Page 28 of Changelings
With anyone else, even her sister, she was more than happy to tell them to get off her land and leave well enough alone. But with Balar, she just couldn’t seem to find the words. He was always sunny and laughing, in a perpetual good mood. While his smile wasn’t quite contagious, Imogen didn’t want to be the one to make it disappear.
That had led to almost a fortnight now of spending her days with him. She just didn’t know how to get rid of him. And worse…she was beginning to expect his company.
When she’d woken as usual around dawn and gotten up to see to morning chores, she kept looking toward the path in anticipation of his arrival. She delayed almost an hour waiting for him, which was silly, really. The walk to her family’s farm wasn’t long but it wasn’t short, either.
I don’t need his constant company,she reminded herself.I’ve done without it just fine.
In fact, this quiet time to herself would do her good.
After last night, she wanted a bit of space between her and the big manticore whose laughing eyes saw everything. Her face still felt overheated where his paw had cradled her cheek, and remembering his gentleness almost brought more blasted tears to her eyes.
No one had ever…
Imogen swallowed the knot in her throat.
Since the moment he’d touched her, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. And that was a problem, for Imogen had plenty else to think about.
It was just a touch. She didn’t even like touches all that much.
Yet, fleeting as it’d been, the warmth of his palm and tenderness of his touch had lingered.
Picking up speed, Imogen determined her feet should outpace her own thoughts.
Granach was a nice enough town, full of nice enough people. It was larger than most of the surrounding villages, and many well-to-do yeoman families, like the Brádaighs, lived in or near town. Between the bustling marketplace, two-story town hall, four pubs, three inns, and dozens of shops and guilds, Imogen had only ever needed to travel to the city of Dundúran three times in her whole life.
There were routes that took Imogen to her family’s farm without having to pass through Granach, but as she was already running late, there was nothing for it. And she might as well do a little shopping while she was here.
Her herd kept to a tight column of four rows, three to a row, with Chestnut bringing up the rear. People chuckled and hurried to get out of their way, some even calling out about sighting the hermit goatherd, but Imogen kept her cowl low over her brow and gaze on the cobblestones.
She knew the village by heart and could easily find her way to Gilda’s stall on the outskirts of the marketplace. The woman was around her parents’ age and liked to describe herself as a jack of all wares. Gilda rarely had the finest choices but usually had the most, so it was to her that Imogen went.
Imogen finally looked up from the cobblestones when she heard Gilda’s wheezing laugh. “My favorite customer! Broughtme all your goats to sell finally, have you?” Gilda snapped her fingers. “I know, you’ll take the money and run off to the capital with it. Or maybe you’ll stick closer to home, go buy a shop in Dundúran. You do that, you have to promise not to cut me out of the goods.” She threw Imogen a wink, cackling in that way of hers.
Imogen managed a tepid grin. What she appreciated about Gilda was that conversations with the shopkeeper rarely needed any input from Imogen herself.
“The goats aren’t for sale,” she said, making Gilda pout. “But I have a small list today.” Pulling out the small scrap of paper, she handed over the list. She’d had to write it with charcoal, as she’d run out of ink some time ago. That hadn’t mattered really; she didn’t have anyone to write letters to. But she always remembered when it was time to make her shopping list.
So I couldn’t have written him a note anyway.
“All right, let’s see what damage we can do.” Plucking the list from Imogen’s hands, Gilda tipped her head back and squinted. The woman desperately needed spectacles but was too stubborn to admit it. “Flour, carrots, brown thread, salt…Hardly anything exciting this time.”
Imogen only shrugged. About the only exciting thing she’d ever bought from Gilda was a few bolts of pink silk, a little luxury to line her thickest winter cloak with.
Gilda’s watery blue eyes flicked to Imogen, and a wide grin crinkled the many lines that bracketed her tan face. “But you’re holding out on me, aren’t you?”
A chill zipped up her back. “What?”
Waving the list, Gilda declared, “It’s all over town—that big manticore was up and down the countryside asking about you. Word is he’s been searching the forest for you, too.” Leaning in conspiratorially, she whispered loudly, “He find that hidey-hole of yours? Someone should one of these days.”
Imogen flushed, knowing Gilda meant every bit of that innuendo.
Gilda smiled cheekily. “Well now, that you blushing or is that mark of yours getting bigger?”
Imogen tugged her fringe lower over her face. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she muttered, slapping down a few coins.
With a whistle, she had her little troop moving out again, followed by the sound of Gilda’s gleeful cackles.
“Put the poor beast out of its misery, dearie! And that manticore, too!”
