Depravity (A Beastly Tale Book 1)(17)

Be warned, once you part, you will never meet again. If you consent,  have her await me alone outside your front door in place of the trunk.  If I find the trunk as I left it, I will know you have declined.



I couldn't make sense of the scrawled signature that decorated the bottom of the page.

Neither Bryn nor Blye spoke as they both left to see what the trunk  held. Father followed them while I narrowed my eyes on the writing. Who  would mysteriously want to take one of them after the sun fell? And the  request hinted that he had no desire to meet Father in person.

Setting the letter on Father's cluttered desk, I slowly followed the sound of an excited squeal.

"Look at this!" Blye cried, pulling out a long length of smooth material  that rippled in a cascade when she draped it over her arm.

Leaning close, I eyed the contents of the trunk. Obviously, the  mysterious suitor meant for Blye to join him. Neither Bryn nor I had  much care for material, though watching Bryn's appraising gaze, I  guessed she might be gaining an appreciation for it.

"I've never felt anything so fine," Blye whispered, gently stroking the fabric. "To wear this...I would feel like a princess."

"So you'd accept some unknown man?" Bryn asked.

"Wouldn't you for this kind of wealth?" Blye said with a laugh.

Neither looked at Father, but I watched them all as they spoke. Father  studied the contents warily. Blye saw nothing more than the wealth, not  even the jealousy in Bryn's gaze.

"I cannot allow it," Father said finally.

Blye's head whipped toward him; her disbelief plain. He held up a hand before she could protest.

"The wealth is alluring, but what if the man or your place in his life  is not. I recall Bryn's words about the Kinlyn's hard life. They are a  happy family with wealth enough of their own, but Bryn knew it wasn't  enough. You know nothing about him, and I fear sending you off into an  unknown life without the assurance that I might check on you  occasionally."

Blye said nothing as tears spilled over from her eyes and slowly rolled down her cheeks.

"We will not reject the offer outright, however," he said. "I will write  a reply to leave with the trunk explaining a father's need for  assurances of wellbeing and happiness."

Blye nodded and began folding the material with Bryn's help as Father  turned to retreat into his study once more. Blye could cry her pretty  tears, but she was foolish to think wealth enough of a basis to marry a  man. Look at the baker. He had plenty of wealth, but would that be  enough to lie still each night as he lay beside me? I shivered at the  thought. No amount of wealth would make that image pleasant enough to  endure.

Leaving them to their cloth, I crept to our room to change from my  dress. Having worn it as it finished drying, my skin felt itchy; and I  couldn't wait to put on my loose nightgown and scratch my stomach.                       
       
           



       

In the dim light of the room, something white stood out on my coverlet.  Lighting the single candle stub we reserved for emergencies, I found the  shirt I'd worn the night before laid out neatly on my bed. My stomach  dipped. The beast had heard me at the gate. But why hadn't he answered  then? Why bring it to the cottage?

Hearing someone approach, I quickly blew out the candle and plucked the  shirt from the bed. Blye shuffled into the room and mumbled that she was  tired. I left the room, hiding the shirt from her view and knocked on  Father's study.

He called for me to enter in a slightly harassed tone. Feeling guilty  for interrupting him, but not wanting either of my sisters to see the  shirt before he did, I opened the door and slipped inside.

"I'm sorry for interrupting, but I wanted to give this to you." I held out the shirt.

When he looked up from his writing and his eyes focused on what I held,  he set his ink aside. "Not from the chest, but just as fine," he  deduced. "Where did it come from?"

"The estate," I said without reservation. I'd gathered so many odd  things from the enchanted estate it rarely drew any notice when I came  home with something new. Though, everything in the past had been  something to eat.

"This is a surprise. Tell me how you came by it exactly," he said,  standing and taking it from me. He studied it closely, missing my blush.

I couldn't retell all of the details, just enough to appease his curiosity.

"Tennen was in the cottage when I returned from the school. There was no  doubting his intentions. I ran out the back door straight toward the  estate, hoping to lose him in the mist." I decided to skip the part  where Tennen had almost caught me, too. "The estate let me enter, giving  me refuge and that shirt because I was soaked from the rain."

He listened intently and looked up from the shirt when I finished.

"The rain kept us on the road longer than I'd planned," he said. "I had  anticipated returning before you returned from the schoolhouse. When we  didn't, I worried about you. Then, arriving home late and finding your  bed empty..." He sighed. "I'm very relieved you weren't forced into..."  He shook his head unable to finish.

"Staying at the estate wasn't so bad," I admitted.

"I advise you to avoid going near it for a while. The beast neither  forgets nor forgives trespassers. You're very fortunate to have walked  away as many times as you have."

Watching him walk to his chair behind the desk, I realized he wasn't  referring to my jaunts to search for food, but that he knew about my  other trespasses. I didn't wonder how. As the schoolteacher, he heard  all the whispered rumors from the village children. No doubt someone had  witnessed or heard something.

"At the time of each trespass, I feel I made the best choice of those given me."

"You usually do," he said with a half-smile. "Now excuse me while I  compose a hopefully polite refusal to an unknown person. Tomorrow, I'll  ask the baker if he noted anyone of interest passing through."

My stomach sank, but not with mention of the baker. The arrival of the  shirt on my bed and the trunk at the door could not be coincidence.

"Father, it bothers me that this suitor mentioned no name, just wrote  daughter. Perhaps when you word your reply, you could mention Blye's  name so there is no mistake about which daughter this person would  expect if you come to an agreement."

Father made a thoughtful noise and nodded. Already his eyes drifted to  the window as he sank into thought. I left him quietly with his new  shirt and crept to my own bed.

* * * *

I woke late after having trouble sleeping the night before. The sun  already rose above the treetops when I stepped outside dressed in  trousers and Father's old shirt. I finished braiding back my hair as I  walked east toward the river. My bag bounced gently against my hip with  nothing but a bit of string and a hook in it. Today, I'd fish.

At the stream, I peeled off my boots and socks. The chill from the  spring ground penetrated my feet, but I ignored it as I rolled up my  pant legs. I'd fished before and knew the risks. Hooks were precious,  and if the line pulled too taut, I would be forced to step into the  water. Walking home with cold wet feet would make for a miserable  journey.

Finding a long, straight branch thin enough to hold over the water  proved to be a bit of a challenge. It took me a good hour, and I wished I  hadn't been so careless with my old rod last summer. I'd accidentally  stepped on it while pitching hay into the shed for the goat. Since I  typically stored it in the rafters, I had no idea why it'd been on the  ground in the first place. I'd been especially careful with it because  I'd had such luck-we had fish for almost three weeks straight-before the  fatal break.                       
       
           



       

After peeling offshoots from the branch, I tied the string on the end,  baited my hook, and set to work enjoying a quiet afternoon while  nibbling on day-old peapods. Too soon, I had enough fish to fill my  string. While sitting on the bank to put on my socks, a loud caw from  across the stream slowed my progress as I looked up. Perched on a thick  branch of a tree on the other side of the stream, a crow watched me with  one eye while its head turned toward the north.

"Mr. Crow, are you following me?" I asked with amusement. It blinked an eye at me but remained quiet.

As long as it only watched, I didn't mind its presence. I didn't,  however, want it driving me back to the estate. After tugging on the  last boot and tying the lacing, I pulled the smallest fish from my line  and set it on the ground.

"Here you go."

I stood and casually walked away. When I heard a rapid flap of wings, I  casually looked over my shoulder and watched the crow land and feast on  the fish. Smiling, I journeyed home, lengthening my strides so the fish  didn't turn bad before I got there.