by C. A. Szarek
She would never see the tanner again.
The dark eyed stare of Erron’s rescuer floated into her mind. Jarek.
His name was Jarek. If she closed her eyes she could see every detail of his concerned expression. His handsome face, his gentle touch…
If only for a moment, he’d cared about her.
Was he married? It would be pleasant to be with a man like him. So different from…what she knew.
Who was she trying to fool? Even if the tanner was unwed, it was unlikely that he’d ever want her.
Damaged. Impure.
No one would have her if the truth got out. Her father had ruined any chances of a good marriage for her.
Several of the surrounding family farm holdings had sons. Any one of them would make a fine husband. Although she was recently twenty, none had even considered offering for her, so what did it matter?
She’d been of marriageable age for several turns. Erron chided herself for girlish fantasies.
Her mother had passed away almost ten turns before. Her father had gone mad with grief. One moment, he’d clutched her tightly because she resembled her mother, and the next, he pushed her way claiming the same reason.
Not long after, he’d demanded Erron fill her mother’s place in his bed. Barely eleven, he’d taken her innocence, despite kicking and screaming. Her father had crushed her, body and spirit.
Erron wouldn’t let him defeat her completely. As the turns went on, her endurance waivered with every beating, every rape. Something inside her wouldn’t let her give up, even though a part of her was resigned to her fate. She’d learned to survive.
She’d begged, pleaded, and sent countless prayers to the Blessed Spirit, but Erron had been forsaken. She was trapped with her father.
Norden would kill her or make her bear his children.
Every time he painfully forced himself into her, fear froze her heart that he’d leave her with his bastard. If it happened, everyone would know what went on behind the closed doors of their home.
Whore.
Erron bit her lip to hold back threatening tears. A pregnancy had never occurred, though she’d bled monthly since age three and ten.
Perhaps that was the Blessed Spirit’s one concession.
“Erron.”
Her name was a gruff command and she bit back a gulp, squaring her shoulders before meeting his pale blue gaze. “Yes, Father?”
“You’ve almost finished.” He gestured to the smallest of their three fields.
She was covered in sweat, agony settling over her whole body, but Erron would not complain. “Yes, Father.” She swallowed hard as she stared at his unreadable expression.
“Use the horse for the rest.”
“Yes, Father.”
“I expect my supper at the normal time, and you’re taking too long.”
Erron bowed her head, eyes blurring with tears. Never would she give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Besides, it would likely save her from his heavy hand.
He said nothing as he turned to go and neither did she. She waited until his footsteps were no longer audible before she went to the barn to get Angus. At least the old horse was a friend.
****
Erron stared at the bowl in front of her, no real appetite for its contents.
Her father ate with vigor, as was normal for him, having demanded she refill his plate twice before she’d even had a chance to sit down.
His grunts of appreciation were the only compliments she ever received. But he ate her food without complaint. That, at least, was preferable to a slap across the face.
Her limbs weighed as much as the plow, every muscle aching. If she didn’t soak in the bathtub she wouldn’t be able to move in the morning. The farm had to be worked, so that wasn’t an option. Hopefully she could sneak into the barn for a bath without notice. She would wait until her father fell asleep.
“We’re going to market in the morning.” Her father’s words were muffled, his mouth full of stew.
Erron’s head reared up and their gazes collided.
Norden cocked his head to one side.
Her heart pounded. She should’ve masked her surprise. Shouldn’t have moved so fast. He would likely hit her—
“What’s wrong with you?” Norden snapped.
“N-n-nothing, Father.”
He stared a moment longer, Erron’s heart thundered so hard her vision blurred. She bit back the urge to swallow hard and fought for a serene expression. She wanted to look away, but she didn’t dare. There was nothing he liked more than slapping her when she was caught unaware.
“I have business with the blacksmith.”
“I am to accompany you?” She prayed her tone was even, and sucked in a breath. Erron let her gaze dart around their modest cottage. The fire in the largest hearth was the only thing that felt welcoming, despite the familiar surroundings.
This place had lost its feeling of home for her the day her mother died. It was her prison.
The other hearth was on the other side of the structure, and it was smaller. Supposed to be hers, to warm her tiny sleeping quarters, but Norden did not always allow her to light it. Like now, it was dark and cold, so her room would be as well. Erron would cope with that, as long as he didn’t order her to his bed. She could get warm in the barn during her bath, and perhaps steal an unused horse blanket and sneak it into her room.
“Of course,” her father growled. “I do not trust you here alone.”
“Yes, Father.” Erron’s heart threatened to burst from her chest. After running from him, she never imagined he would take her back into Dalunas Main at all, let alone so soon.
Jarek.
She could see Jarek again.
“Erron?”
“Yes, Father?”
“If you run from me again, I will kill you.”
Her stomach roiled, and what little supper she’d forced down threatened to rise and spill. She fought the bile because he was staring, awaiting her acknowledgment. Only when Erron nodded did her father release her from his gaze, but fear skittered across her shoulders and down her spine.
His words were matter-of-fact and even, as if he’d commented on the coming rain or the harvest. But no less true. Norden would kill her and not pause to regret it for even a second.
Erron locked onto the picture of Jarek in her mind. Could she see her tanner again?
The possibility of missing the opportunity scared her even more than her father’s promise.
Chapter Four
The closer they got to Dalunas Main, the harder Erron’s heart cantered. She gripped the reins of her mare, Fancy, until her knuckles whitened.
She would see Jarek again. Erron spared a glance at her father and squared her shoulders.
He couldn’t know her plans.
How would she go about it, anyway? Norden never left her alone. The memory of his direct promise last night at dinner darted into her mind. Made her shiver. He would kill her if she ran. If he caught her. Nay—when he caught her.
It wasn’t fair to drag Jarek into her mess of a life. He had a father, too. What if he had a mother, siblings? They would all be in jeopardy.
Once again, the possibility of Jarek being married danced into her thoughts. What if he had a wife?
Erron’s heart stuttered. No. But it was possible. He was grown, of a marrying age, probably a turn or two older than her twenty, if not a few more than that.
Tears burned her eyes and she swallowed hard.
What was wrong with her? The pain constricting her chest made no sense. She’d seen the tanner once. Why did the thought of him being married bother her so much? It wasn’t like he would volunteer to save her, anyway.
“Erron,” her father snapped.
She jolted in her saddle and met his irritated gaze.
“What are you doing?”
“N-n-nothing.”
“Pay attention. Take control of Fancy. If she stumbles because of you, I will take it out of your hide.”
Erron nodded, but her father had already looked away.
He ranted about how he was allowing her to ride his horse. He grumbled that he should’ve made her walk.
She sighed. It was no use daydreaming about the handsome tanner. She would never get away from her father.
When they got into Dalunas Main, Erron’s hopes lifted. Her father directed them to an inn. They were staying in town overnight. Though they often made day-trips to market, Norden never brought them into the city center and not returned back home the same day, no matter the hour.
After complaining about the costs of stabling their horses and for the suitable room, her father paid the rotund innkeeper. The older man, named Felton, then led them up rickety stairs to their room. He asked Erron if she required anything.
“She’ll fetch our supper later,” her father snapped.
Erron winced, because Felton nodded and gazed at her with sympathetic brown eyes. He excused himself with a slight bow.
She looked around the small room, her heart tripping over itself. If Norden wanted to overpower her, there was no place for her to retreat to. The bed took up much of the room, with a window to the left that opened over the busy streets. The furniture was sparse, only a chest of drawers and a cloudy mirror. The privy was in the corner. Small, but private. At least the room smelled and looked clean.
Glancing back at the bed, her stomach clenched. She’d have to share it with her father.
“I’m going out.” She met her father’s eyes as he spoke. “Do not move from this room,” he barked.
He was leaving…without her?
Erron stared. Tried not to gape. She jolted, but couldn’t react even at his hard order. Needed to maintain her calm farce, while her stomach flipped and her pulse made her temples throb. “Yes, sir.” She forced words out and a nod for good measure.
With a grunt, Norden turned on his heel and left, shutting the door with a resounding thud.
She studied the warped wood, frozen.
He’d left her alone? Norden had never left her alone.
Blessed Spirit, he’d actually left her alone!
Erron rushed to the window. Looking down, she scanned the crowds of people moving toward the busy market center. There were people on foot, people on horseback or leading pack animals. There was a row of carts lumbering on its way, led by large beasts of burden.
It was early, so the rushing crowd included the vendors that needed to set up for the day.
Erron spotted her father’s retreating figure easily enough. He was headed down the road that led to the blacksmith’s shop.
Just two streets over from there was her tanner.
Jarek. How could she get to him?
****
Jarek sighed.
Anais continued her conversation with the butcher’s wife, even though she’d concluded her meat shopping.
Why he’d agreed to her request to go with her to market was beyond him. He was a human packhorse. The woman had bought one of everything.
His arms ached with her four—four full—baskets hanging at every angle. It was enough food to feed an army. But her smile was bright and her face full of adoration for his father, so Jarek couldn’t refuse her. She was oblivious to his annoyance as well, but he had no intention to offend her.
“Ready, Jarek, love?” Anais asked several moments later.
“Of course. Where to next?” Home, please!
“I think I’ve gotten everything we need.”
Thank the Blessed Spirit. He flashed a smile. “I thought you would never say so.”
“Oh, hush. You’re a strapping young lad, you can handle it.” She patted his chest and then caressed his cheek.
Jarek’s smile slid into a sheepish grin. “My arms won’t be right for days.”
Anais mock-glared at him. “You’re not too old to have your hide tanned.”
He laughed out loud, shaking his head. “I’m two and twenty! What’s too old?”
“Hmmm, you’ll always be my lad.”
Jarek’s heart warmed. Had he not had arms full of groceries, he would have hugged her. “Thank you, Anais.”
She nodded her mouth curved in a soft smile. “Home, then?”
“Before my arms fall off would be preferable.”
Anais swatted at his rear end as they headed out of the butcher shop and Jarek chuckled.
They fell into step and easy conversation as they headed down the road. He genuinely enjoyed her company. How could he nudge his father into making her an official…permanent…part of their family? The sooner the better.
Leading her down the shortest path to their homes, Anais followed him across the street and he gestured for her to step ahead of him as the path narrowed for several feet before widening again. Out of the corner of his eye, Jarek caught a familiar figure.
He froze and turned around.
The widow paused, her expression curious as she met his eyes.
Jarek looked away from her, his gaze locked onto Erron’s father as he headed into the blacksmith’s shop.
“Jarek? Is something wrong?”
Erron.
“I…need to go.” His heart thundered. Where was she? He scanned the street. Among the people that were coming and going, he couldn’t spot her anywhere.
Was she in Dalunas Main? Was she all right?
“What are you talking about?” Anais asked, her tone concerned and her pretty face marred by a frown.
Jarek forced himself to meet her pale eyes. “Remember the girl from the alley last sevenday, who Da and I told you about?”
“Yes…”
“Her father just went into Hem’s shop.”
“Go, lad.” No hesitation in her voice whatsoever.
He nodded curtly. Anais’ support made his decision. “Will you be all right with all these things?”
“Aye, love. Go.”
Jarek dropped a kiss on her cheek and she smiled at him.
Anais patted his cheek again before taking the four baskets and he whispered his thanks, with a promise to help her with whatever she needed later.
He slipped away from her then. He had to find Erron.
Jarek headed toward the blacksmith’s shop.
Erron’s father glanced over his shoulder just inside the open area under the Master Blacksmith’s, awning.
It was all he could do to not duck out of sight. But instinct told Jarek that Erron’s father could not spot him. Where’s that coming from?
He got close enough to hear their conversation, hidden from view behind the large cart displaying farming tools Hem had outside and to the right of the storefront.
The older man was a good friend to his father, and would no doubt have interesting questions if Jarek was caught obviously hiding.
People passed by, going about their day with little notice, though, so he didn’t move from his chosen spot.
Whatever business they had contained some hefty bargaining, but Hem wasn’t letting the fair-haired man off lightly.
Jarek admired him for that.
A noisy cart lumbered down the street, the driver shouting at his lead horse and cutting Jarek off from the conversation in the shop for a moment. He cursed, but he had no choice but to wait for them to pass.
“….longer?” was the only word he caught from Erron’s father as clopping from the horses’ hooves faded.
“Perhaps an hour,” Hem answered.
“I shall wait.”
“As you wish.”
Jarek’s heart skipped a beat. Erron’s father would be in the shop for a while. He could see her for an hour.
Where is she?
He heard the clang of hammer against anvil from Hem or one of his men working, and strained to hear the men’s continued conversation. He needed to find out where Erron was. Jarek inched closer.
“The Rusty Nail has better whores,” Hem was telling Erron’s father.
Jarek peered over the cart in time to see the nearly toothless grin the Master Blacksm
ith sported.
“I’ve my daughter with me. That’s why I chose Felton’s place. Cleaner, anyway.”
“Aye, s’pose so.”
His mind raced in rhythm with his heartbeat. Felton’s place was a tavern and inn called Old Spirits at the center of town.
If he ran, he could make it in ten minutes.
He stared at the busy street. It wasn’t yet noon. Many people were still meandering in and out of the various surrounding shops or following the road into market. Jarek jogged into the crowd. People would just have to get out of his way.
The alleyways might be faster, but Jarek didn’t want to have to devise a path, or have to avoid people dumping dirty water on his head, or worse, trash.
The most direct route would be better, even if he’d have to dart in and out of traffic like a thief running from the marshals.
There wasn’t much time.
Erron.
He was going to her.
Chapter Five
Erron sighed as she stared out the window. She’d pulled the lone chair in the room up to it to watch the activities below. She’d not brought needlepoint, which she hated anyway, or any of her many mending projects, so there was little else for her to do.
It was a warm sunny day. The kind of day that made her desire to be out in it, doing—anything.
The room behind her held little appeal, even though she could have benefited from a nap. Afternoon sleeping was not something she was familiar with, and a part of her feared her father’s return, so she didn’t dare test the clean white bedding or see if the mattress was as soft as it looked. The furs were thicker than anything she had at home, so they’d be warm, but Erron dreaded crawling under them. Tonight she’d have to share that space with her father, so no matter how cozy and comfortable the bed was, she already dreaded it.
She was a tad hungry but she was better off waiting for Norden’s return before calling for something to eat. Erron didn’t want to chance angering him when he’d given her a small reprieve—leaving her alone in the inn. If she cost him coin for an extra meal, he wouldn’t like it. She didn’t dare venture down to the tavern either way.