Defying Destiny (15 page)

somehow beneficial to him.

“I’ll give you forty-five for any

bearskins you could bring me.”

“Look, miss,” the merchant said. “Who

do you think you are, coming in here and

trying to strike a deal with my best

supplier? We have already agreed to

twenty-five for buckskin, five for rabbit

fur

and

forty-five…er…
fifty

for

bearskins!”

Maralee pretended she didn’t hear the

merchant’s tirade. She continued to talk to

Nash as if they were alone. “If you supply

me, I’ll give you a binding contract. You

won’t have to haggle over the prices. I’ll

guarantee them. You can trust me.” She

jabbed her thumb in the shopkeeper’s

direction. “You can’t trust him. He’s

trying to swindle you.”

Nash glanced from Maralee to the

merchant. “I’ve always traded with this

man.”

“And there is something to say for

loyalty,” the merchant, who was sweating

profusely by this time, said. “I could…I

guess I could…write up a contract.”

“That would be acceptable,” Nash

said.

Maralee

scoffed

with

feigned

displeasure. “If he ever breaks your

contract, promise you’ll become my

supplier.”

Nash nodded, glancing at the merchant,

who was already scribing a basic contract

on a piece of paper.

“This contract states I am his
sole

buyer,” the merchant said, signing the

completed contract with a flourish. He

gave Maralee a self-satisfied look.

Maralee snatched the contract out of

his hands and looked it over to make sure

he hadn’t put any clauses or stipulations in

it. She found it was in perfect order. “So it

does,” she commented and handed the

paper to Nash who tucked it into the

pocket of his coat.

The merchant carefully recalculated

his purchase total and handed Nash a

receipt.

“He’ll take cash,” Maralee told the

man.

“What are you; his mother?”

“You know he doesn’t know how

much those pelts are worth. How long

have you been swindling him?” Maralee

asked.

To

avoid

answering

her

blunt

question, the shopkeeper went to his till

and removed one hundred and twenty five

in hard currency. Nash accepted the

money, hiding his look of disbelief by

ducking his head. Maralee smiled. He’d

probably never seen that kind of money

before. And thanks to her quick thinking,

he would never have to worry about it

again.

“I need…um…forks,” Nash told the

man.

“We have a fine set of silverware that

just

came

in

from Kinsford,” the

shopkeeper said, greed glowing in his

eyes again.

Nash’s eyes widened. “Silver?” He

shook his head vigorously.

The man’s face fell. “Too rich for your

blood? Well, we do have ordinary, steel

forks.”

“Those will do,” Nash said, “and we

need a new shirt for the lady. And what

else, Maralee?”

“Five pounds of potatoes. A pound of

oats. A pound of dried beans. Five pounds

of flour. A tin of yeast. Two pounds of

sugar…” Her list of basic staples

continued. While the merchant gathered

their wares, Nash wandered off to assist

Carsha in choosing something to trade for

her rabbit skins.

Their large pile of purchases was

nearly complete when Carsha came to the

counter holding a set of shiny barrettes

shaped like dragonflies.

“Show him your rabbit skins,” Nash

prompted, and Carsha handed her bundle

to the merchant.

The man glanced at Maralee and then

smiled at the child as if to prove he wasn’t

really such a bad person. He removed the

leather thong holding the furs together and

unfolded them. He ran his hands over the

three perfect pelts.

“These are exceptional,” he said to the

wide-eyed, little girl. “Did you hunt these

yourselves?”

“My daddy took me on my first hunt.

He…he—”

Her

eyes

filled

with

unexpected tears and she dropped the

barrettes on the counter before grabbing

her furs and running for the door. She

buried her face in the soft pelts as she

sobbed.

Nash went after her. He caught her just

outside the door. Maralee saw him draw

her small body into a tight embrace before

the door closed. The merchant looked

after the pair of them, puzzled.

“Her father passed recently,” Maralee

explained, closing her eyes to stop her

own tears of sympathy from falling. She

wished she could close her ears as easily.

Then she could block the sound of

Carsha’s heart-wrenching sobs.

“I thought that guy was her father,” the

trader remarked.

“Uncle,” Maralee whispered. She

turned to look at the merchant. Her eyes

fell on the barrettes on the counter. “I’ll

take those,” she said, reaching into the

pocket of her cloak for her money pouch.

She handed over the proper coins and

tucked the barrettes into the pouch for

safekeeping. “Could you hold onto our

purchases for a little while?” she asked.

“We’re expected at breakfast.”

“Should have known you were all

together,” he said, shaking his head at her.

“You’re a crafty one. I’ll have everything

wrapped up when you return.”

Maralee left the store and found Nash

sitting on the front stairs cradling his

sniffling niece against his shoulder. He

stroked her hair and seemed oblivious to

the villagers who were standing across the

street staring at them.

“Are you all right, Carsha?” Maralee

asked, squatting down behind Nash to

look at her.

She looked up and Maralee was

surprised to see rage in her eyes rather

than the grief she expected. “I hate you!”

she spat. “I don’t care if you do kill me for

saying it.”

Maralee’s heart gave an unpleasant

thud. What would make her think such a

thing? “I like you, Carsha,” she said

around the lump in her throat. “You know

I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Maralee lifted her hand to touch her,

but the little girl lashed out at her like a

striking snake.

“Don’t touch me!”

Maralee backed away. “I don’t

understand,” she said more to herself, than

either of her two companions.

“Maralee doesn’t understand,” Nash

murmured to his niece. “You just

promised me you’d help me make her

understand. Remember?”

“I just hate her,” she said, arms

tightening around Nash. “I hate her.”

Nash stood up, still holding Carsha

securely against him. He looked at

Maralee apologetically. “I’m sorry she’s

lashing out at you like this. It should be me

she hates.”

This statement confused Maralee even

more. “Why would she hate you? She

obviously adores you.”

Nash lowered his eyes. “I was the one

who failed to protect her father. He didn’t

have to die.”

Maralee watched him struggle with

unidentified emotions, his eyes downcast.

She just stared, not sure how to respond.

After a long moment, he sighed and

looked up. “Are we going to breakfast

now?”

Relief suffused her and she let out the

breath she hadn’t realized she was

holding. “Of course,” she said as

cheerfully as she could muster.

“And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t

make me look like an idiot in front of any

more of the villagers.”

“I didn’t.”

His hard stare was enough to silence

her.

Phyllis, the innkeeper’s wife, took one

look at the sad, little girl seated at her

table and declared exuberantly, “Oh my!

Gordon didn’t tell me I was to prepare

breakfast for a pixie princess.”

Carsha glanced up at her, startled.

The woman set plates of food in front

of each of them and continued with a

beaming smile on her face. “Pixie

princesses love cookies. Am I right?”

Carsha looked around for this so-

called pixie princess, but it was obvious

the woman was speaking of her.

“Cookies?”

“Ah yes! Cookies,” Phyllis said, her

blue eyes twinkling, “but I cannot allow

such a pretty princess to have this sad

face. Her loyal attendants are likewise

saddened.” She glanced at Nash and

Maralee who were concentrating hard on

avoiding

each

other’s

eyes.

They

appeared almost as happy as a pair of wet

cats. “Therefore she must giggle and the

sound of it shall bring a smile to every

face. It’s pixie princess magic, don’t yuh

know?”

The innkeeper’s wife poked Carsha in

the ribs and the girl squirmed. A poke to

her other side drew a giggle from her.

Nash and Maralee grinned.

Phyllis pointed at the pair of adults.

“See, the pixie princess’s magic never

fails.”

“I’m not a pixie princess,” Carsha

said, giggling at this silly woman’s antics.

“Why else would your giggles make

them smile?” she asked her, and Carsha

looked at her two adult companions

thoughtfully. “I know a pixie princess

when I see one,” she claimed and bustled

out of the room with a happy smile.

“She’s silly,” Carsha declared, still

smiling.

The girl picked up a sausage patty

from her plate, sniffed it and took a bite.

“It’s good,” she said as if surprised.

Nash was watching Maralee smother

her griddlecakes with butter and syrup. He

copied her actions and helped Carsha,

who was sitting next to him, do the same.

Maralee realized they were looking to her

for cultural guidance, but she tried not to

make it obvious. She imagined she had

made Nash feel like an idiot in front of the

shopkeeper. She wished she had consulted

him before taking control of the situation.

She’d never had to check her behavior

before, because she had never had anyone

to worry about except herself.

She took her fork and used its side to

cut her griddlecakes into bite-sized

pieces. The other two copied her motions

precisely. She speared several pieces

with her fork and brought them to her

mouth. The other two did the same and

surprised Maralee by sputtering. They

forced themselves to swallow without

chewing before simultaneously reaching

for their glasses of milk. They gulped their

beverages as if competing in a milk-

guzzling contest. Maralee watched at

them, bemused.

“It’s sweet,” Nash said after he’d

drained his entire glass of milk and set the

empty glass aside.

“Of course it’s sweet. It has

blackberry syrup all over it,” she

reminded him, pointing at the little pitcher

of syrup in the center of the table.

He dabbed his finger in some of the

syrup on his plate and touched it to his

tongue. He winced. “You should have

warned us.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know you

had an aversion to sugar.”

Carsha dipped a finger in her syrup

and tasted it. She repeated the action

several times and then declared, “It’s

good once you’re used to it.”

Maralee smiled at her. “See, you’re

just being contrary, Nash.”

“I’ll stick with these meat patties,” he

said, biting into his sausage. “Spicy,” he

commented, “but at least I can stomach it.”

The innkeeper’s wife reappeared and

took note of the two empty glasses of milk.

“A bit thirsty, are we?” she said, smiling,

and collected their glasses to refill them in

the kitchen.

Carsha was well into her griddlecakes

now, licking her fork delectably after each

bite. Nash was poking the yellow squishy

things on his plate, his brow furrowed

with concentration.

“Those are scrambled eggs,” Maralee

informed him.

Nash looked at her, his face