Merry Begot

Chapter 4

Why? Why did the Highwayman have an enchanted necklace? Elora's brows furrowed as she studied him. If his necklace was like hers, that meant she wasn't even seeing the real him at all.

The same disappointment she'd felt at the Inn came rushing back to her, but it was fleeting compared to her confusion. Elora's mind raced through all the things he'd said, circling his mention of being whatever he needed to be when it suited him.

"Are you even a Highwayman, then?" she blurted.

His mouth curved into a smirk as he tucked the necklace back into his shirt. "On occasion," he answered. "Are you really a seamstress?"

"Yes," Elora answered indignantly, not caring for his accusing tone.

It didn't matter that she'd used the same with him. Elora had never pretended to be someone she wasn't. Only her appearance was kept hidden, not her true personality. Meanwhile, he was posing as a rake. Why would he choose such a disguise?

"Hm," he humphed, sounding slightly disappointed by that.

"You judge me for making an honest living, thief?" she returned heatedly.

Surprisingly, the Highwayman—or whoever he really was—laughed, as if her indignation genuinely amused him.

"Only a boring one," he corrected, replacing the cauldron with a kettle. "Perhaps, it's a good thing you'll be getting more adventure in your life from now on."

Elora bit her tongue to keep from retorting. She had no plans of staying in the stranger's company for long. After they retrieved her trunk and traveled into the first new town or village, she would find a way to escape and set off on her own—hopefully, in the opposite direction from him and those who wished to prove her a witch.

They returned to their silence as the man continued working at the fire. Curious, Elora wandered to the caravan to take a peek inside. It was strangely larger, holding far more things than she could've imagined. The walls were lined in shelves that were partially enclosed to keep all their items secure while traveling.

A worktop was cut into the left shelving unit to be used as a counter, perhaps. In the right, was an altar as if he were truly a gypsy. The wall behind it was papered with the tarot, the surface littered with candles. Dried wax was splattered on the polished wood, and statues of ancient deities were veiled in bits of lace.

The very back of the caravan was a bed. Trimming on the walls curved in and out in an intricate scrolling design to frame it, and likely hold it in place. Drawers filled the underside, providing even more storage. Elora was amazed that such a tiny thing could hold so much.

"Crawl up on the bed. It's comfortable," the man said, suddenly on the steps.

Elora glanced at him over her shoulder, but couldn't feel guilty for snooping around his private space. Perhaps she would if he hadn't broken into her cottage to kidnap her first, but their circumstances weren't normal.

"I'll do no such thing," she stated.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's about to get very crowded in here," he warned, stepping into the caravan and proving his point.

Elora ended up having no other choice but to partially sit on the edge of the bed just to be out of the Highwayman's way. He went about collecting items from shelves and odd little cabinets hidden by the design of all the wood paneling.

More fascinated than she wanted to be, she watched as he quickly chopped up some roots and put them in bowls along with salted, dried meat, and a few dashes of flavoring herbs. Next, he added a blend of tea leaves with dried berries and flowers to wooden mugs. After dropping a spoon into each, he stacked all the items in his hands and turned back toward the door.