Vixen Hunted

by Christopher Kincaid

  Abel chuckled. "I doubt that, lad. But I'm looking forward to meeting her up there someday. Just not any time soon. Too many younguns like you who cause trouble yet." Abel ruffled Cat's head. "Off with you now. I still got a lot to do with the cold coming."

  "Cold coming?" Kit wiped her brow.

  "It be coming soon, lass. These old bones never lie. Oh, and lass. Best keep your ears covered."

  Timothy choked. Kit's eyes widened.

  "True reds often get cold ears." Abel winked. "My wife was a red. Thought she was the last too."

  "How did you know?" Timothy's palms sweated.

  "As I said, lad, she moved like Anise. No mistaking that lovely sway."

  "Master Abel, do you know about my home?" Kit asked.

  "I know nothing of your home. Anise was from around here before…well you know what happened all over. No sense in disturbing the dead." Abel looked at the sky. "But I did hear about a place east that is safe. Anise sometimes wanted to go, but we were too busy with the farm and the younguns. I don't know what I'd do with all my boys if Anise didn't come along. Took them all in as her own brood, she did." Abel laughed. "Twice widowed. Perhaps Mary will outlast my old bones. Best get going. Light be wasting."

  "East." Kit chewed her lip.

  Dust pillowed their feet. Timothy kept his eyes open. The few travelers they passed stared at Kit's red locks. He rubbed his still-itching eyes. He felt exposed now that they left Abel's farm. Cat frolicked and sampled the late summer weeds.

  "Timothy?"

  "What? What is it? Do you hear something?"

  "I'm sorry." Kit watched the road at her feet.

  He blinked.

  "I am sorry." Her gaze flicked up and away again.

  "I am too."

  "You have nothing to be sorry about. I offended you." Kit fanned her blouse.

  "I took my nerves out on you," Timothy said. A farm wife passed with a wicker basket on her back and a small child strapped to her chest. "I shouldn't have done that."

  "Accepted. See? I can be forgiving," she said.

  They walked on in silence. Timothy kept a little distance between them. His eyes still itched. He sneezed.

  "Why are you still avoiding me?" Kit asked. "I don't stink."

  "Honestly, it's your tail."

  Her ears pushed against the kerchief tied over her hair, and her tail fluttered under her skirts. Kit's mouth hung open. "You don't like my…tail?"

  "I do like your tail. Just not right now." Timothy suppressed a grin and a sneeze.

  "Not. Right. Now." Kit frowned. Her kerchief bobbed again, and she stumbled over a stone.

  "Careful! I am starting to like it again."

  "Shepherd, you are making me upset. Do not talk around me. I said I was sorry."

  Timothy held up a finger. "I am sensitive to certain things during the summer." He pointed at Kit. "And it seems I am currently sensitive to you."

  Timothy sneezed his point.

  "Of course, it isn't just you." He gestured. "Grass really makes me itch and sneeze too, but I cannot avoid that."

  "You made me worry that I—" Kit crossed her arms. "You owe me an apology. Now."

  "Apologize for something that is only natural for me? No. You should apologize for your tail." He rubbed an eye.

  The rear of her skirt flopped. She sniffed.

  "You won this one. You won't win the next ."

  Timothy looked down the road. He felt his mood slip. "I am not sure how mother and Aunt Mae will—"

  "That is quite all right, husband. I am sure she will like your choice in a mate. Of course, that doesn't mean you are not under my paws for making me apologize for nothing."

  Timothy shrugged. "I am a condemned man who has given up on deliverance. At the least, I will heckle my executioner."

  Cat bleated at the joke.

  The sun dipped low on the horizon when they entered a small hamlet. A wooden sign with a crude engraving of a mug and a bed marked the small town's inn. Scents of hard work, cheap ale, and food fought for dominance. The mix made Timothy light-headed.

  "Do people ever wash?" Kit wrinkled her nose.

  "Hey! No livestock," a barrel of a man behind the bar bellowed. "There is a stable behind the inn." He jerked a fat thumb.

  "Sorry," Timothy told the lamb. "Mind ordering dinner, Kit?"

  Kit smiled. "Certainly, husband!"

  Timothy suppressed a groan. No doubt dinner would be payback for earlier. He led the lamb behind the inn. The stables were cleaner than Timothy expected. A donkey and a gelding regarded him. Cat bounded over to the donkey's stall and happily pranced around its legs. The donkey brayed. Timothy shook his head, gave a coin to the young stableman, and returned to the common room.

  Kit stood at the bar, speaking with the innkeeper. Men watched her over their mugs, and Timothy felt his shoulders knot. Could any of them be Kit's hunters? Timothy did not recognize any of the faces. Conversations swirled around the hot common room.

  Kit grabbed Timothy's arm. "One bed will do just fine." A grin split her face. A few farmers at the nearby tables gave Timothy a knowing look.

  "Two would be more comfortable," Timothy said.

  The balding innkeeper put a heavy iron key on the bar, a smile pulling at his mouth. "Four shillings for the room and meal." Timothy dug out the coins and dropped them into the thick hand. The man released the reins on his grin once the coins were in his palm. "Last room on the right."

  She swiped the key from the smooth wooden bar, "I will go on ahead while you get dinner." She smiled at Timothy. More than a few heads swiveled to watch her climb the stairs to the inn rooms.

  The innkeeper clapped Timothy on the shoulder. "Looks like the stories about reds are true. She looks to have fire between her legs. Lucky lad and poor bastard!"

  Timothy cleared his throat. "Dinner?"

  "Oh, right! Can't leave your lass waiting for too long. Alice!"

  A young girl in a greasy apron came out of the kitchen behind the bar. A tray heaped with meat, a loaf of crusty bread, a pitcher of ale, and a pair of apples filled her thin arms. Timothy took the tray from the girl. She glanced at his face, reddened, and hurried off without a word. The innkeeper went back to pouring drinks and conversing with the locals.

  "Have fun, lad!"

  "Lucky bastard."

  Timothy rushed up the stairs and away from the well-meaning, crude jests. The conversations fell to a buzz. He shifted the tray to open the door to the room.

  Kit lay on her side in the bed. She had wasted no time stripping to her shift. Did she find clothes that uncomfortable?

  The room held a single chair, a rough desk with an oil lantern, the bed, and little else. A small window let in the fading sunlight. Timothy placed the tray on the desk. Her ruddy tail wagged.

  "Comfortable already, I see. You do know we may need to escape in the middle of the night, right?"

  "You are not one with a tail confined in hot clothing all day. My tail is stiff from so many hours under that cursed dress. And my ears." She stroked one. "They hurt from being tied down so!" She pointed to the wall. "Turn around. You are not allowed to see my tail." She frowned when Timothy ignored her. "I guess we are a little even. The look on your face!" She laughed. "I have decided it is okay for you to look at my tail. I can be gracious, can I not?"

  "The goddess of graciousness," Timothy said.

  She lunged from the bed to the tray of food. "Rabbit!"

  Timothy slumped into the chair and removed his boots. "Must you always make a fuss everywhere we go?"

  Kit bounced on the bed, tail dancing behind her. "It is just too fun not to! Besides, you owe me for earlier," she said around a mouthful of rabbit. Timothy reached for the loaf, and Kit grabbed at the escaping bread with a free hand. "Putting up with many antics is just one way to pay off your debt to me."

  Timothy managed to tear most of the bread away from her. "It will be about another three or four days of travel to get to Ciaran."

  "You re
ally should visit your home more."

  Timothy looked into the distance. "Mother can be…difficult."

  "She cannot be any more difficult than you, shepherd."

  "You will see." Timothy yawned.

  Kit echoed him and stretched down to her tail. "Those are quite contagious." She yawned again. "So we have only a single bed." She smiled. "You are welcome to share it with me! I promise to be quiet."

  "And be smothered by your tail? I think not. I will take the floor."

  She giggled behind a hand. "This is much better than being angry. A good try if your voice had not quivered with lust. You think bad things about my tail, do you not?"

  "Quivering with a sneeze."

  Kit frowned. "You are no fun at all." She shoved him off the bed.

  "Oof." Timothy landed in a heap.

  Kit leaned over the bed. "You need a bath anyway. I don't want to catch any fleas from you!"

  She pulled the sheet over her head. "Good night, Timmy."

  Timothy rubbed his back. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he sat at the small table and finished the food. Kit had left most of it.

  In a few days Timothy would have to face his mother. He guessed Aunt Mae and the fox would get along. Maybe Aunt Mae could straighten the vixen. Fewer verbal jabs would be nice.

  Orange light lanced across the desk. Timothy stirred. He did not remember falling asleep.

  Kit shrieked.

  Timothy upended his chair.

  She bounced on the bed with her shift pulled high. Small red bumps flecked her legs and thighs. Her tail and ears bristled.

  "Fleas! I have fleas!"

  "You know, I would like to wake up just once without losing a year from my life." Timothy rubbed the back of his head. If this kept up, he would have more gray hairs than Kyle.

  Kit danced on the bed. She grabbed her tail and preened, smashing something between her fingers. "They are everywhere!" She fell into Timothy, sending him back to the floor. "Get them off me!"

  "Ugh. Get off me first," Timothy said.

  Timothy yanked a small bug from her hair. "Bed lice. They are not fleas. Looks like turnabout has decided to come about."

  "This is not a joke!"

  "You will be fine as long as you avoid beds." Timothy said. "Next time we stay at an inn, we will cover the bed in bean leaves and burn them in the morning."

  Kit pushed against his chest. "So they are not fleas?"

  Timothy laughed, earning a dark glare. "They are not fleas. Annoying, but they like to keep to beds. Now will you get off me?"

  "I thought you would like me all shaking and helpless."

  "Not that I don't." He kept his eyes on her face. A few angry bumps stood out on her neck and cheeks. A glance said the bugs were busy under her shift too. "But, I think we should get some breakfast and find an apothecary for your bites." So much for sleeping late.

  "You surprise me. Two things I cannot disagree with! It is still your fault though!"

  Philip slopped a soapy rag on the bar and scrubbed at a stubborn stain as he had for the past five years. He couldn't remember what caused the stain, but a good barkeeper made sure his bar was clean. Farmers were a dirty enough lot without him adding to the mix. He had to cuff Beth after seeing the redhead covered in louse bites. Beth never was worth a lick for cleaning, but she was his sister's daughter and a looker besides. Philip refused to have an inn with louse problems. Too many merchants who fancied themselves something passed through his town. Reputation made a man and a man's business.

  The spirited lady who had arrived last night was the first redhead he'd ever seen. Looker did not describe that lass. Philip grinned to himself. Her poor lad had his hands full.

  "Took all I had in me to not laugh," he told the bar counter.

  The door swung open, letting in a whiff of cool air. Philip hoped the heat had finally broken for the year. The days heated and cooled faster and more often than Alice did. Cool weather meant harvest. Harvest meant winter was closer. Winter brought hot ale and stories. The money was fair, but Philip enjoyed an inn full of stories best.

  A muscular man with a single scar running down his cheek tracked across the just-cleaned common room. He wore forest-colored clothing designed for traveling. The man settled into a stool at the bar.

  "What will it be?" Philip asked.

  "Information and apple ale." The man laid several coins on the table.

  Philip took a shilling and left the rest. He thumped a mug of ale beside the coins. "Depends on the information."

  "I was supposed to meet a couple of friends, but I missed them. I heard they came this way." The man took a pull of his mug. "One is a young lad named Timothy. The other is a red-haired girl."

  Philip rubbed at the stain. No chance a man like this one befriended those two.

  "I had a full house last night. Saw several young lads here. I make it a point not to know where my patrons go in the morning. It is none of my concern as long as they return sometime." Philip spoke the truth. He had a feeling this man would know a lie. Philip knew the man's type.

  Some men hunted animals. Other men hunted people.

  The man finished his ale. "That is answer enough." He waved at the coins. "A tip for being helpful, innkeep. May God look over you."

  The strange man thumped out, leaving a trail of mud. Philip frowned. A man like that was usually hard to handle, and trouble besides. Philip gripped the bar with a burly hand.

  He shrugged and relaxed. "I am too old to toss people out on their ears anyway." He reached to scoop the coins.

  A single red hair clung to the bar.

  Chapter 6

  "My tail is soaked," Kit said again.

  The summer heat had broken three days before, in a deluge to rival the stories of Noah. People stuffed the road shelters. Timothy ignored the curious looks from the doors of the shelters. Only fools plodded through this mud. Timothy would rather be stuck in the rain and taking shelter under pines for a month than dealing with what awaited them ahead.

  "I think I see it!" Kit's ears strained against her sodden head scarf. A familiar shape emerged from the mist. Cat shook rain off her wool, splashing Timothy. Not that his clothes could hold any more water.

  Kit and the lamb raced for the shelter of the eaves while Timothy kept his measured pace. Soaked was soaked. Running would not make him any less so now. He looked forward to seeing Aunt Mae again.

  But he dreaded seeing his mother.

  A brass bell clung to the rough stone doorframe. Timothy took a long breath and reached for the rope that hung from the bell. He hesitated.

  "Just ring the bell, shepherd, or I will use your head as a door knocker." Kit hugged herself.

  The bell's sound split the unrelenting rain.

  A few moments passed before the door creaked open. A young nun poked her head out. "Oh, you are completely soaked! What are you doing out in this? Come in. Come in. We have a fire and warm clothes for you." The nun stared at the lamb for a moment before opening the door.

  Time did not touch the abbey. A few new plants stood in the windows, but otherwise it was the same simple hall Timothy knew. Whitewashed walls gleamed and the floor looked freshly swept. The deluge outside droned on the tile roof. Timothy remembered the silence. That was the best part, next to the books. The knot between his shoulders loosened.

  He was home.

  The nun led the trio down to the guest hall. Timothy saw no one else. He guessed it was about time for Vespers, anyway.

  "My name is Sister Tera." The young nun glided in front of them, almost achieving the dignity of the older nuns. "What brings you out in such dreadful weather? No, no. It is okay. You do not have to tell me. You are welcome here. Your rooms are this way. I will bring you dinner after you are settled."

  Sister Tera led them to the guest wing. A few torches lit the hall. Timothy remembered the entire abbey being merrily lit whenever the weather was poor.

  "'A lit home makes for a light heart,'" Timothy said. Aun
t Mae loved that saying.

  "What was that? Oh, here we are. Here is your room, miss." The nun opened a door. "You can find dry towels and clothes in the wardrobe. We have not had any guests for a while. So please feel welcome and rest."

  "As long as there are no bed lice." Kit muttered. Timothy nudged her upper arm. "I mean, thank you!"

  Kit closed the door behind her. Cat thumped her nose into the door and huffed. He stared at the closed door, wondering what would happen when Aunt Mae met Kit. Kit had better not cause trouble. Aunt Mae did not tolerate much.

  "Your room is this way, sir." Sister Tera glided toward the men's hall. Cat clopped after the nun.

  "I'm sorry, Sister Tera. Are you new here? I don't remember seeing you last time I visited." Timothy followed the thin nun.

  "So you are a regular visitor here? I just entered the convent a year ago." Sister Tera adjusted her habit.

  "Is Evelyn well?"

  The nun missed a step. "Evelyn is…she is as well as she can be. Wait! Are you…"

  Timothy nodded.

  Sister Tera clasped her hands. Her large brown eyes crinkled with a joyful smile. "God be praised. Perhaps you can help. She has been calling for her son. The poor woman needs a little peace."

  Timothy sighed. Time did not touch many things here.

  "I have heard all about you, Timothy. Mother Mae speaks highly of you," the nun said.

  "She doesn't talk about…no, never mind."

  "Here is your room. Please see your mother as soon as you are able. Even the abbess cannot ease her mind." Tera glanced down at Cat.

  "She will go to the stable. You only need to open the door and point it out."

  "Baa!"

  "Uh, okay," Sister Tera said.

  Cat fell in beside the nun. Sister Tera glanced over her shoulder. "Your timing can only be God's will. Please enjoy your rest."

  The guest room contained a simple bed and a small table. Dry towels were folded neatly beside the simple washbasin. Timothy stripped and dried the rain off of his skin, changing into a set of gray clothes in the wardrobe and hanging his wet clothing to dry. He flung himself onto the crisp bed. Outside the rain continued to play the roof tiles. His legs ached from the walk. He yawned. Maybe a small nap was in order. It felt good to be home.