He shakes his head, and a slow, lazy grin spreads across his face. “Never.”
I move my arm underneath me, propping it up so I can rest my head on my palm as I look at him. “Then how do you pass summer afternoons?”
Matching my stance, he says, “I ride, read, fight…hunt.”
“Don’t say that word. It makes me feel guilty, like there’s something better we should be doing.”
“What do you do, Suzette?” He says my name like a caress. “On hot summer afternoons when you’re not painting pictures in the sky?”
“That was very poetic.”
“Tell no one.”
I smile at his grimace. “What would I be doing? Rather, what I should be doing. Baking bread, weeding the vegetable patch, tending to the mending.” I let out a long sigh. “Trapping rabbits.”
Out of nowhere, Kerrick says, “Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your hair is?”
My heart leaps, and I turn my eyes back to his. “No.”
Slowly, as if he’s afraid I’ll dart away, he takes a light brown strand and winds it around his hand. “It’s like gold.”
“Only in the sun.” My voice is breathy.
“Whenever I look back on this day, I will remember you as the embodiment of what a summer should be.” He pauses as his eyes move from my hair to my eyes. “Bright, warm, beautiful.”
He’s inching forward, ever so slowly. Finding courage, I lean in as well.
Inches from me, he stops and clenches his eyes shut. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I breathe.
Kerrick opens his eyes. “For letting myself get carried away.”
I take a deep breath and slowly let it out of my nose. My whole body deflates with it. I cover my disappointment with an understanding expression and again roll onto my back.
“But why not?” Kerrick suddenly says. He closes the distance between us, and, without hesitation, lowers his lips to mine. My heart leaps in my chest. Tentative, suddenly shy, I set my hands on his sun-warmed shoulders. Tiny bits of weeds and dirt cling to his doublet, but I couldn’t care less.
“Tomorrow,” he promises as he pulls back just slightly.
Catching my breath, I say, “Tomorrow what?”
Grinning, he presses another soft kiss to my lips. “Tomorrow I’ll teach you how to shoot.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The summer days pass too quickly now that I’m meeting Kerrick in the king’s forest every afternoon. No one except Puss knows. It’s our secret alone. Even the cat gives us privacy, going off to hunt mice and rabbits while we linger, laughing in the meadow, watching the clouds, sharing stolen kisses.
My brothers, though not terribly observant, have noticed my absences. Eugene, however, is happy to spend more private time with Sarah-Anne, and Thomas has, indeed, taken a carpentry apprenticeship in Rynvale that keeps him away in the afternoon hours. But every once in a while, when I return just a little too late, the two look at me with hawkish stares, wondering if I’m up to more in the woods than trapping rabbits.
Like my cat, I stay mute on the subject.
Though Kerrick and I have never discussed it, I know our time is limited. He’s made no promises, never even hinted at it. But I long for him to. Every day I hope that this may be the afternoon he says he wants me forever, no matter the consequences. But I know. I know.
I have him now, and, somehow, that has to be enough.
In the evenings, when I rejoin my cat, we make our way back to the mill, and I capture rabbits in my bag. I still haven’t used my crossbow.
Puss assures me I’ll grow used to it, but I’m not sure. I have, however, become quite proficient at trapping.
I swing my bag back and forth as I stroll into Glenridge with Puss at my heels. Kerrick had to be home early today, and for once, I’m not rushing into the village to catch the butcher before he closes shop.
It’s another market day, and the town is bustling. I greet villagers as I walk through the streets, exchanging pleasantries when people stop.
“Etta,” a smooth, masculine voice says from behind me.
I turn, my lips already twitching with a smile. “Hello, Beau.”
The chocolatier looks as good as always, and I notice a few girls give him wistful looks as he passes. He tips his hat to them but hurries past.
“You’re a terrible friend,” he says with a smile when he finally turns his attention back to me.
Tossing my bag over my shoulder, unconcerned, I say, “Why is that?”
He matches my pace, and, together we walk down the crowded street toward the butcher’s. “I’ve barely seen you these last few weeks.”
“I saw you the day before yesterday,” I remind him.
We both know that it was in passing, as it usually is these days, and I didn’t have time to speak with him because the butcher was about to close.
“What’s kept you so busy?” he asks.
I shake my head as he, again, is stopped by a pretty young girl, this time, the chandler’s niece. When the girl has passed, I say, “It’s none of your business.”
At the tone of my voice, Beau turns back to me. Both amused and curious, he says, “You could make it my business.”
He ends up following me all the way to the butcher’s shop and doesn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. I come out of the door with my money pouch heavier than when I went in and find him leaning against the wall, waiting.
Beau nods down the street, toward his shop. “I’ll bribe you with chocolate if you’ll tell me.”
I think about it for a moment. It would be nice to tell someone besides Puss, who’s a little too condescending at times.
The cat flicks his gaze at me, whiskers twitching as if he can tell what I’m thinking.
Giving Puss an ornery smile, I finally nod to Beau. “All right, but only for chocolate.”
Puss hisses low, but I choose to ignore him.
We arrive at the shop, and, again, Beau makes the hot chocolate drink. After I take my first long sip, I tell him my story.
“And you have no idea who this man is?” Beau asks.
I shake my head and swirl the drink in my hand. “It doesn’t make any difference. It won’t last.”
It’s easy to talk to Beau, likely because he’s too disinterested in gossip to judge my fleeting summer affair.
Beau frowns. “Just be careful.”
Tilting my head, I give him a wry look. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that in the last season?”
“It’s sage advice,” Beau argues.
“Yes, well that might be,” I say, my smile growing. “But the first few times I heard it, it was in correlation to you.”
His light green eyes brighten. “Oh really? And what exactly brought about that conversation?”
I laugh at his teasing and take another sip of the chocolate drink.
Beau looks at the darkening sky. “It’s growing late. Will you join me for supper?”
With a sigh, I push away from the table. “No, I should be going. I’ve made my brothers fend for themselves too many times this week.”
As I’m leaving, Beau catches my arm. “Don’t stay away so long next time.”
My heart swells with warmth, and I grasp his hand. “I’ve never had a friend. I’m so happy you settled here.”
His mouth quirks to the side. When I think he’s going to say something, he only squeezes my hand and nods. After I send Beau one last wave, Puss and I leave the chocolate shop.
Just as Etta’s about to turn down the next street, she glances back and sends me one last wave. I hold my hand up, smiling like I don’t want to track down this mysterious man and interrogate him. Or…make him disappear altogether.
But no.
I can’t do anything of the sort because Etta has decided we are friends.
Growling under my breath, I lean against the door and close my eyes.
“Monsieur Marchand!” Marissa calls from down the street. “Good
evening, Monsieur!”
That growl becomes a groan. I push against the door, tip my hat to the young woman, and escape inside before she grows close enough to corner me.
Why is it that every girl in the village is practically stalking me except for the one I wish would?
“Friends.” I shake my head and close the door behind me.
As I always seem to be when I visit Beau’s shop, I arrive home later than planned. It’s twilight when I reach the mill. I pause on the step, looking out over the field. The wheat is tall. Eugene was right. It’s been a good season.
With the late summer harvest, he should have enough to wed Sarah-Anne.
And I need to be out of his way so he’ll ask her.
“Why are you gawking?” Thomas calls from the pasture.
I turn toward him, surprised that I didn’t see him there. He grins and points across the fence. There, standing where the old, contrary donkey should be, is a horse. She’s not young or fine, but she’s sturdy and quite handsome.
“How did you manage that?” I ask.
“I paid for her.” He’s obviously proud of himself. “I sold twenty-three figurines to a merchant traveling through Rynvale today. He said he’ll sell them in Edelmyer, and from there they’ll be shipped across the seas. Can you imagine that?”
Lighting up at the news, I walk toward him to inspect the mare better. “Did you really? Thomas, that’s wonderful!”
He bites his lip and nods. “Etta.”
The strange quality of his voice startles me, and I give him my full attention. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m moving to Rynvale after the harvest.”
All the air whooshes from my lungs, and I have to look away so he won’t see how his news has affected me. I knew it was coming. I hadn’t expected it quite this soon.
“Of course you should.” Once I’m sure of myself, I give him a big smile. “It’s foolish to travel back and forth every day.”
“Etta…”
I wave his concern away. “I’m happy for you.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says quietly. “You’ve met someone, haven’t you? That’s where you go during the day, why you come back all starry-eyed and nauseating.”
For some reason, my brother’s usual teasing in that unusually concerned tone, makes my eyes sting. I don’t trust my voice, so I give him a vague shrug—one that I’m hoping he’ll interpret as secretive.
He waits a moment, as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to go about it. Finally, he says, “It’s not Beau…is it?”
Startled, I laugh out loud. “No, it’s most certainly not Beau.”
At that, Thomas nods, obviously relieved. “Good.”
We stand together, side by side, studying his new horse. After several quiet minutes, Eugene pokes his head out the door. “What are you two doing?” He grins. “Etta, I’m starving. Please tell me you have an idea what’s for supper.”
Thomas clasps my shoulder, gives me a grin, and then we head into the mill.
Eugene and Thomas are harvesting the wheat today. It’s the end of the summer, and the day feels ominous. The weather is still hot, but this morning there was the chill of autumn in the air. Kerrick is quiet, somewhat withdrawn.
I aim at a large “X” that Kerrick carved into a dead tree the day we began our lessons. It’s become my practice target. The arrow slices through the air and hits the tree with a satisfying thud. I lower the crossbow.
“This is my closest yet,” I say as I examine the hit.
Kerrick looks at it and nods, satisfied. “You’re a consistent shot now.”
“Not bad considering five weeks ago I couldn’t hit the tree.”
He laughs, but his mind is obviously elsewhere.
The sun is low, and it’s nearing the time we usually part.
“Are we finished?” I ask softly. When I say the words, I mean for the day. But that’s not how they sound. That’s not how he takes them.
Kerrick freezes. After watching me for several moments, he glances at the sky. The birds have already quieted in the trees, and the shadows are growing long.
“I’m going to be late as it is,” he finally says, choosing not to answer the deeper question.
“Late for what?” I hoist my crossbow onto my back. My arms, though more muscular than they were when we started our lessons, are exhausted from holding the bow all afternoon. I stretch my sore neck from one side to the other, trying to keep things light between us.
Looking uncomfortable, Kerrick wrinkles his nose. “Just a…gathering of sorts. Something my father planned.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes my heart feel as if it’s stopped beating.
“What kind of gathering?” My voice is a little too quiet.
Kerrick won’t look at me. Then, in a rush, he answers, “My father has decided it’s time I should marry. Apparently, he believes I’m too incompetent to choose my own bride, so he’s searching for one for me.”
There it is.
I’ve known it was coming, knew it’s what our future held, but I still can’t breathe.
Somehow, I plaster a nonchalant smile on my face and nod. Pulling a leaf from a nearby tree and studying it, I say, “A lot of fuss for a fifth son.”
For one split second, he meets my eyes, and then he looks away. He clears his throat, but when I expect him to continue, he stays silent.
“I should go too.” I nod toward the south, toward Glenridge.
Kerrick looks lost for words, and for once, strikingly vulnerable. His voice husky, he says, “Don’t—”
“Thank you,” I say, and then I gulp as my throat thickens. “For teaching me to shoot.”
Somehow I know I won’t see him again, and my chest feels as if an iron weight has been placed on it.
“Suzette, wait,” Kerrick says, though he appears to be glued to the forest floor. When I turn back, he continues, “You have to understand—I have no choice in the matter. It’s a burden, sometimes, being born of noble blood.”
My cheeks grow warm. “It must be hard on you to always know you’ll have a place to live…to have food on the table.” I try to soften my words with a smile, but my heart isn’t into it.
Kerrick’s eyebrows knit, and he clears his throat again, this time, embarrassed. “This was selfish of me, and I am sorry—so truly, deeply sorry. But, for once, I wanted to spend time with someone I was actually interested in getting to know. To do something just because it made me happy.”
Trying to stand tall, trying to look as if his words haven’t affected me at all, I put on a smile. “And did you enjoy yourself?”
His eyes, those beautiful eyes, search mine, trying to convey something, but for the life of me, I don’t know what. His lips turn in a frown as if he feels bad for what he’s about to say. “I did, Suzette. I truly did. And I don’t regret one moment I shared with you.”
“Me either,” I whisper, quiet enough I’m not sure if he can hear me. I turn again and walk five paces before I stop. My back still facing him, I say, “Do you remember when you asked me what the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me was?”
He makes a soft noise of affirmation, a noise of anguish.
I glance over my shoulder, this time giving him a smile that’s meant to ease his guilt, to let him know I have no ill will toward him. A smile that shreds my insides and makes me feel as if my heart will bleed dry.
Blinking just once, I say, “I met you.”
CHAPTER NINE
Puss doesn’t say a word to me on the way home, and I don’t attempt to initiate a conversation. Tears run down my face. Angry, I swipe them away.
It’s not that I’m in love with Kerrick. I’m not. But it would have been so easy to let myself slip.
My one consolation is that I didn’t.
Thomas and Eugene exchange startled glances when I step into the mill. Ignoring them, I look at the floor. Attempting to hide my blotchy face with my hair, I climb up the
ladder to my section of the loft. I heave my crossbow aside, and it falls harmlessly to the floor. In the bare privacy of my pallet, I lie face-down on the soft, age-worn blankets and cry. They’re selfish tears, selfish because I know Kerrick’s better off with a rich girl with a grand dowry, someone who comes to him with an equal share. But deep down, so deep I’ve barely admitted it to myself, I wanted him to choose me.
Puss settles next to me. When I ignore him, he crawls on my back and begins to purr.
“Get off of me, cat,” I say through a mouthful of blanket.
“Be quiet.” He begins to knead my shoulders with the tiny pads of his feet. “I’m comforting you.”
I snort out a mirthless laugh and shake him off. “I don’t want to be comforted.”
Puss butts the back of my neck and then nudges in next to me. I move my head to the other side. Dauntless, he sticks his furry face in mine, forcing me to acknowledge him. Finally, tired of fighting him, I roll to my side. He settles to his belly, facing me, his tawny face looking a bit like a wildcat in the dim light.
“Cry for now, if you must,” he says. “But, tomorrow, we have things to do.”
With a sigh, knowing he won’t go away, I open my arms to him.
I hold the cat like a child holds a doll and let silent tears fall into his fur. Normally, he’d protest, a feline far too above such treatment. But tonight he snuggles closer.
“What does it say about me that my dearest friend is a cat?” I whisper as I begin to drift.
“It says you have the very best taste in companions.”
Finally, with an almost-smile on my lips, I find sleep.
I know something’s happened the moment Etta arrives on my doorstep, but she seems determined not to speak of it, and I don’t press. Still, sick as it might be, I’m hoping this mystery man of the woods has moved on.
Puss without Boots: A Puss in Boots Retelling (Fairy Tale Kingdoms Book 1) Page 6