Stil's Heart

by Rosetta Bloom

  Instead, she said, “Did you know that dogs are related to wolves?

  He blanched, his face scrunching up curiously. “Did you hear what I told you?”

  She smiled, then glanced over at the road. No one had passed by and he wondered what kind of tiny little backroad this could be that never got any traffic. Then she turned to look at him and spoke. “Of course I heard you. I’m just saying that dogs and wolves are related. That somewhere along the way, dogs joined the side of people, coming to help, while wolves maintained their completely wild nature. Still, dogs sometimes have wolfish urges, and even sometimes they follow through on them. But guard dogs eventually guard their flock. They feel protective of the sheep, the way you do with Fred.”

  He swallowed, looked away. He wondered how she knew. How could she tell his protective urges?

  “And wolves tend to be pack animals. Real wolves don’t hang out with the sheep, they hang out with other wolves.”

  Her logic felt dizzying. “Well, is that why you think I’ll be a guard dog?” he asked. “Because there are no wolves here?”

  She grinned. “There are wolves everywhere,” she admitted, and then she looked toward the road, then all around their immediate area. Lowering her voice, she added. “There’s one wolf here who you might beware of, especially since ladies are a weakness you have.”

  He didn’t speak, just waited expectantly.

  “Lisle,” she said. “The parson’s daughter, but ever a magnet for trouble and bad tidings. She’s a pretty thing, but you’d best stay away from her. She’s a wolf, if ever there was.”

  Given that warning, he couldn’t admit he’d already played with that wolf. He decided it was time to end this conversation. Stil stood. “I should get back to the pub,” he said.

  She nodded. “Indeed,” she said, pausing to take one last look around. “I have some things to do before heading back. But it was nice talking to you, Stil.”

  With that, she headed off into the woods, and he was curious where she might be going. He watched her, but didn’t follow. Instead, he took the path back toward the pub. Finding Lisle seemed less appealing now.

  Chapter 5 - Settling In

  He’d spent two weeks in this little village, doing all the right things. By all his prior standards, it was time to move on, to leave debts unpaid, or to get involved in a card game and cheat. To do something that meant leaving. Only, he found he didn’t want to risk it. He found he liked old Fred, with his wispy white hair, soft-spoken voice, and his limp. He liked the kindness Fred showed to him and felt compelled to show it in return.

  He did things for old Fred without asking, and he paid his tab at the inn each week without excuse. He liked it here, and as strange as it seemed — doing all the right things was making him happy. He wondered, just a little, if the girl was right. He supposed he shouldn’t call her that. She wasn’t a girl. She was a woman. Petite in stature, like a girl, but shaped like a woman. You didn’t notice as much when she wore her cloak. On some level, that cloak was a shield, a way for her to hide herself.

  But she didn’t seem to want to hide with him. The day after they’d run into each other at the pond, he’d gone back. He hadn’t been sure why, exactly. Perhaps because it was a nice place. Perhaps because it was quiet and seemed out of the way. Whatever the reason, he had returned, and so had she. And even though they didn’t make some agreement on it, each day they went there. Each day, Gothel would take off her cloak and smile and be friendly in ways she wasn’t with anyone else. She’d dip her toes in the pond and tell him funny stories she’d overheard at the pub.

  She was breathtaking in her own way, he realized. Only, she seemed intent on not letting anyone know.

  He decided to ask her one afternoon as they sat there, under a blue sky. The weather was cooling, but it was still pleasant enough outside. Both he and Gothel sat on the edge of the pond, their feet dipped in the water.

  “Why don’t you act like this with other people?” he asked.

  The smile on her face faded, and she glanced up at the cloudless sky. After a moment, she shrugged. “I guess you could say I’ve always been distrustful of people.”

  He stared at her, the lovely golden locks in two braids today. Her violet eyes always endlessly watchable. “I thought your sister was the one that made quick decisions,” he said, remembering how quickly Giselle had come to the conclusion that he wasn’t good.

  She chuckled, her whole frame shaking, and for some reasons, this time he noticed how her perky breasts jiggled beneath the simple dress she wore. He imagined what it would be like to remove the thin frock and caress each one.

  He shook the thought from his head. You never messed with the daughter of the innkeeper you were staying with. It was a recipe for disaster.

  “My sister thinks you can make decisions about people quickly,” she said. “I think it takes time to figure people out. But that doesn’t mean I think most people are worth fooling with.”

  He sighed, half incredulous. “People not worth fooling with? That doesn’t sound like you’re giving them a chance at all. Sounds like you’ve already written most of us off.”

  She shrugged, her eyes growing distant and her teeth biting down on her perfect pink lower lip. “I don’t think I’ve written most off. It’s just that most are sheep. And sheep, if you watch them, don’t do much. They huddle together, and if a wolf comes toward them, they don’t circle around and protect their friends. They just take off. They run. If most of the people are sheep and will be too busy with their own concerns to really notice you or help you when you’re in need, what’s the point of trying to figure them out? I suppose Giselle’s way is helpful, to spot the wolf, to spot the sheep, to spot the guard dog, and approach accordingly. I guess I’ve taken a more universal approach and avoid the sheep as much as I do the wolf”

  Fascinating. It was an interesting way to live. Or perhaps no way to live at all. “Seems like you miss a lot of opportunities to meet nice guard dogs.”

  “That’s what I realized when I met you,” she said, and she stared from beneath her eyelashes at him, looking quite delectable. He leaned toward her, his instincts kicking in, telling him to plant his lips on hers, and offer a toe-curling kiss. Instead, he caught hold of himself, silently reminding himself that he couldn’t do this. That if this went bad, he’d have to cut out, ready or not.

  And maybe that’s what scared him. That he would have to cut out before he wanted to. That he wanted to stay here, to stay with her. For once in his life, he didn’t want to wander.

  She pulled her bare toes from the pond and used her red cloak to dry them. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said, not waiting for a response. She was slipping into her shoes and scurrying off toward the woods, which were on the other side of the pasture that held the pond. With little other choice, he put on his own shoes and jogged to catch up.

  “What is it you want to show me?” he asked as they walked briskly through this open field that backed against the woods.

  “Well, it’s something I do that’s a bit of a secret. Just my parents, sister, and I know about it, but I thought you might like it.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re a guard dog. You protect people, as well as their secrets,” she said.

  He opened his mouth to protest. He wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to warn her away from him. Perhaps because he knew he was a wolf, and he was dangerous. He didn’t want to see her harmed.

  Before he could interject, she was speaking again. “I see how you protect old Fred. That man who came in and tried to bully him, complaining the bread had been bad. I heard that you told him to go and not come back. You stood up for Fred.”

  He didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He’d told himself he’d done it for show, to show others he was an upstanding guy who wouldn’t let an old man be terrorized by the slime who wanted to take advantage. But, he’d only thought of that afterward. At the time he’d done it, he had felt protective of the
old man.

  They stepped into the woods, and it was slightly darker as the canopy of trees covered them. There wasn’t anything he could think to say, so he followed behind her.

  After a few minutes of walking, they appeared in a clearing, and there, with sun streaming down on it, was a beautiful garden. It was encased by a picket fence and held neat, tidy rows of various crops in full bloom.

  “What is this?” he asked.

  Gothel smiled and said, “My secret garden.”

  He looked at her, pride and satisfaction on her face, and then at the incredibly lush garden, with all sorts of herbs and plants growing in it. “Why a secret garden?

  She shrugged. “In part because I’m very good at it, and any time I’ve grown stuff before, I’ve found the best stuff pilfered. So I tend to the garden and grow things for the inn. People always say our tomatoes are the freshest. And that herb right there,” she said, pointing to something growing in the back corner, “that is the secret to making my biscuits so delicious. And that rapunzel there, is my mother’s favorite for her salads.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. A secret garden.

  She slapped his shoulder playfully. “‘Tis not funny,” she said adamantly.

  He shook his head. “But it is. You are the only person I’ve ever met who would garden in secret.”

  “It’s a very good garden,” she retorted.

  His laughter was fading, and he could see how much it meant to her to have this secret place. There was something so charming about it, that she wanted a secret garden for those who were trustworthy. And she’d trusted him enough to tell him. “It’s a nice garden,” he said.

  She nodded. From the inside pocket of her cloak, she pulled two cloth sacks with handles. “Here,” she said. “Let’s take some tomatoes home.”

  * * *

  Their journey back to the inn had been uneventful, yet joyous. One of those times that passed by quite easily, but with little recollection of the actual conversation. Just that it had been fun.

  When he arrived at the pub, Mary took his bag of garden goods and thanked her daughter for bringing such a harvest. Then the women disappeared toward the back, where the kitchen was. He imagined they’d put the food to good use.

  Stil headed toward the bar to say hello to Geoffrey, who was talking to a customer. Halfway there, he realized the customer was Lisle. She was just as sexy in the daytime, her generous bosom bound beneath a simple frock. She was covered in a cloak, though, which seemed to shade her desirous figure.

  He wanted to turn and head the other way, not quite knowing what to say to her in the light of day, when her skirt was clearly pulled down and her legs weren’t spread for him. But he thought it would look strange to change course now, so he headed toward the bar, and sat, nodding a hello to them both.

  “Stil,” Geoffrey said, his voice full of cheer. “Have you met Lisle? She’s Parson Schmidt’s daughter.

  Stil nodded his head to her. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” Lisle replied, her voice breathy and seductive. Then she turned back to Geoffrey. “Mr. McGinty, do you think maybe you could give me two week’s portion of wine for the service, and your friend here could carry it for me? I’ve heard he’s been a real savior for Mr. Jones.”

  The twinkle in Geoffrey’s eyes dimmed as he watched Lisle. “I think you’ll do fine with just one portion, and I wouldn’t want to impose on Stil.”

  Lisle shook her head. “I don’t think it’s an imposition,” she said and turning to Stil said. “Is it an imposition, Mr …?”

  “Stil,” he said. “Just call me Stil.” He didn’t want to go into the matter of his last name. He also didn’t want to appear unhelpful, not when he’d made the impression that he was such. “‘Tis fine, lass. I’ll help you.”

  Geoffrey shrugged, and then then left, going to the back, returning with a large jug of wine. Lisle could have carried it, but he did imagine it would be a struggle. “Lisle, you lead the way,” Geoffrey said, and as she started off, he whispered in Stil’s ear, “Be careful of that one.”

  Stil nodded and then followed the girl out into the early evening. The sun was setting, and he followed a few paces behind as they walked through town and further into the desolate roads. Soon he recognized the road he’d stumbled upon, the barn on the hill. She led him toward the barn, but he stopped walking. She turned back to him, a puzzled look on her face that spread into a grin after a moment. “You have a better place in mind?” she asked, her voice that of a siren. Her eyes lusted for him, yet he couldn’t muster the same desire.

  “I had a nice time when we first met,” Stil said, “But I think its best we not do it again.”

  Her eyes widened and she looked at him, scrutinizing every inch. Having managed no answers through her own observations, she finally said, “I don’t understand.”

  Saying that she was a wolf seemed a stupid idea, and he banished it quickly. But it did seem to sum up his concern. She was a wolf, and he had somehow in the last couple of weeks decided he didn’t want to be a wolf. He didn’t want to be in her pack. “I’m staying with Geoffrey and his family, and I don’t want to cause problems right now,” he said, hoping that sounded like a good excuse.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh,” she said, her voice falling flat. “I see. You want to get into Giselle’s skirt. Well, I can tell you, it’s not going to happen. Mr. McGinty keeps his girls on a tight leash. Unlike my pa, he watches them with a keen eye. And even if he didn’t, she’s a good girl to the core. They both are.”

  He laughed. Girls like Lisle — well, not just girls; really, any people like Lisle — tended to assume others were exactly like him. She thought he simply wanted to bed one of Geoffrey’s daughters, not that he was no longer interested in her. “No, that’s not it,” he assured her. “I just think I should leave my landlord’s customers alone. Plus, I wouldn’t want your father to find out.”

  She waved a hand at him. “He doesn’t care,” she said, as if it were nothing. “He’s not the sweet man everyone thinks him to be.”

  He eyed her, hiding his surprise. Momentarily, he considered delving deeper. It sounded like there might be a story there that the town preacher had some skeletons in his closet, things that would be useful to him if he found out. Perhaps he could leverage the information in the future.

  But then he realized those were wolf thoughts, and he didn’t want to be a wolf.

  “We should take this to your father,” he said, his tone final, as if they had both agreed to the course of action.

  She frowned, resigning herself to the notion that her evening wouldn’t go as planned, then turned and started walking

  Chapter 6 - So this is Love

  He’d gone home rather quickly after he’d rebuffed Lisle and spent a pleasant evening at the pub. The next day, when he and Gothel met at the little pond, he offered to help her with the garden, and she accepted with a shy grin.

  She walked briskly to the garden, her excitement evident in each lively step. Once there, she offered him tender instructions and took extreme care, as she made her way amidst the plants. She had a gentleness, a kindness toward the plants that she didn’t seem to offer to people. Except for him and her family. He wondered if her general distrust of people led her to divert her affection to the things she grew.

  He followed her lead, talking to the plants, smiling at them, walking gently in their presence.

  “You know, you have it,” Gothel said on the third afternoon of their arrangement in the garden.

  “Have what?” he asked, worried he’d picked up some poisonous weed rather than the rapunzel she’d asked him to get.

  She chuckled at him. “Magic,” she admitted.

  He raised an eyebrow, and then looked up at the sun. It wasn’t hot out. It seemed unlikely she had heat fever, that awful state people got in at the height of summer where they got addled if they were out too long.

  “I’ve not gone mad,” she assu
red him.

  “But you’re speaking of magic.”

  “Well, magic is real,” she said, and she stepped outside the little fence of the garden and beckoned him to join her. He obliged, tossing the rapunzel in a basket on the way. She sat down in a patch of grass, and he sat next to her.

  “So why are you spouting old wives tales about magic?”

  She squinted at him as if she was shocked by his position. And perhaps she was. Many people believed in magic and spells, but Stil had seen enough cons — hell, participated in enough of them — that he knew it was all tricks. He kept his mouth shut, though, as she seemed confident in her assertion, and he had no interest in arguing with her. Not when she looked so lovely today, her blond locks free flowing. Her face was almost aglow, a serene quality about her that only seemed to be present when she gardened. It was as if the plants had somehow made her their queen and she looked the part in their presence.

  “Magic is real,” she said again.

  He reached out and stroked her cheek. She leaned into it, her own hand clasping his to her face for a moment.

  “See, I can feel it there in you,” she said.

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Gothel, are you teasing me?”

  “No,” she breathed out, her voice confident, but also slightly offended. “I would never tease you.” She glanced over at the plants. “My mother says that magic is all around us, that all people have it in them, just a little bit. There are those who have more, magical people. But, still the rest of us have little bits of magic that we can pour out into the world, into whatever we love. And I love this.”

  As she stared at her little garden, he knew every word she said was true. This was no ordinary garden. It had a quality he couldn’t describe. One that was magical.

  “So what’s my magic?” he asked her.

  She stared at him a moment, placing a hand to her chin. Finally, she said, “I think it is making people feel safe.”