No one of importance.”
“I doubt that.” Setting my hands on my hips, I give him a wry smile.
He wrinkles his nose as if he doesn’t care for the question. “I’m the fifth son of a minor lord.”
So he may be from money, but there’s no title in his future. I’m not sure why, but that soothes my worries.
I smile. “Until next week.”
Surprising me, he takes my hand and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”
We’re halfway home, and Puss isn’t speaking with me.
“I thought you wanted me to learn to hunt,” I finally say, teasing. “Isn’t the skill fundamental to your great master plan for our lives?”
Instead of staying on the road, we’ve taken a shortcut through a meadow. I wind through the wildflowers, plucking a few as we go and twisting them into a tiny crown.
“I can teach you everything you need to know.”
Leaning forward, I set the tiny crown on the cat’s head. It sits lopsided over one ear, and he shakes it off, looking particularly put out as he knocks the ring to the ground.
“You don’t think a human can learn better from another human?”
“You’ll need a bow,” Puss huffs, ignoring my question. “I doubt the boy will be impressed with your bag.”
I smile foolishly as I hop on a boulder in my path and then jump off the other side. As happy as I am, part of me is worried I dreamed the whole meeting. Perhaps I’ll wait for Kerrick, and he’ll never come. I’ll be heartbroken.
My thoughts shift from euphoric to terrified and then back again.
“Where will I find a bow?” I ask, trying to chase away the dark thoughts.
The cat trots ahead, probably worried I’ll try to decorate him again. “A master bowyer lives out here, on the outskirts of Rynvale. You will speak with him.”
It’s now that I realize Puss has been leading me off course. A merry little cottage grows in the distance. Black and white dairy cows graze in a fenced-in pasture. Chickens peck the ground, and ducks waddle down the lane.
A man sits under the shade of a tree, shaping a longbow. When he sees me approaching, he stands.
With my cat gone mute, I explain my business.
“Have you ever shot a bow?” the man who introduces himself as Samuel asks, studying me. He’s a good ten years older than Eugene, his hair is brown, bleached from the sun, and the skin at the corners of his eyes is wrinkled as if he smiles often.
I shift my weight, uncomfortable. “No.”
Samuel rubs a hand over his chin. “You’d be better with a lightweight crossbow, I believe, but they’re more expensive.”
Glancing at Puss, frowning, I ask, “How expensive?”
“Are you any good with a needle?” he asks.
I nod.
“My wife’s in Primsbell, visiting her sister, and I’ve ripped my riding cloak. Mend it for me, and I’ll give you a crossbow.” My face must light up because he warns, “It’s old, mind you. But it should serve your purposes just fine.”
“Thank you,” I say, my spirits lifting.
With the bowyer’s cloak tucked securely under my arm, Puss and I walk the rest of the way back to the mill.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“The process is actually—” I stop mid-sentence because Etta has just rounded the corner of the street. She hasn’t seen me yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
She hurries forward, lost in thought, a full bag over her shoulder. As usual, she’s rushing to the butcher’s before he closes shop for the night.
“Monsieur Marchand?” the sundry shopkeeper’s daughter, Lilianna, prods. “You were saying?”
I look back at the girl and her group of friends who surrounded me for a chat in the street as I was walking to the butcher’s shop myself, hoping to catch Etta.
“Yes, er, chocolate,” I continue. “As I was saying, it’s a simple process…”
Etta looks up as she draws close. Her eyes sweep over the gaggle of girls, and she hides a teasing smile.
Distracted, I murmur, “Would you excuse me?”
The girls protest, but I brush past them as polit
ely as possible to meet Etta.
She gives me a sideways look as I match her pace. “Those girls all hate me now.”
I don’t dare glance over my shoulder to see if they’re watching us, but I can feel them stare daggers at our backs, so I’m sure she’s right. I shrug, not overly concerned. “Disappointment’s part of life.”
“Perhaps it would be beneficial to everyone if you would hang a plaque about your neck stating that you’re not in Glenridge looking for romance.” Though she’s trying to keep a straight face, an ornery smile plays at her lips.
I choose to ignore that particular statement. “Come riding with me tomorrow. I’m going to close my shop for the day.”
She glances over and raises a brow. “Riding? I’m afraid my family only has a donkey, and he’s not the valiant steed he believes himself to be.”
I wait a moment. “You could ride with me.”
We’ve just reached the butcher’s shop and Etta turns, smiling. “Imagine how people would gossip. I’m afraid it doesn’t matter anyway—I have plans tomorrow.”
“Plans?” I ask, smiling as I cross my arms. “Are you weeding the garden? Doing the wash?”
She gives me a wry smile. “I’m meeting a…friend.”
After she says it, a funny look passes over her face, but it’s soon dismissed. She pats my arm, much like I imagine she would her brothers. “Perhaps another time.”
With a wave, she walks into the butcher’s shop, and I’m left standing on the street, looking like a fool.
He’s not going to come.
Even Puss thinks it, but the cat hasn’t said anything yet. Instead, he sits on a rock near the road that leads into the king’s forest, his tail twitching as if he knows this is a waste of our time.
I adjust the cuff on my right wrist, center the buckle of my belt, and then I pace a little ways into the forest only to walk back out again. My new crossbow feels odd over my shoulder blades. Though Samuel said it was light compared to most, it still feels heavy. Still, the bowyer promised I’d become accustomed to the weight of it.
I’m again walking into the shadow of the forest when the faint sound of hoofbeats reaches my ears. I turn, eager—but trying not to look too eager. Every muscle in my body relaxes when I see him.
Kerrick rides down the road at a fast pace, and his bay horse glistens in the sun. Even I can tell it’s a magnificent animal, and I don’t know a thing about horses. I perch on the rock next to Puss, hoping to look carefree—as if it mattered little to me whether he came or not.
“I apologize,” he says, dismounting as soon as he reaches us. “I was held up.”
I give him a smile, a smile that says I hadn’t even noticed, and stand. I clasp my hands in front of me, and then, feeling foolish, I cross my arms.
He looks good, as always, today dressed for the hunt. His doublet is a dark rich green, and his breeches are brown. The colors bring out the green in his eyes, making them lighter in contrast. In the shade of the forest, his hair appears darker.
Kerrick glances about. “Did you walk?”
I nod, almost hating to admit we don’t own a horse. I certainly wasn’t going to borrow Thomas’s wretched donkey.
He raises an eyebrow at Puss. “I see you brought your cat again.”
“There’s no getting rid of him.” I flash Puss a teasing grin. “He follows me everywhere.”
Still on the rock, Puss stares at me and slowly settles to his belly. He thinks meeting with Kerrick is a waste of time, and the only reason he’s here is to humor me. Oddly, he doesn’t seem to have a problem with the man himself. The cat’s only indignant that I’m taking hunting lessons from someone other than him.
When Kerrick and I run out of pleasantries, we head into the forest. He walks his horse, staying by my side, and we try to fill in the awkward stretches of silence.
“When did you decide to become a huntress?” he asks after we’ve walked for some time.
Slowly, it becomes more comfortable between us, and I no longer seem to be as conscious of my hands.
I study a patch of dainty white wildflowers ahead of us. “I began trapping rabbits and found the butcher will pay a decent price for them. Our field has done poorly in the last few years, and it’s been difficult making ends meet.”
“And your brothers?” he asks, remembering them from the first day we met. “What do they do?”
“Eugene takes care of the mill, and Thomas helps him and finds odd jobs where he can. I expect he’ll be looking for an apprenticeship in Rynvale before long. He’s a gifted whittler.” I toy with my belt buckle, running my fingers over the cold metal. “Eugene will marry by the time the year is over, I’m sure.”
I can feel Kerrick glance at me, but I don’t look over.
“And you?” he finally asks. “Will you marry soon?”
The truth is, no one’s asked me. I don’t fancy any of the villagers, and they all know I have no dowry. And in a village the size of Glenridge, my options are slim. Marcus, the blacksmith’s son, is still unwed, but he’s eight years older than I am and always covered in soot. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, exactly, but it doesn’t appeal to me.
Simon, the tailor’s nephew and apprentice, is handsome but a widower. His young wife died early last winter, and he’s kept to himself ever since.
And Beau…well, there’s certainly no future there. Half a dozen heartbroken girls in the village can attest to that.
“I have no immediate plans,” I answer after a moment that lasted a heartbeat too long.
Kerrick, ever the gentleman, drops the subject.
“My life is dull,” I say after he asks more about the mill. “Tell me of yours.”
He makes a low, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not sure mine is terribly interesting.”
“I doubt that.” I glance at him. “Tell me the most interesting thing there is to know about you.”
A slow smile builds on his lips. “I slew a dragon last summer. My first.”
“Did you?” I ask, impressed. “Truly?”
We’ve wandered from the main road, taken a deer trail deeper into the woods. Birds call to each other from the forest canopy, and squirrels chase each other up thick, gnarled trunks. It’s beautiful here, peaceful.
“The beast spent the season terrorizing the shepherdesses of Garpen—swooping down and snatching sheep, burning their fields.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
He grins. “Tracked it to its lair and vanquished the beast.”
“Impressive.”
Every once in a while as we walk, Kerrick kneels, studies several tracks, and then motions me down another animal trail. He explains what he’s doing, but I honestly can’t pay attention when his eyes are on me. As loud as we are, I doubt we’ll sneak up on anything anyway.
Once again, Kerrick stoops to the ground. “I’ve told you mine. Now you must tell me what’s the most interesting thing there is to know about you.”
I frown. The most interesting thing would be that I have a talking cat, but that just makes me sound mad.
After several moments, I shrug. “I’m afraid there is nothing interesting about me. Nothing at all.”
“I find that hard to believe.” He runs his eyes over my unusual outfit, incredulous.
Thankfully, Kerrick spots something as we near a clearing, and I don’t have to explain just how dull my life truly is. Let him think there’s something mysterious about me if he wants.
Kerrick ties his horse to a tree, crouches down, and waves me over. There, grazing on the sweet meadow grass, is a quartet of does. I blink at them, startled. We actually found something.
Somehow, they haven’t heard us yet. As I kneel next to Kerrick, the closest shifts her large ears toward us and raises her head. We stay still as she angles in our direction. After several moments, she lowers her head again. Puss watches the deer with interest, his eyes bright. I know he realizes he hasn’t a chance, but I run my hand down his bac
k as a reminder.
“Go ahead,” Kerrick whispers to me.
I angle toward him. “I thought you were here to teach me.”
He glances at the crossbow on my back. “She’s right there—just aim for her shoulder.”
Right there.
I can’t do it.
“I’ve never shot the bow,” I admit.
Kerrick gives me an incredulous look. “What do you mean you’ve never shot it?”
Growing frustrated, I say, “I mean I traded the bowyer for it yesterday. I don’t even know how to load an arrow.”
He grimaces and shakes his head, but a smile plays at his lips as he gives me a sideways look. “Perhaps this hunting lesson should become a shooting lesson.”
Nodding, I stand. The deer spook and dart into the trees across the meadow. Unable to help himself, Puss runs after them. Once they disappear from sight, he sits in the middle of the field, proud of himself—but for what, I can’t imagine.
I shake my head, wondering how a talking cat like Puss can seem just as feline as the rest of his dimwitted kind at times.
Turning my attention to Kerrick and pointing to my bow, I say, “Where do we start?”
We begin the lesson with the best of intentions, but the warm day sabotages us. By mid-afternoon I find myself lying next to Kerrick on the meadow grass, staring at the clouds as they float by. Hot from the sun, the wildflowers emit the smell of summer all around us.
Puss, after looking disgusted with me for most of the day, now naps not far away. Every once in a while, he stretches a tawny leg, yawns wide, and then rolls to his other side, perfectly content.
“I think it looks like a duck,” I say.
Kerrick laughs, disagreeing. “A duck? How do you possibly get any kind of fowl out of that?”
Grinning, pointing above us at the cloud, I say, “There’s his beak, and there”—I move my finger—“is his tail.”
“I still don’t see it.” Kerrick rolls to his side, facing me. “I’ve never done this.”
“You’ve never made shapes from the clouds?” I roll toward him as well. There’s still an arm’s length of room between us, but it’s as close to a man as I’ve ever been. My heart warms, and my stomach flutters. My worries of my future, of Eugene and Sarah-Anne—they’re all forgotten for the moment, and I’m blissfully happy.
Puss without Boots: A Puss in Boots Retelling (Fairy Tale Kingdoms Book 1) Page 5
