by Laura Wolf
It made sense now she thought of it - of all of her grandmother's children her mother had been the only one to stay in the area. One of her uncles had gone up to Castle Crag, but the other two had left to find wives and jobs long before she was born. The Huntsman was the only bachelor within ten years of her, so unless she was to travel as well her prospects were dreadful.
She had hoped she would have more time. And a few men to choose between. Not that the thought of traveling to Castle Crag just to hunt for a husband was an appealing thought either. There was nothing particularly wrong with the Huntsman, but she had no desire to run off and live with him as his wife, and it bothered her that he felt he had some kind of a claim on her since before she could talk.
She heard her grandmother's muffled laugh, and roughly shoved her stew aside, uncaring as it spilled on the tablecloth. Her chair scraped noisily against the floorboards as she stood and stormed back into the room.
"Wolf," she glared at the trespasser.
"Girl."
"It's time you told me why you are here."
"I was hungry," the wolf smirked at her, his hair still flopping into his eyes.
"Why were you in the Whispering Woods?" she clarified. "No fairies have been seen for years. Why have you come back now?"
"There is no law that I can't walk the woods," the wolf retorted. "They belong as much to us as to you - or to the birds, for that matter. Besides, just because you don't see us doesn't mean we aren't there."
"Yet you approached me on the road."
"I told you, I was hungry."
"And I informed you the food wasn't for you," her eyes flashed. The memories that had faded to fog came into perfect clarity as she stared into his yellow eyes.
"You remember," he realized. "Quite unusual."
"The moss."
He cocked his head at her. "It's from my world. You must be quite unusual to have noticed it."
"You use it to make people forget," she accused.
"Or not notice me in the first place," the wolf shrugged. "There's a reason your Huntsman hasn't caught me yet. It's so fun to watch him wander around in circles like a blind idiot."
"He's not my Huntsman," Scarlet snapped angrily. "He's not my anything!"
The wolf quirked a mocking eyebrow at her.
"It won't be so funny when he finds you trussed up like a turkey," Scarlet spat cruelly. "I'm sure he'll be able to see you then."
The wolf lost his bravado. "You're still going to hand me over to him."
Scarlet looked from the wolf to her grandmother. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"It's up to you. You're within your rights - he did try to kill you, after all."
"I could tell you more of your friends if you secure my safety," the wolf blurted, looking to the elderly woman for help.
"Typical fairy," Scarlet said snidely. "Your loyalty only goes as far as your own skin."
The wolf glared at her silently.
Scarlet turned away from his mean stare and plopped herself down on the foot of the bed feeling an overwhelming urge to cry.
"Those children that got taken," she said finally. "They are really safe? And happy?"
"Of course," the wolf replied, sounding equally tired.
"Why did you come here to attack me?"
"You were the one who carried a weapon into the forest," he said like she was an idiot. "A silver knife - that is a weapon only meant for fair folk."
"It was meant for self defense!"
"Clearly," the wolf deadpanned, twitching his charred shoulder.
"That was self defense!"
The wolf sent her a petulant look. "I still take it as a declaration of war."
"War?!"
"Why have you never killed the Huntsman before?" Scarlet's grandmother asked suddenly. "You mentioned you have watched him often - surely you would have had the opportunity."
"He's only ever brought a bow and arrow into the forest," the wolf shrugged. "The worst he has done is kill a few rabbits and deer - much like myself."
Scarlet looked at him doubtfully. "You've... never killed a human before?"
The wolf turned his heated gaze back on to her. "I've never had the need to."
"Yet you seem to be spoiling for a fight," Scarlet returned his gaze. "Taking the tiniest infraction as a declaration of war."
"You're just a dirty human, you wouldn't understand," he spat. "You're barely more developed than a sheep or a beast of burden."
"Beast of-" Scarlet spluttered. "You're one to call me a beast! You bloody wolf! You're the beast!"
"There!" the wolf shouted, straining against his bindings until the silver digging into his skin let off smoke, and he lost his balance and fell sideways onto the floor. "Right there! You're just the same as the rest of them! That's exactly what they called my father before they killed him!"
Scarlet felt as though she had been slapped in the face, staring down at his prone form in all its smoldering anger.
"Humans killed you father?" Scarlet blinked, all the passion having fled her voice.
"It seems," her grandmother put in hesitantly. "That there is a lot we don't know. Perhaps dear, you should get our young visitor some food and a glass of water, and after you've both cooled down we might get to the bottom of this?"
Just as Scarlet was about to respond, they heard a knock on the front door.
"The Huntsman," Scarlet breathed, before turning to run and answer him. Just as she closed the door to the bedroom she heard the wolf ask "Do you think she'll let him kill me?"
CHAPTER SIX
"Little Red?" Rowan's voice came through the door, chilling Scarlet to the bone.
She wrenched the door open and felt guilt stab her through the chest as she took in his relieved features.
"Red," he sighed. "I'm so glad you made it here safely."
"Did you find the man?" she asked, trying hard to keep the shame out of her voice.
"Nay," Rowan sighed. "I searched the road from end to end but there was no sign."
"Perhaps he went through to Junk Hill?"
"Aye, perhaps," Rowan agreed. "Perhaps he was no fae at all. Are you sure you have no recollection of him?"
"His cloak was pulled tight over him, and his hood low," Scarlet repeated the earlier details she had given him. "It was a frosty morning, however - I no doubt looked the same."
"Might I stop in for a glass of water?" the Huntsman asked, and Scarlet stood aside. She pulled out a chair at the table for him, and fetched him a glass.
"How is the old lady?" Rowan asked, after taking a long swig.
"She is resting now," Scarlet said. "Her fever will be fine. Thank you for stopping in to see her earlier."
"I best not stay long then," Rowan said quietly, looking back to the closed door. "I will stop in with your parents on the morrow. Will you be staying in Girdlebrook long?"
"Only as long as she needs me."
"I will escort you home, if you will allow it," Rowan offered. "It does not leave my heart easy to see you walk alone."
"I have done so for years," Scarlet pointed out stubbornly, her guilt receding around the stone that felt like it had become lodged in her throat.
"It is different now-"
"Because of that man?"
"Because of you, Scarlet," Rowan said in exasperation. "You are coming of age soon, I will not have you out and about where you could be waylaid or come to harm. Not when- I will not have it."
"Because I am coming of age," Scarlet frowned and turned on her heel, ignoring the prickling of her eyes as she busied herself by dishing out a bowl of rabbit stew for the Huntsman.
"Ah, your cooking is a fine thing," he complimented her, and stretched his legs out under the table until they peeked out the other side of the tablecloth. "It will be a fine day when I no longer have to eat my own lumpy porridge or burned rabbit."
Scarlet felt the urge to vomit at the thought. Unable to travel so far as the forest path by herself. Installed in the Huntsman's home cook
ing his meals and dusting his furniture. Boxed away in his house gathering dust of her own. It was enough to make her cry, but she bit down on her tongue to stifle it, unwilling to give him reason enough to prolong his visit.
"I wonder," she said with a tone much calmer than she felt. "If you might delay speaking with my parents until after I return home."
Rowan looked up to her, alighted by her comment and offered her a warm smile. "Of course! You would like to be there for the discussion, I assume? Very wise, very wise."
"Of course, I would need to travel home by myself," Scarlet pressed. "It would not do to have my parents think I had made arrangements without them. And as you say, it would be inappropriate for you to accompany me."
His smile faded, but he nodded all the same. "Yes, yes, I see my wily girl. You will have your final walk in the woods, but I'll rest assured you'll be promised to me before the week is out."
Scarlet lowered her eyes to the table, once again sinking her teeth into her tongue, but the Huntsman took it as a nod of agreement.
"Well," he said, after he had scraped his bowl clean. "I should not stay any longer. Wish the old lady well for me, and I will stop in again in two days time. Perhaps she will be well enough to chaperon us for another meal together."
Scarlet agreed, and gathered his bow and axe, handing them back to him as he exited the door. He left her with a long, burning look that left her feeling exposed and vulnerable - far more so than she had when dealing with the wolf earlier. She realized it was ridiculous. The Huntsman posed her far less threat than an unknown creature of the fae.
She walked back and opened the weathered old door to her grandmother’s bedroom and was confronted by the wide eyes of the wolf, who stared up at her with the gaze of a confused puppy.
CHAPTER SEVEN
"You didn't turn me over," the wolf said, after they had stared at each other long and hard.
"It seems not," Scarlet said numbly.
"You'll let me go then?" he pressed. "I doubt you could eat an entire wolf yourself."
"I don't want to eat you."
"I don't really want to eat you either," the wolf grimaced. "I have a stomach ache enough as it is."
Scarlet sighed. "I am sorry. Not for doing it in the first place, of course - but that you're still feeling the effects."
"Will you untie me at least?" he asked innocently.
"I think not," Scarlet frowned. "Whether or not you have made amends with my grandmother I can't ignore the reputation fae have as tricksters. I won't set you free only to have you to attack me."
The wolf frowned at her.
"I'll give you some stew at least. And water. It might settle your stomach."
She retreated and washed the bowl the Huntsman had used minutes previous, and refilled it for the wolf. She sat down by his side, and fed him patiently as he watched her like a hawk.
It was strange, sitting so close to him. His long raven locks brushed the back of her hand as she lifted the spoon to his mouth, and he took it into his mouth slurping rapidly and never letting his wary gaze stray from her own. She let her eyes wander over his skin. There were still splatters of his own blood on his chin, matted into his rough stubble. It was red, like her own.
She could still barely believe he was over a hundred years old, fae magic or not, and wondered briefly if he was lying. She couldn't think of a single reason it would benefit him to do so, however.
She set her empty bowl down, and raised the glass of water to his lips, tilting it gently so as to avoid making him choke. She removed the dirty dishes to the kitchen sink, and returned with a cloth and a bowl of water, and went about cleaning the blood off him. His gaze softened into one of curious confusion, but he remained silent until she finished and sat back with a comfortable four feet between them.
"You're a strange human," he said, finally.
"You're a strange fairy," she returned equally.
He cocked his head at her and gave her a long look. "Scarlet."
"You heard my name."
"The Huntsman said it."
"Then you're half way to knowing me," Scarlet frowned at him thoughtfully. "What good does it do you anyway? Knowing a name?"
"What do you think it does?" he asked curiously.
"We're taught in school it gives you power over a person," Scarlet said quietly. "That you use your fairy magic to control them somehow."
The wolf let out a bark of laughter. "You humans and your superstitions."
"Then what does it do?" Scarlet pressed him. "Why is it so important?"
"If I know your full name," he said with a wolfish grin, leaning towards her, his yellow eyes as bright as his gleaming teeth. "I can always find you. I'll know exactly where to look for you at any moment, day or night."
"Is that all?" Scarlet asked aghast. "In that case, I barely know what all the fuss was about."
The wolf deflated, annoyed at her dismissive tone.
"When will you release me?" the wolf asked petulantly.
"The Huntsman will be back in two days," Scarlet said, and looked over to where her grandmother was resting with her eyes closed. She had no doubt the old woman was still awake, however.
"You will have to leave in the morning," her grandmother said, proving her suspicions correct as she cracked open an eye. "At first light."
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" Scarlet asked her, taking her wrinkled hand into her own.
"It's too late to change your course, dear," she said sadly. "Unless you were willing to take this young wolf's life yourself, you can't hand him over to the Huntsman now. If he is to be your husband he must never know you've deceived him."
Scarlet wilted. "You're right, of course. He would never forgive me."
Her grandmother patted her hand gently, and Scarlet slumped to the floor once again. "You should sleep, grandmother. It's getting late. I'll go and see to the dishes, and that the house is secure."
The wolf watched her walk out of the room, her head hung low with worry.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Scarlet was awake well before the sun rose and had gone about her duties fetching water from the well and setting the pot of porridge to cook. The wolf remained in the chair she had tied him to, although she had dragged him into the living area to allow her grandmother a good nights sleep. His head now lolled to the side resting on a large upholstered chair, saliva drooling out of the side of his mouth. His fever had broken in the middle of the night, and although his hair was still damp his skin no longer had a sweaty sheen to it. Scarlet herself did not sleep a wink, and had stayed up baking and cleaning through the night. She did not feel great about leaving her grandmother so soon, but she would be well enough within a day or two, and it was a higher priority to get the wolf out of the house.
The longer he remained her prisoner the stronger he would become, and she doubted he would allow her the chance to poison him again. No, it was better to release him while she remained in his good graces.
The wolf woke with a snort, just as Scarlet was taking the porridge off the stove. His nose twitched and he looked at the pot with interest.
"Do you like porridge?" Scarlet offered, holding a bowl up to indicate she would serve him.
"I haven't tried it since I was a boy," the wolf said thoughtfully. "It smells divine."
"That's probably the sugar," Scarlet laughed lightly, and gave him a generous sprinkling. "I didn't know if fair folk would eat porridge or not."
"Some do," the wolf answered her. "Besides, my mother was a human."
Scarlet paused.
"Is that something that happens?" she asked, shocked. "Fair folk marrying humans?"
The wolf shrugged. "It was more common back then. I think my parents were the last ones."
"How come?" Scarlet asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
The wolf shifted uncomfortably. "They were killed. By your kind."
Scarlet moved and sat next to him, setting the bowl to cool on the table nearby.
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br /> "Your mothers kind too?" she said hesitantly. "You said your father was killed by humans, but if your mother was human too - wasn't it also her kind?"
The wolf winced, and opened his mouth to reply, before stopping and starting again.
"My mother was human," he said finally. "The most beautiful of her town, father told me. After she married my father, they moved to Elphyme - to my world. She became a witch."
"A witch?" Scarlet's eyes widened.
"That's what your people called her," the wolf shrugged. "When humans live in our world they... acclimatize."
"They become fairies?" Scarlet gasped.
"Not... Your idea of 'fairies' is extremely limited," the wolf frowned at her. "I'm not even a fairy, not really."
"You're not?" Scarlet blinked. "Why didn't you correct me then? I've been calling you one all of yesterday?"
"And when should I have been correcting your grammar?" he asked peevishly. "When you were poisoning me? Or when you were stabbing me?"
Scarlet frowned at him. "What should I be calling you then? You know my name, but I have nothing to call you."
"Other than Beast?"
Her frown intensified into a glare. "You called me a beast first, you know."
"I did not."
"Agree to disagree," she shrugged. "Stop avoiding the question."
"My name..." he took a breath. "My name is mine alone. I will not share it."
Scarlet huffed in annoyance.
"Then I'll keep calling you fairy," she needled him, and grabbed her own bowl of porridge, eating it in front of him and sparing a smirk when his stomach growled in jealousy.
"I'm more of a shifter," the wolf said finally. "My ancestor was the Morrigan, according to what my father told me. She could change her shape into any animal. Wolf, bear, raven - I've only ever been a wolf."
"Then I'll call you Wolf," she said decisively. "And for what it counts... I'm sorry about what happened to your parents."
The wolf shook his head, and said nothing in response, his hair falling down to shadow his expression.
