Stil's Heart Page 3

  But not tonight. Tonight he needed something different. He turned in the opposite direction, headed out the back door and into the night. He ran.

  * * *

  Stil probably ran a good mile into the evening, past pastures and farms and then, when he felt himself good and exhausted, he slowed his pace and walked. It was dark and desolate out here. He was glad of the peace and the quiet. It felt nice. He wondered if Gothel was right. Well, she had been right. He had needed to run. He’d needed to get away from his urge to settle. But had she been right that running would help him figure out what he needed to do? Was this town alright to settle for the moment? Old Gray was on the wrong track, but would he stay wrong? Would he forget about Stil or keep looking?

  Odds were that Gray would move on. That his life would be too busy to keep looking for Stil because of that whore, but odds had been slim that Stil would find Gothel intriguing. Yet he did.

  She seemed to know him well, and that was something that he could say of no one else. He purposely didn’t get to know people. He’d be ebullient and friendly, but he never truly let people in. Yet she seemed to know exactly who he was. Or maybe not who he was, but who he could be. He was definitely a wolf at the moment, but Gothel had made him wonder — could he be a guard dog?

  “Hey there,” he heard a soft, feminine voice say. He looked up to see a pretty lass standing on the roadside. It was dark, but the moon shone bright. He could make out her dark hair that fell to the middle of her back and the voluptuous curve of her body. Her dress was unbuttoned too low in the front, and too tight a fit, so her bosom looked perky and inviting. He smiled as he thought of the fun he could have with her.

  “Hey,” he said, deciding to infuse concern in his voice. “Should you be out in the dark all alone like this?”

  She grinned at him. “I was supposed to meet someone, but I’ve been stood up.”

  Stood up? Seemed unlikely someone would stand up a beautiful gal like her. Stil walked closer to her, feeling wholly wolf now. Wholly like one who wanted to gobble up this little sheep. He grinned and said, “Let me offer myself as a humble replacement.”

  She chuckled, and it sounded part whimsical, part cruel. “You don’t even know what you’re offering yourself as a replacement for.”

  He shrugged. He didn’t know, but he could guess. “I’m right useful in many ways. I’m sure I could fill your needs, milady.”

  The girl chuckled, her bosom shaking when she did. She looked around and said, “I think you could. Come with me.”

  He followed her a little ways up a hill, where there was a barn, and they crept inside. It could have been pitch black, but there was a lantern inside, hanging from a hook on the wall. There were a few stalls for animals, but he didn’t see any beasts inside tonight. It was just him and her. The rush of adrenaline filled him as they walked together. He liked new situations, ones that hinted at trouble, but the good kind. In this light, he could tell she was young, like him, but her eyes seemed to indicate she had a hardness that tended to be reserved for older people or those who’d had rough lives. He pushed the thought away and said, “So what is it that you need me to do?”

  “First, what’s your name?” she asked, then added, “though I think I can guess.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You think you can guess my name,” he said. He was one hundred percent certain she could not guess his name. He’d never told it to another living soul. He didn’t think his mother had spread it around, either.

  “Sure I can guess,” she said, her smile coy as she licked her luscious lips.

  “Then go ahead,” he said, brow still raised.

  “You’re the new guy, Stil,” she said, clear as can be.

  He shrugged. “Close enough,” he said.

  “Stil’s not your name.”

  “It’s what I’m called, so I’ll give you that.”

  She leaned forward slightly, as if trying to taunt him with her perky bosoms. “I also know you got a job working for the baker, or at least, that’s what old Geoffrey suggested.”

  He squinted distrustfully at her. “Were you in the pub today?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, but not when you were. I stopped in to pick up a package for my father. Giselle mentioned there was a new boarder, said he was handsome but probably a cad.”

  That was quite an awful thing of the sister to say, but Gothel had told him her sister made up her mind quickly. “I’d be mighty offended if I weren’t such an upstanding gentleman.”

  The girl shook her head, casting a shimmying shadow. “I’m sure she told me because she knows cads are my type. I hate upstanding,” she said. “My Pa is the preacher, and I want to do everything that isn’t upstanding.”

  Ah. He’d seen her type before. Always looking for trouble, and he generally liked to give it. He wondered if he should; he was trying to lay low. But she lowered one of the shoulders of the simple dress she wore so it hung provocatively, exposing more of her svelte body than was proper. He felt himself grow rigid and decided the opportunity was too good to pass up.

  “What’s your name, daughter of the preacher?”

  She offered a crooked smile as she closed the distance between them and planted a kiss on his lips. He wasn’t startled. Girls who were intent on breaking the rules usually found a fellow to do it with. “Name’s Lisle,” she said, and then she planted another fiery kiss on him.

  She wasted no time, pulling him toward an empty stall with a pile of hay. She dropped her dress, so he could see all there was. His mouth watered as he eyed that supple body, with its large breasts, hard pink nipples, curvy hips, and that tuft of dark curly hair shrouding the opening between her legs. “Your turn,” she whispered, fully expectant of his compliance.

  He decided to give her what she wanted, yanking his shirt over his head and pulling down his trousers and knickers.

  She whistled. “As delightful underneath as I expected.”

  And with that, she was on him, her fingers grabbing his body. He pressed himself firm against her, wanting a quick release. Guiding her to the wall, he positioned her against it, his mouth on hers, feeling the heat of her. She slipped a hand round his pecker, giving it a gentle massage, and he could feel the stiffness set in. He let out a low moan and pulled free. “You’re fast, Lisle.”

  “Men like you like it fast,” she panted.

  He couldn’t disagree there. Ready, he slipped inside her, enjoying her sweet, moist pussy as he thrust inside. He banged her hard and quick. Lisle’s soft moans and slick insides kept him going, relishing the sound as she smacked against the barn’s wall. She let out “ohs” of pleasure as he thrusted mercilessly, getting out all the angst he felt as he’d walked. Pumping out all the desire to flee until he was spent, and he felt her walls spasm around him. He pulled out, panting, took a few steps and lay down in the hay.

  “That was exactly what I needed,” he said, looking up in time to see Lisle plop down beside him.

  He didn’t offer a warm arm, and she didn’t attempt to cozy up to him. She just lay there, naked, panting from their brief exertion. “You weren’t so bad, either,” she said. “But next time, not against the wall. My poor back.”

  He looked over at her and offered an apology. “I hadn’t meant to hurt you there.”

  “Don’t worry. I liked the rest of it,” she said, adding a lascivious grin. Then she sighed. “You best be going. My father will be home soon. I’d prefer him not to know I had company, and if you’re here when he’s ready to put Braden in the stall …”

  “The horse is named Braden?” he asked, half chuckling.

  “What do you expect it to be named?” Her voice was harsh, and he felt a sudden chill in the air.

  “Nothing in particular,” he said, as he sat up and reached for his shirt, which had fallen nearby. He put on the shirt, and then found the rest of his clothing, and dressed. As best he could tell, he looked as decent now as he had when he’d come in.

  When he turned to Lisle, he saw she’d sl
ipped her dress back on. She led him to the door and pushed it open just enough for him to get out. “See you around, Stil,” she said as he slipped into the night.

  “See ya around,” he said back.

  Chapter 4 - Wolves

  He slept like a baby after he returned to the pub. Lisle had been quite the little minx, her ass as firm as her tits were pert. He’d pushed inside of her and pumped her full of the joy she’d sought, and when he’d finished, she’d sent him on his way, intent that her father not find out. Like he would tell.

  And she’d mentioned a next time. He didn’t need to be asked twice. It was definitely worth staying if he could bag a lass who wanted secrecy and sex. He felt good about the town when he’d fallen asleep, and even better when he awoke the next morning. This was definitely the place to be.

  He dressed in the clothes he’d taken off when he’d returned last night and headed into the pub, which was closed at the moment. He found Geoffrey, his wife, and the two daughters sitting at the bar eating breakfast.

  “Stil,” Geoffrey called out as he waved him over. “Can I offer you a biscuit this morning?”

  Never one to turn down a free meal, Stil smiled obligingly and nodded. The missus, who he recalled was named Mary, smiled up at him and handed him a biscuit on a copper saucer. “I hear yer to be werkin for good ‘ol Fred,” she said.

  Stil nodded. “Seems a decent fella.”

  “He is,” she said, a lovely brogue to her voice. “Treat him well.”

  “That’s the only way I know how to treat people,” he said, filling his voice with practiced sincerity.

  Geoffrey cleared his throat and offered a dip of honey to Stil, which he gladly took. The biscuit was cold, but tasted buttery soft and flakey. “It’s the finest biscuit I ever had,” he said.

  “You can thank Gothel,” said the other daughter, the one who had yet to speak to him, but who seemed to dislike him. “She makes the best biscuits around. Even old Mr. Jones, whom you’re about to head off to, seeks out her recipe.”

  “Well thank you, Gothel,” he said as he took another bite. Gothel nodded but said nothing.

  As soon as he finished the biscuit, he stood and said, “I need to be off.”

  The family bid him farewell, and Stil headed straight to the bakery. Once situated, he promptly did all that he was told with a smile on his face. A few vigorous hours on the front end would pay off handsomely. Most of the baker’s work was done in the early morning, but they managed to stay busy through the early afternoon without a break. Finally, old Fred told him that was all he needed for the day, and offered him a hearty raisin- and nut-filled roll and a piece of salted meat for his journey.

  Stil gave heartfelt appreciation and left quickly, deciding he knew exactly where he wanted to go. Where he’d been last night when he’d stumbled upon that fine lass, Lisle. Perhaps she’d be up for a quick romp before he headed back to the pub.

  He tried to create the path the had taken to Lisle, but he honestly hadn’t been paying close enough attention in the pitch of the previous night, and he didn’t think he was going the right way.

  He sighed as he looked around and realized he’d somehow gotten off track. He was nowhere near that barn on the hill. But maybe he’d found something better. There was a little pond not far from the road and he walked over to the far edge, deciding to take off his shoes and dip his toes while he ate his bread and salted meat.

  He closed his eyes, feeling weary from the hard day of labor, moving large bags of flour for the baker and helping him heat the fire for the hot oven. But he smiled, as he knew he was endearing himself to the old man. That endearment had already paid off today. He was out early, free, and if he looked hard enough he might find that lass who’d lit his fire last night. A smile stretched across his face as he let the late afternoon sun shine down on him.

  But then suddenly, the sun was gone. He opened his eyes to see Gothel, clad again in her red cloak, staring down at him. “I thought you were working,” she said once his eyes had opened.

  He grinned at her. “I am working,” he said. “Can’t you see?” He inclined his head toward the half-eaten roll. “I’m learning what the taste of good bread does to a man after an honest day’s labor.”

  At this Gothel smiled, then sat down next to him. “So, why did you come here?”

  He sat up, shrugged, and grabbed the bread beside him. “It just seemed like a nice spot.”

  She stared at him as if she didn’t quite believe him. “Old Fred didn’t work you too hard, did he?”

  He shook his head, surprised at the change in her tone. “No,” he said. Then he added the words that now easily fell from his lips in a way that did not look rehearsed. “A good day’s work is its own reward. Plus, he’s an easy many to work for.” And he meant the last part. Even though the old man was paying him, he’d seemed thankful for the help, as if Stil were doing him a favor by working and chatting up the customers. He’d felt a hint of pride in his work, a feeling that usually eluded him. In fact, he almost regretted that he was going to eventually leave the old man with no notice.

  She nodded at that, smiled. “You may be a guard dog, yet.”

  A shadow passed overhead, and Stil looked up to see a hawk soaring by. He wondered if it was giving chase to something. About to swoop down and grab some miniscule creature that had no chance. Stil was more like that hawk than any kind of guard dog. “I’m not sure why you see the world as simply three possibilities, Gothel,” he said, irritated with her insistence that her world view explained everything. “The world is full of nuance, more than you see.”

  She laughed, and there was something lovely about it. Probably its genuineness. Or maybe it was that they sat beneath a beautiful blue sky on a sunny day in temperate air, and he had no worries on his mind. How long had it been since that had happened?

  “Maybe it seems more nuanced to you, but I don’t think it is. People can change when they’re young, when they’re like us.”

  “And how old are you, exactly?” he asked her, curious. She seemed younger than her sister, but not by much.

  “Nineteen,” she said. “And how old are you?”

  “Twenty-two,” he told her. “Too old to change.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “Nope, not too old,” she declared. “You still have time to make up your mind. And when people haven’t quite made up their minds, they can still choose which path to forge ahead on. But once a person has settled, once they’ve made up their minds as to who they are, they tend to stay that way.”

  She nodded as if that were the final word on the subject. He had to admire her conviction. He didn’t like people who could be easily swayed by a smooth word.

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He did like such people. They were the kind he took advantage of. He just didn’t respect them. At the very least, he could respect Gothel.

  She took the hood off her cloak and stared up at the sun. He noticed that she didn’t have a scarf covering her blonde locks today. They were bone-straight like straw, and in the right light, they looked like gold threads. It was quite pretty.

  “Gothel,” he said, and he realized he liked the way her name rolled off his tongue. “Why do you always wear that cloak?”

  She turned to face him and smiled. “You’ve known me for two days, yet you presume I wear this cloak always?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t presume,” he said. “Fred mentioned it. I told him I had the pleasure of having one of your biscuits, and he called you his cloaked friend. That made me think you wore it a lot.”

  She nodded. “Well, yes, I do like cloaks. For whatever reason, they make me feel safe, as if I can just curl up in them and disappear or hide away if need be.”

  “Red’s not a hiding color,” he said, as he reached out and picked up the edge of her garment. “Red is for saying, I am here, a big burly guard dog to keep you away from my sheep.”

  Gothel laughed. “So, now you’ve decided I’m a guard dog.”<
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  “If it’s good for the goose,” he said, dropping her cloak, and enjoying the sound of her fading laughter.

  “Touché, Stil, touché,” she said. She looked down at the cloak and spoke. “Giselle made it for me for my birthday last week, and I’ve felt I should wear it because I love my sister. I used to wear grey, but Giselle is enamored of red. Says it’s the color of the heart, that hearts are the life’s blood of our society.”

  He nodded. He supposed Giselle was right. A man or woman wasn’t nothing without a heart.

  Gothel took in a deep breath. “I’m glad I ran into you here,” she said. “I hadn’t been sure about you before, but I am now.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is it that you’re sure about?”

  “About you. I knew you could be a wolf or a guard dog. I’m sure now. You’re a guard dog.”

  He shook his head. But he wasn’t going to argue with her, not when he could sit and enjoy the sun.

  He sat there with her for another hour, and she told him little stories about the town, about the different people, things that he could use to help make himself more adored here, yet he found that he wasn’t paying as much attention as he should. Every detail should have been etched into his brain, yet he wasn’t doing it. Instead, he watched the way her lips curved into a smile, or the delicate way she’d slide a hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear. And she asked him questions, too, like where he was from, what his family had been like. And, stupidly, he’d told her. He usually told people nothing about himself, but she was easy to talk to. So, he told her about the hovel he’d lived in, how he’d liked to gamble, how he did the wrong things sometimes. He supposed part of him just wanted to prove her wrong, to show her that she didn’t know him. That he wasn’t a guard dog.

  When he’d finished admitting he’d been less than reputable with the women he courted, he’d expected her rebuke. He’d expected to have to leave tonight. Part of him wanted to leave, to tell himself he was running from Old Gray. That the bearded man necessitated his leave. But she didn’t offer a rebuke.