by C. A. Szarek
Jarek threw his tools down and shook his head. His concentration was gone. No amount of cursing himself was helping. And he needed to focus, because he had an order for three sets of ladies’ slippers to make for the new Duchess of Dalunas.
The ebony-haired beauty, Lady Aresha, had come in personally to put the request in. The designs were specific and complicated, including etchings, some embossing, and gold trim. Magic was going to be necessary, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.
If he did an exceptional job—and he would—she’d come back again. More coin for him and his father, and word of their business would spread to elite customers. Unfortunately, his mind consisted of one thing…person.
Erron.
Why was she afraid of her father? The man should cherish her. Did he beat her? Or…worse?
Every possible horrible scenario marched across his mind, tying his stomach in knots. Jarek shuddered. He needed a distraction. No, he needed to work.
The ladies’ slippers would be some of his finest work, and he definitely wanted a chance to do more like them.
“Jarek, I’m going to market. The butcher wants to speak of a trade.”
He jolted at his father’s voice and gritted back a curse. Prayed that his da didn’t notice he’d startled him. “Make sure he doesn’t cheat you this time.” He offered his father a smile and rose from his seat. Jarek stretched his arms and back, chuckling when the older man glared at him.
The look his father was wearing made him want to tease the Master Tanner, but he politely held his tongue.
Jarek followed his father to the front door of their shop, giving him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Good luck, Da.”
Irritation was gone from the older man’s expression; he smiled, clasping Jarek’s forearm. “Thank you, son.”
“Kirgan! Jarek! Fine afternoon,” the widow Anais called from across the street as she swept the front porch of her weaving shop. A wide table Jarek had set up for her that morning sat out front, piled with baskets of various sizes. She had a rack of multicolored rugs hanging behind that, and a few other wares on display outside due to the warm weather.
Jarek had promised he’d help her take the heavy wood back inside her shop at the end of the business day.
They often traded services, and it was also many a night when she’d provided a hearty meal for the two bachelors. He was very fond of Anais; she was like a mother to him. Jarek was amused at her affinity for his da, too.
He smiled and waved, but his father looked away. Jarek cocked an eyebrow and looked from one to the other.
Was his da blushing?
He stared, fighting a gape.
Anais waved, smiling brightly and obviously trying to catch his father’s eye. Her affection for his father was nothing new—and not a secret—usually ignored by the older man.
Did something happen to change that?
Kirgan muttered a greeting and shoved his hands into the pockets of his breeches. He looked down and shuffled off without another word.
The widow continued to sweep, whistling to herself. Apparently whatever had happened didn’t bother her.
Jarek shook his head, laughing as he headed back to his work.
Anais was one of the sweetest people he knew and had mothered him quite a bit since his own had passed when he was twelve, some ten turns ago. If she could find happiness with his crotchety father, Jarek had no qualms.
Kirgan, on the other hand, obviously would require some convincing. Stubborn man.
It made sense for them to be together. Her children were grown, as was Jarek. What was his father waiting for?
It was a waste of time. Happiness had to be grasped with both hands.
Erron floated back into his mind. She wasn’t happy.
He would…love…to make her happy.
Jarek’s heart thundered. Where had that come from?
He’d seen the girl once. In the back of his mind, a voice whispered that perhaps once was enough. He ignored it, staring at the work he was avoiding.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing Erron or her father in Dalunas Main or even at market, and they rented a booth at the city square once a month to have more visibility to their customers. Jarek and his da took turns running it, and he often people-watched when he was there.
Could they be of another Province? Or from an outlying holding away from the city center? Their clothes provided no clues. They hadn’t been particularly rich, or obviously poor, other than being a touch out of the common styles he saw every day.
The rough man had asked about a blacksmith. That told Jarek nothing either, for the blacksmith forged more than weapons. He could be a farmer needing new tools before the spring planting.
He circled the room, his thoughts chaotic, his work ignored, and he only had one slipper of the first pair complete.
The design for it was right next to the piece of leather he’d been working, tacked to the table so he could easily study it.
He really needed to get to work.
No.
Jarek had to find Erron.
Rushing back out of the shop, he called the widow’s name.
“Lad? Is everything all right?” She headed to his side, broom still in her plump hand. Anais looked pretty today, her dress bright hues that matched her personality. Her apron matched, but it was a lighter shade of lavender, and her fair hair was tied in a bun at her neck with a purple ribbon. She wore a pale kerchief on her head. Her cheeks were pink from exertion and her fair brows drawn tight.
He didn’t like that he’d worried her. “It is, but I have to leave.” Jarek loosened his leather apron and tugged it off.
Anais took it from him without a word.
“Can you watch the shop?”
“Of course.” She frowned and her blue eyes were concerned. “Are you certain nothing is wrong?”
Jarek flashed a smile and pressed a kiss into her cheek. “Everything will be fine. Just wait for my father…tell him I had to run an errand? I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
At the mention of the Master Tanner, Anais beamed, nodding until her kerchief flapped. “I’ll see you later then. I’ll start evening meal. The rabbit stew your Da loves.”
“That’s my favorite as well, you know.” He took a breath and made himself relax, then gave the older woman a quick hug she returned. “Thank you, Anais.”
“Anytime, my lad.”
Jarek didn’t answer. He left at a jog, following the path his father had taken about an hour before. He sent a quick prayer to the Blessed Spirit that he’d find Erron.
****
Limbs heavy, his chest constricted with crushing disappointment. He couldn’t find her. Jarek had scoured the market and the surrounding area—even three of the better taverns with rooms for rent. No sign of Erron or her father. It was as if the whole exchange had been some phantom he’d imagined. Had his father not been a witness, he really would have thought he’d lost his mind.
Where the hell had they gone? Dalunas Main was not so large that one couldn’t cover it in a day. Were they in Lower Dalunas?
Jarek shuddered. No. For the girl’s sake, it couldn’t be.
He wished he had tracking magic instead of skills that felt useless right now, associated with tanning and general household chores. How could it help find Erron?
Evening was settling, and with it, a chill in the air. The breeze carried the scent of impending rain. Apprehension and disappointment skittered down his spine. He sent a quick prayer to the Blessed Spirit that she was warm, safe, and stayed dry for the night. He admitted defeat. If he didn’t head home, his father would worry. Not to mention Anais.
Jarek jogged down the nearly empty streets. He didn’t stop to chat with anyone he saw, but most were headed home for supper anyway, if not already there. It was past twilight, and the moon was on its way to dominating the sky after putting the sun to bed.
All the vendors in the square had been long packed up for the night, and most shops in the m
ain business district had closed up, with darkened windows, except for candle and/or magic lighting coming from the residential sections of the building. Instead of looking abandoned, it was a reminder of home for him, since he and his father also lived where they worked.
He passed inns and taverns, and even through closed doors, voices carried. People came and went there, doors opened and closed, but Jarek didn’t stop inside any, even the few he’d explored earlier while looking for her.
The scent of food floated thick in the air, making his stomach rumble, and he quickened his step. All kinds of foods, he smelled spices and cooking meats. He hadn’t taken time to eat midday meal; he’d been searching for Erron, so he had plans to devour as much of Anais’ rabbit stew as his gut allowed.
A working girl called to him from a bannister, but Jarek ignored her and kept going.
The neigh of horses made him smile when he went by the public stable. He couldn’t see any, since they were all inside, but lights could be seen from around and under the main doors there, too.
Only two more streets and I’m home.
The first drop of rain hit his cheek right when he made it to the back entrance of the tanning shop. Jarek smiled and inhaled the clean, fresh scent.
Home.
The warm feeling of the familiar place was bittersweet, since he’d not found Erron. Was she safe at her home? Out of the rain and food in her belly? Jarek was still leery about her father. Worried for reasons he couldn’t name.
He sucked back a sigh and pushed the door open. His father was laughing when Jarek entered their quarters, located on the opposite side of their storefront.
Laughing.
He stared for a moment, looking back and forth from Kirgan and the woman who sat at the table with him next to their main hearth. The room was dim, but all the candles were lit, even the wall sconces. The hide decorations on the walls—made by his father when he’d been a journeyman tanner—were as home to Jarek as this place, but that wasn’t what felt the most like home at the moment. The scene before him was right.
Warmth from the fire embraced him, but also his affection for the older couple.
Why had he never noticed how lovely the widow was? Anais wore no bonnet, nor the kerchief she’d sported during the day. Her fair hair was neatly coiffed at the back of her head—as neat as this morning—and her pretty face was radiant as she looked at his father.
Was he intruding? Somehow as hungry as he was, he wanted to leave them be.
“Jarek!” his father exclaimed when he noticed him hovering in the doorway.
Anais shot to her feet as if she’d been caught doing something wrong, her full cheeks crimson.
Jarek would’ve taken a moment to reassure her, but it would likely result in further embarrassment, and he didn’t want that. He loved the idea of them together.
“Where have you been, lad? I was starting to worry,” Kirgan remarked.
One corner of Jarek’s mouth lifted. His father had looked content…and far too busy to be worried about his adult son. But it warmed his heart anyway. At another time, he might tease the older man, but internal amusement seemed better for now. He didn’t want his da embarrassed, either.
“Let me get you something warm to eat,” Anais rushed her words and fiddled with the wooden spoon in her hand.
Had she been feeding his father?
His smirk slid into a grin. “I’m fine,” Jarek said, but it got him nowhere, and she hurried to the hearth.
As soon as she lifted the lid from the pot of stew she’d made, the pleasant aroma tickled his nose and his stomach growled full force. Double what it had earlier. “All right, I’ll eat.”
Anais threw a smile over her shoulder as she ladled his supper into a bowl larger than he needed. “I thought as much; this is your favorite.”
“You know us so well,” his father mused.
Jarek glanced at him and saw a tenderness as the older man gazed at the widow. He hadn’t seen that before.
It’s about damn time.
What had changed the awkwardness Kirgan had displayed this morning? Whatever it was, Jarek was pleased. Shouldn’t question it. He needed to encourage them without embarrassing either party.
His heart skipped a beat as the stunning girl danced across his thoughts. He didn’t know Erron, yet he could imagine gazing at her in much the same way. She’d enchanted him.
“I should think so,” Anais said, grinning as she came back to the table. “I have been caring for you both for turns.”
Kirgan nodded and Jarek slipped into his normal seat, his mind a jumble of Erron, his da, and the widow.
“Here you go, love.” She put the bowl down in front of him.
The scent pulled him back to the present—and his hunger. His stomach let out a growl that made them all laugh.
“And you tried to say you weren’t hungry, lad.” Anais tsked.
Jarek grinned. He wouldn’t point out his hesitation had been because he’d crashed their little private supper. “Thank you,” he said to them both, since his father handed him a spoon.
Anais slipped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him in a hug before she sat back down next to his father. She’d moved too fast for him to return the affection, but Jarek wanted to. He took a bite of the thick bread she’d made instead.
He groaned when the flavor of garlic butter hit his tongue. “So good.”
Anais rewarded him with another grin. She’d told him many times that preparing food held no joy unless she could share it with others who would also delight in it. Delight they always did. She was a fantastic cook.
The stew was next, and it was so delicious he had to remind himself to slow down, that no one would take it from him. Jarek dipped his bread in the thick broth and took a bite of it, then spooned meat and potatoes in his mouth.
“Where did you go?” his father asked.
They both watched him. Too closely.
How much should Jarek admit? They would both likely think him foolish. He didn’t understand the drive to find the girl himself, so how could he explain it to his father?
“I looked for the lass,” he admitted.
Kirgan’s brows drew together. “But why?”
Anais’ expression also held confusion, but Jarek didn’t stop to recite the happening of that morning, although his father might have mentioned it.
“I can’t explain it, Da. I need to find her.”
His father looked even more troubled; his brow knitted tight and his mouth pulled down in a frown. He rested a calloused hand on Jarek’s forearm. “Be sure you’re not concerning yourself with something that is none of your concern.”
Jarek sighed. He didn’t want to hear the sense in his father’s caution. He just needed to find her. He couldn’t explain the why.
“He should find her, Kirgan, if he feels that strongly. Perhaps it’s fate,” Anais said softly.
So his father had told her what’d happened in the alley this morning. Jarek shot her a grateful look.
Kirgan looked deep in thought for a long moment before he spoke. “Fate?”
Anais smiled at them both. “Don’t tell me such things are only for foolish women. I’m beyond believing that.”
Jarek grinned and his father chuckled.
“I would never call you a fool, dearheart,” his father whispered.
She beamed and squeezed his hand.
“Smart man,” Jarek put in. “If you did, Da, she might never feed you again, and we all know what a horrible cook I am.” They all laughed.
His father and the widow shared a glance that locked, and led to them staring at each other as if he wasn’t there.
Jarek shifted on his seat. Quite odd to be uncomfortable in his own home.
Big sky blue eyes and a blonde plait entered his mind again. Why was Erron haunting him? Did it really mean something?
Was there such a thing as fate, as Anais had said?
He excused himself from the table. His father and Anais bar
ely noticed.
Jarek was fine with that. When she retired for the evening—provided it was to her own bed—he would tell his father that he had his blessing. Perhaps it would assist Kirgan along with things, although based on what’d happened at the table, maybe his father had finally girded himself against shyness.
He laughed and shook his head. What a thought that was.
Jarek busied himself preparing for bed, but the fair-haired girl wouldn’t exit his mind. He was more determined than ever to find Erron.
Chapter Three
Her arms shook, aching from wrist to shoulder as she pushed the plow. Erron’s back throbbed, muscles straining as she did the job minus Angus, their plow horse. Punishment for running off the other day on their way to market in Dalunas Main.
But physical labor was preferable to lying beneath him naked while he took what only a husband should.
She shuddered. He’d done that last night.
Screaming and fighting him didn’t help. If she pounded his chest and kicked, he would hit her back. Her father was bigger, stronger, and hurt her when he put his hands on her, not to mention when he pushed inside her.
Erron had long learned he was quicker to finish and leave her be if she didn’t respond to him in any way. Perhaps now anger would keep him away from her longer than normal. She prayed for a fortnight or two.
Her father had ranted and raved that she’d run. He’d demanded to know why—what he’d done to deserve her attempted abandonment. That was laughable, but she hadn’t laughed. He would’ve beaten her.
She hadn’t answered his demands, either. She’d sat by the hearth while he’d paced and yelled, with her head hung low and her hands in her lap.
As it was, he hadn’t hit her for running. He’d ordered her to bathe and then to his bed. After he’d finished with her, he’d ordered her to a sevenday of plowing with no horse.
She was near the end of her punishment period. There was only today, until sunset, and her body was bruised all over. Pain owned her limbs, but at least the agony was from labor and not her father’s belt.
Erron assumed she’d signed her own warrant. The small holding they managed would be her prison. There was no way Norden, her father, would take her back to Dalunas Main. As he’d hollered, she’d broken his trust.
