~ The Packing ~ pg 3

Too drained to confront him, she simply nodded and hurried up the stairs. She had little chance to mourn his behavior, as the array of items that covered her bed amazed her. Three more outfits were laid out, one a linen tunic with pants for riding; the other two, simple shifts good for every day wear. Next to them was an unopened package labeled ‘Undergarments’, three pair of socks, and one pair of sturdy leather hiking boots. She picked up the boots looking at them from every angle. Fiora had never worn anything on her feet; she wondered what it would feel like. 

“Do you like 'em?” Demil’s curiously playful voice drifted up from behind her. She turned, startled to see him leaning casually against the doorway; his arms crossed in front of his chest and a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“They are very nice, but surely this can’t all be for me.” Fiora gazed across the bed. Other than the clothes there were travelling necessities like a flint, steel, and tinderbox and some travelling niceties like a pewter hairbrush and hand held mirror. Other packages were still wrapped labeled ‘Mending’, ‘Cooking’, ‘Washing’, and ‘Healing’.  

“Of course they're fer you. Those shifts, while flatterin', wouldn’t sit near as purdy on my shoulders.”

“But where did they come from?” she glanced worriedly down the hall towards the room Borris and Chink shared. “They didn’t belong to…” she left the question half said as she nodded in its direction. 

“Oh, no. These are all new,” he reassured – the light in his eyes mirthful. “Let’s call them… wedding gifts for Demil’s 'fifth’.” 

He winked at her as she gave a little gasp. “You didn’t let people still believe that did you?!” He laughed in the face of her concern as her ire rose. “I cannot accept gifts gained on false pretenses!” Fiora put the boots down; afraid holding them would seem she accepted them. 

Still Demil laughed at her. “Don't fret, don't fret. They've all been commissioned and paid fer by the most generous – and wealthy,“ he added with an upheld finger, “– proprietors of the underground market.”

Fiora relaxed a little but squinted at him in confusion. “Who is that?” she asked.

Demil looked at her in mock surprise as if he was shocked and even a little hurt that she did not know. He took a step away from the door frame, gesturing with his hands. “Why the Lynnson sisters of course, and their most devilishly handsome husband.” He gave her a gentleman’s bow from the waist and straightened beaming with his lopsided grin. 

“You…?” she stuttered. “You run the underground market?”

The End

0 comments about this story Feed