Kit snorted and then pointed to a small creek that meandered behind the worn house. Cat waited in the depression. Timothy nodded. The house groaned as the intruders entered. Hounds barked and whined.
Timothy flopped on his stomach. Mud squelched and water soaked his shirt. The creek could barely be called that. Only a trickle of water ran down the center of the mud. At least the bank hid them from the hunters. What had happened to Kyle?
Cat took the lead. Kit's tail whacked his face. After the third time he gave up wiping the mud away. He ignored his grumbling stomach and burning arm muscles. Strange how a stomach made demands regardless of circumstances. He paused and peeked over the low bank. Soldiers surrounded the old farmhouse. Tahd stood among them, gazing about the clearing. Timothy ducked back behind the low bank. He wished Kit would crawl faster.
The creek's mud hardened farther away from the house. Perhaps they were lucky enough that the dogs had lost their scent. Timothy buried his face in Kit's tail.
He thumped into her.
"Watch it! Don't…" Kit's voice strained. Timothy backed away and wiped the splattered mud from his face.
The creek opened to a wide flat. Cracks spidered the dried mud. Kit rolled to her side, gasping. Timothy's arms burned. He needed more than that short sleep. Mud coated Kit and matted her tail.
"Do you hear anything?" Timothy asked.
"No. I can't even smell you with all this mud. I doubt those dogs could." Kit held up a lock of stiff, hard hair. "I look the part of a forest demon now."
"You could be her." Timothy gestured at Cat. The lamb pulled at the sticks and mud that covered her flanks. His stomach grumbled.
Kit placed a hand over her midsection. The muddy lock of hair stayed standing. "Food sounds good. But so does a bath."
"You are not a demon, are you?"
Kit gave him a sidelong glance. "You are a shepherd. You tell me."
"You look like a fox with the red tail and hair."
"On the first guess! Amazing. Bravo. What tipped you off, my ears or my tail? But I should expect nothing less from my husband. Although I look more like a mud fairy right now."
"So…you are a fox?"
Kit laid an arm over her eyes. "A vixen? A trickster? A seductress? Humans like to tell those types of stories." One green eye regarded the shepherd. Her smile held teeth. "Some of the stories are true."
Timothy cleared his throat. Best not to think about which stories were true. "So what are we going to do?"
"Oh, we now? What happened to just taking me as far as Fairhaven?"
"Well, I can always say a fox demon possessed me. Besides, you didn't do anything to deserve this." Timothy winced at Kit's scowl.
Kit hid her eyes under her arm. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes. I know you are not a demon because of your eyes."
Kit regarded him again. He stared at her with a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.
"My eyes? You don't know me at all, shepherd."
Timothy's smile widened. "Fine. It is because you are cute." He gaped. Why did he just say that? Something about this girl made him lose control of his tongue.
Kit's mud-speckled cheeks flushed. "And you smell like sheep." She sat up in a shower of dried mud. "I am hungry and need a bath. We are not safe yet." Only a few flecks of red peeked through the gunk.
"The mud suits you, actually. If only we could do something about those ears…" Timothy said.
His clothes crackled. He ran his hand through his hair, and flakes of dirt cascaded. The sun promised a hot day. At least it dried the mud quickly. Timothy offered his hand to Kit. "If you are as lucky as the stories say, we could use some now."
Kit took his hand with a small wry smile, "Don't think you will get lucky with me, shepherd. At least not until I have had a bath!"
Long hours of grumbling stomachs and trudging through dry underbrush found the trio at a farmstead. They kept their eyes and ears open for their pursuers. Timothy wondered if Kit really was as lucky as the stories said. How else could they escape hunters twice and not see one all morning?
The forest thinned to pasture dotted with a few knots of trees. In the distance, fields of brown wheat waved in the breeze. Kit's ears twitched, stubborn patches of mud still clinging to her hair. Cat munched at a patch of grass. Timothy's stomach envied the lamb.
"I hear just one person. Chopping wood, by the sounds of it." Kit combed her tail with her fingers.
Timothy brushed at his clothes. Little of the dried mud came free. "Well, I might as well see if I can earn some food and some straw to sleep on."
"And a bath!"
"Aren't you going to stop me or urge me to be careful?"
"Why? I want a bath." She waved her tail at him. "My poor tail. Go. Go before the mud turns to stone."
"Fine! Don't blame me if hunters come riding out of nowhere."
Timothy spotted a farmer some distance away. The grizzled farmer wore a handsome, graying beard that extended to his chest. His bald pate gleamed with sweat, and his leather skin creased into a grin. Timothy felt exposed crossing the field, but he lifted an arm in casual greeting.
"Been climbing through the trees, lad? I thought you were one of those wood fairies I saw in me younger days." The farmer spoke in rolling, lazy sentences. It took a moment for Timothy to understand the man.
"My companion and I had a bit of an accident and got lost. I wondered if we could earn a meal and a place to sleep for tonight." Timothy paused. "And a bath for my companion."
"You mean the muddy redhead over in the woods?" The farmer laughed at Timothy's expression. "I may be old, lad, but me eyes still are sharp. She your wife?"
"Uh, sorry she didn't come with me. She is a little shy."
He held up a tree root–like hand. "No need, son. My own wife, heaven rest her soul, was a red. What they want to do, they do. Reds are rare, for sure. What you want to do is only what she wants you to do. I could use a little help. Could use some ditches dug for the rains that be coming."
Timothy looked at the hot crystal sky. "Rain?" He caught himself and bowed his head. "Thank you. Mind if I tell my companion?"
"No worries, lad. She can bathe around back of the barn. Be a trough she can use while you earn your bed. My sons are all off merchanting and have no time for farming. Hate to admit it, but I'm not getting any younger." He offered a hand. "Name's Abel."
"Timothy."
"Glad to meet you, Timothy. Go get your lady settled. I still got more splitting to do."
Kit waited at the edge of the trees. "The man's eyes are as sharp as my ears."
"You heard all that?"
"Of course, shepherd. You think my ears are only lovely to look upon?"
"Well, I will leave you to draw your own bath then. I hope those hunters gave up. We need to do something about your tail and ears—"
"So you don't like my tail or ears. They are not pretty enough? They are not blond enough?"
Timothy held up his hands. "We can't very well have you announcing you are a fox. Besides, I like black hair." His tongue did have a mind of its own around her.
Kit frowned. She tore a strip of cloth from her leggings and tied it over her ears. "There, shepherd. Better?"
Timothy's gaze fell to her bare leg and moved to her tail.
"Humph. Perverted shepherd. Don't fret." She walked out into the sunlit wheat. "See? The wheat is more than tall enough. Seriously, shepherd, you think me a harlot?" She turned and cocked her hip. The muddy tail wagged. "It is a wonderful tail, isn't it?"
"It is wonderfully filthy and stinks of mud."
Kit glared over her shoulder. "Did I say you could look? And you stink of mutton."
"Baa!" Cat protested at the insult.
"I guess we are even then."
"Not even close. At least I can wash away the mud. You, on the other hand…" Kit turned toward the farm. Her tail slapped Timothy's hand, and she grinned over her shoulder. He ran his hand through his hair and trudged back to
the woodpile.
Abel's axe neatly split a log. The old farmer's gaze followed Kit as she walked through the tall wheat and around the side of the barn. The rustling of the wheat behind her suggested Cat followed. "She's a red for sure. My wife moved just like her."
"She is a handful."
"Women are that, lad. Guess we are for them too. That ditch needs some work done. Shovel's in the shed over there."
Despite his exhaustion, Timothy lost himself in the motion of the shovel. He doubted the hunters would look for them on the farm. Only a fool would help someone with a fox demon in tow. He still kept his eyes on the tree line and the road beyond Abel's extensive fields.
Two days and his entire life had been upended. Where did his caution go? He preferred to think things through, but those green eyes called to him like sirens in that Greek story he read as a child.
Was Kyle safe? Something in Timothy knew his friend was well. Kyle could get out of any sort of trouble. Besides, Henrietta would tear down the gates of heaven to make sure Kyle married her.
The ditch slowly lengthened along the twine lead Abel had set earlier, and the sun pulled its earthen blanket over its head. Timothy's stomach gnawed his spine, exhaustion worming its way into his bones. He replaced the shovel in the tool shed and found Abel waiting on the porch of his small farmhouse with a bundle of clothes and a covered tray. Timothy drank in the tray's wonderful scents.
"You worked harder than I expected, lad. You've earned this and a place in the barn. Your wife already waits with that strange lamb of yours. Were you a shepherd? Never mind. You look ready to fall over. Go on now. I have baskets to mend for harvest yet."
Timothy trudged across the field to the barn. The double doors allowed a thin finger of light to slice the deepening night. Stars glittered overhead. He slipped through the gap in the doors and squinted against the light.
Kit fiddled with her torn blouse. A finger wagged through one of the blouse's many holes, and her ears flicked toward him. A thin blanket that did little to hide her slight curves draped over her. Cat lay sleeping in a pile of straw.
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.
Vixen Hunted Page 5
