First Light (7 page)

Shouts and curses sounded behind me. The man with the pocked face jumped up, only a few feet away.

I darted into the trees and nearly ran headlong into a wild pig, its teeth barred. I froze then took a step backward, thinking that at least the outlaws weren’t likely to bite me.

The pig moved closer. Behind me, one of the thieves chuckled.

“In trouble now, aren’t ye, girl? Best give me those pearls so I can get us all out of this mess.”

I took another step back and felt his hands on my shoulders. They were oddly comforting in the face of the danger before me.

I had no intention of giving the thief the newly reclaimed treasure, but at the moment my options for protecting the pearls seemed somewhat limited. I briefly considered tossing them toward the pig, believing none of the outlaws would venture closer to the beast, leaving the bracelet at least temporarily safe. But I recalled another of my father’s lessons about “never casting pearls before swine.” I wasn’t entirely certain this circumstance was what he’d meant, though as I’d never gone wrong following his counsel, I opted not to throw the pearls.

The animal continued to advance, and in the moonlit clearing I saw that it was no mere pig but a good-sized, wild boar. Coarse bristles stood out along its neck and shoulders; its legs looked thick and strong. Its snout was long and ugly, and bits of blood and flesh stuck between its teeth.

My tongue felt thick against the roof of my mouth as I swallowed back panic. The pearls began to feel hot against my palm until it was all I could do not to open my hand and release them. Only the thought of Merry Anne’s disappointment allowed me to endure the painful burning sensation radiating through my hand and working its way up my arm.

The thief felt it, too. His fingers tapped my shoulder then slid down my arm. “You know you want to give them to me,” he said in a soft, cajoling voice.

I squeezed my fist tighter, and tears sprang to my eyes. To my right the giant outlaw approached, a club in his hand as he eyed the boar.

“Hurry and get them baubles before it’s too late,” the lame thief said. “She’s taken my horse. I won’t be able to get away if that boar attacks.”

“Not if— when,” the large outlaw said, smacking the club against his hand in anticipation.

Between the two of them, I wondered who would win. Sheer size gave him the advantage, but… I looked at the boar again. Those
teeth.

They were seconds from tearing me apart. Instinct told me it was high time I did something, but I’d never encountered an animal that wasn’t friendly, and I wracked my brain for a way to defend myself.

The pocked thief must have felt confident I was a good enough shield, for instead of running off— as his smelly accomplice was hobbling off— or searching for a weapon to defend himself with, he was still after the pearls. His hand closed over mine, and I brought my elbow back sharply, striking his ribs.

“Oomf.” His exclamation was all the signal the boar needed to attack. It charged toward me.

At the last second it made an abrupt turn, but not before a scream tore from my throat. The animal paused and for a split second looked up at me, its dark eyes rolling around in an exasperated sort of way as it trotted around to the back of the man holding me.

It was he who yelled then, releasing me at the same time. I stumbled forward but could not help turning to see what was happening. The boar held the outlaw by the seat of his breeches, savagely shaking his head back and forth, those sharp teeth sunk deep into flesh.

The large thief with the club approached the boar from behind.

“Watch out,” I shouted, some time in the last few seconds having taken sides with the boar.

At the sound of my voice its head snapped up in time to see the club and to swing the pocked outlaw around so that he took the brunt of his accomplice’s blow.

I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my throat. After being so scared, the scene before me was suddenly comical.

The battle continued another minute until the pocked outlaw crawled off, weak and wounded. It was now between the boar and the man several times his size. They circled one another; then the boar raised its snout toward me and grunted— a warning?

I turned a quick circle and saw the smelly thief approaching me on horseback. The pearls, all but forgotten the past few minutes, began to warm my hand again. I turned toward the direction of the road and ran.

Hoofbeats pounded the ground behind me, but I dared not look back. Instead, I focused all my energies on running swift and sure, faster than I’d ever gone before. I felt the circlet of flowers fly from my head, and I had cause to be grateful my simple dress had long since grown too short and did not hinder my movements.

A horse whinnied, followed by an awful crash, then someone making their way clumsily through the brush. But my own feet were light— running, jumping, nearly flying over the ground. My father had always told me that, “he who is in the right has extra advantage,” and I felt that now. The noises behind me grew fainter. With the help of a wild boar, I, a mere slip of a girl, was outrunning grown men.

Soon I could hear them no more, but I ran on, vowing not to stop until I reached the carriage once again. Beneath my dress my heart beat loudly. I breathed through my mouth, gulping air, trying to satisfy my burning lungs. My legs ached, tired already from their earlier exertions, and a sheen of sweat broke out along my forehead, though the night had grown chilly. My fist clasped more tightly around the pearls, and I ran on.

At last a thin ribbon of dirt appeared through the trees, marking the path the thieves and I had first taken when entering the forest. I rejoiced to see it and slowed my legs as my feet pounded the well-marked trail. It would not be long now. I could go on a little farther.

Up ahead the trees began to thin, and every few minutes I spied a glimpse of the wide dirt road. A short while more and I burst from the grove, stepping into the moonlight illuminating two worn ruts, stretching in either direction as far as the eye could see.

On this road, as far as
my
eye could see, there was no carriage.

My initial reaction was to sink in a heap of frustration, pounding my fist on the ground as a single tear rolled down my dusty face. “No!”

How could they have left me? Had Merry Anne not truly believed I would retrieve the pearls? What could have happened to make them abandon me?

After a few minutes I moved past such despondent thoughts and immature behavior, and common sense started taking over, bandaging the hurt I felt at being left behind. I had so wanted to please someone, and though I had done all I could to succeed, still I had failed. Unless…

Was it possible I’d left the forest in the wrong place?

I wiped my face on my sleeve, then opened my fist and stared at the pearls— a charmed bracelet, the disfigured outlaw had called them— resting on my palm. They were cool now but seemed to glow even brighter than they had when in the thief’s hand. Again the thought came to me that if I wanted them, they could now well and truly be mine.

Instead of tying them on my wrist, I quickly tucked them away in the bodice of my dress— both for safekeeping and so I might not be reminded of them constantly. I did not know how or where or when I would find Merry Anne, but I would not allow myself to consider doing anything with the pearls, other than returning them to her.

Realizing I’d been sitting in plain sight on the road for some time, I stood and cast a wary look all around. The night was still and quiet— too quiet. Brushing the dust from my skirts, I took a few weary steps forward then reached out, steadying myself on a large boulder near the side of the road. I remembered the huge stone from earlier, having nearly backed into it in my haste to go after the thieves. Now it quashed my last hope that perhaps I hadn’t been left behind but had simply emerged from the wood at the wrong place.

Merry Anne and the lovely carriage were gone. I’d known it in my heart the moment I spied the empty road. I realized it again as my hand brushed over something soft, lying atop the boulder. A lump formed in my throat as I held up the sweater I’d watched her knitting this morning. Clutching the garment to my chest, I worried over what might have happened to its creator.

A sudden breeze swept up the barren road, swirling the dust at my feet and rustling my dress. Gooseflesh sprang up along my bare arms and the back of my neck. I no longer felt warm from my run and realized how cold the night had grown, though I sensed the chill was about more than the rapidly dropping temperature.

I put one arm, then the other through the sleeves of the sweater and pulled it tight around me, feeling warm and comforted all at once. It was a perfect fit— more so than any of my hand-me-downs.

Not completely abandoned, then.

I remembered Merry Anne’s first question of me, asking if I fancied the sweater. I wondered why I hadn’t realized earlier that she was making it for me. A little more of my hurt melted away.

Quickly I crossed the road and entered the forest on the other side. Keeping the path in sight, I struck out west, toward the moon sinking lower and lower in the sky. My walk was slow, my legs having given all they had for the time being. But my senses were alert, listening to the sounds of night, straining to hear an approaching horse or footstep. I heard nothing, save for my own weary sigh, topped a hill and saw only more endless road. The moon had grown faint, and the first hint of dawn began coloring the sky behind me. My eyelids drooped; exhaustion was taking over. Moving deeper into the forest, I crawled behind a felled tree, curled up in a ball and went to sleep.

It seemed I had barely closed my eyes when I awoke again. A shadow fell across my body, and two bright black eyes stared down at me intensely.

Only one person I knew had beady black eyes like that. And the only time they ever looked at me intently— ever noticed me at all— was when he wanted something.

“Go away, Samuel.” I said, shivering suddenly.
Where are the covers?
Samuel poked me.

“Get your own breakfast,” I grumbled, wondering why my near-grown brother couldn’t fry an egg or make a bowl of porridge by himself.

A second later, he grabbed my arm and tugged. Samuel had never been one to take no for an answer, and normally I wouldn’t trifle with him. But this morning I felt cross and cold and unusually tired. I sat up fast, flying at him with my free hand.

“I am not your Samuel.” A tall youth caught my hand in midair before it could strike his face— a face entirely different than my brother’s. “And you’d best get up if it’s breakfast you’re thinking of. Ma is about to give the last of it to the dogs.”

My mouth opened in a shocked gasp as I stared at him— hair as dark as midnight, trailing down to rest on the shoulders of his silken blouse. The blouse tapered down into a fine pair of knickers, a colorful woven belt holding them in place. Worn but polished boots, with pointed toes much too near my person, finished the ensemble. Half-mesmerized, half-terrified, I dared to look elsewhere and was shocked to find myself in the midst of a forest and surrounded by dozens of dark-haired, colorfully dressed people.

Gypsies.

I’d heard about them— how they roamed the forests, working their magic, cheating honest folk out of hard-earned wages. But why were they here? Where
was
here? Certainly not my room at home, as I’d thought a moment ago.

I shifted positions to better see behind the young man standing in front of me. All around us people moved about the remnants of a campfire, chatting gaily and engaged in various tasks. Bright skirts swished around tanned, bare legs, and more pairs of booted feet stomped the dirt. Three different sets of fine bay horses were hitched to painted, wooden wagons. I noticed several other superior-looking ponies scattered around the edges of the camp.

I hugged my arms across my chest, feeling the soft warmth of the pink sweater as I did. In an instant, memory returned, and the events from the previous night came to me in a rush.

The pearls. Are they in danger of being stolen again?

The young man I’d mistaken for Samuel squatted in front of me, his eyes at my level. “We’ll bring you no harm.”

My face flushed with embarrassment that he’d so closely guessed my thoughts. “That’s good,” I choked out. I tried to think of a better response, but it seemed my voice had fled. I wished fervently I might have gone with it.

He continued to stare at me well past the point of rudeness. Beginning to wake up in both body and courage, I stared back at his sharp, chiseled cheekbones, fine brow and tanned skin. A few, faint lines of amusement crinkled around his eyes. I supposed he couldn’t be much older than myself.

“We don’t bite,” he said suddenly, having caught my gaze on his mouth.

“Perhaps
I
do,” I said smartly, finding my voice at last.

At this he threw back his head and laughed, then called over his shoulder, “She’s a live one Ma. Save what’s left of the meal.”