Pricing The Heart

Chapter 4

She was a thief.

David was not surprised when he awakened from his slumber to find the woman searching his pockets. He kept his eyelids slightly apart, enough to watch her as she pulled out his father's pocket watch and held it in her hands.

Anger immediately erupted within him. Clawing the armrests, he fought to restrain his rage. He would see the end of her intentions for his watch before confronting her with the facts. Perhaps then he might even have her arrested for theft.

How ironic that he was being punished for an act he'd once presumed noble. Yet there was nothing noble about buying a woman. He should never have meddled in the affairs of another man, nor should he have paid the price to acquire the woman. For all David knew, it was for her thieving ways the man had been desperate to get rid of her.

She rose to her feet and stood motionless before him; her fingers fidgeting as they clutched his watch. He sensed her hesitation, and it confused him. Perhaps she was afraid because she feared the possibility of getting caught. He thought she was right to be afraid, for he was determined to see that there were consequences for her actions. He would not be stolen from, especially not by the woman he had been stupid enough to help.

Just as he opened his mouth to confront her, she turned from him. Clamping his lips shut, he watched her leave the room. Very well, he would follow her, and once he had reached the root of the problem, he would punish her.

Shrugging on his coat and shoes quickly, he hurried after her. He kept his distance as they walked; enough to ensure he didn't lose her in the darkness, as well as to ensure he wasn't discovered.

The walk lasted longer than he expected, the snow nearly ruining his boots as it soaked into them. Annoyed by the thought of losing the boots he paid a fortune for, he hid behind a tree as she disappeared into a small cottage. Standing still for several seconds, he considered his next line of action. Perhaps he must march in there and confront her for her theft. He shook his head at the thought. It would be foolish to enter unarmed into an unknown building that housed a thief. What was best was to return to the tavern, wait until morning, and then report the situation to the constable. Now that he knew where she lived, he could lead the authorities to her house.

He made to turn around when he caught sight of a familiar figure staggering toward the cottage. The man's gray coat hung loosely on his lean form, his blond hair dancing to the tune of the breeze as he made his way up the porch.

She was stealing for her husband! The thought struck David, sending a bolt of anger through his veins. Suddenly, it made sense that the man and woman worked together to con and steal from him. He wondered how many people fell victim to their wicked schemes.

He watched with rising anger as the man opened the door. The woman appeared then. The two seemed to be arguing. David could not make out their conversation. When the man grabbed the woman's arm, ripping her sleeve, she let out a scream that sent shivers down David's spine.

The man pulled her onto the porch with him, the oil lamp illuminating the horror on her face as he clawed her neck. She fought to free herself, yet the man's death-grip did not slacken.

As David watched the woman grow weak, something in him snapped. Rage blinded him as he crossed the street to the cottage. Taking the man by his collar, he yanked him off of the woman and threw a punch that sent him spiraling to the ground.

David was possessed by a violent instinct; the same instinct that often came over him as a scrawny child with a bully for a brother. It was the same instinct that ensured his survival in the war.

It was an instinct to protect.

Rage propelled his fists until the man lay unmoving beneath him. Breathless, he wiped his bloody hands on the man's shirt. He extracted his watch from his limp hand and replaced it in its rightful place in his pocket.

A soft whimper drew his attention back to the woman. She sat in the center of the tiny room, one hand clinging weakly to the worktable, while the other clung to her ripped sleeve. She stared at him, her face pale, her chest rising and falling so rapidly, he feared she might suffer a heart attack.

He stepped forward, nearly stumbling over something. He glanced down, seeing then the small, overstuffed carpetbag.

She wasn't stealing for her husband; she was running away! The realization stunned him to silence. He understood then why she stole his watch and returned to this cottage. It was all in an attempt to run off to start a new life. Obviously desperate for money, she planned to sell the watch, and in need of some clothes, she returned home to pack. Her husband had shown up in time to foil her plans and had nearly killed her in the process.

"I..." she began, her voice trailing off when he raised his gaze to her once more.

He was torn between pity and rage. Pity, for he understood her desire to escape. She had been trapped in a loveless, abusive marriage, and upon her sale to him, she had become terrified of the unknown. Perhaps she feared he was exactly like her husband, or worse.

Still, he was enraged by her theft. If she was emboldened to steal from him the first time, he could not be certain she wouldn't steal again.

In that second, David considered the possibility of setting her free. He had no use for a woman, and she certainly did not appear willing to stay with him.

"Stand up," he said, a little too harshly than he intended. She flinched, scrambling to her feet. It wasn't until she was standing before him that David realized how rattled she was.

Hurrying forward as she swayed, he caught her midair. He pulled her to himself, her hair tumbling down her shoulders and tickling his fingers where they laid clutching her waist. The smell of cheap lye wafted to him as his nose brushed her neck. Her fingers burned through his shirt, warming his skin.

She was so soft...so warm...so fragile...

"Please..." she whimpered, dragging him back to the present and to his senses.

Shame washed over him as he released her waist, detaching his body from hers. He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm instead. "Let's go," he snapped, angered by the woman who stood beside him.

But he was more angered by his reaction to her nearness.

*

The stranger did not slow down, his long strides a clear sign of his anger as they walked back to the tavern. Eloise tried to keep up, but her tears made it impossible to see the path before her; pain and shame blinding her until she was stumbling for the second time that evening.

He turned to her then, his frown deepening, and without a word, he leaned down and swept her into his arms.

His show of kindness proved to be worse than her inability to walk, for it ripped her heart apart and filled her with unspeakable guilt for what she had done.

She was stupid; she cursed herself, her tears breaking loose of the restraint she thought she had on them. Burying her face in his shoulder, she cried. Unbothered by her tears, he said nothing through the walk, and once they arrived at the tavern, he replaced her on the bed. He turned his attention to her ripped sleeve, examining it for several seconds, before rising to his feet and silently exiting the room.

Eloise cried until she was drained and hiccuping. Exhausted, she stretched her aching limbs on the bed and slept, only awakening when something cold touched her shoulder.

"Sleep," he commanded. But this time, he did not seem as angry as before. She was slightly comforted by that thought as she closed her eyes once more, welcoming the darkness.