Pursued - Entire book

Chapter 20

Two full six-day passed since the contract was made between Nallock and Klair. They sat contentedly on the bed of the weaver's wagon, weaving mats.

"You've done well," Nallock admitted. "You have potential if you want to apprentice for a full season." The night before, he had invited Klair to stay in his home for the winter.

Nallock cuffed Klair's shoulder, which becoming more muscled from constant swinging of the reaper and weaving. "I'd nearly forgotten the advantages of having a helper." He studied him for a moment. "Your father must have been a big man. You'll be big once you've reached your full growth. Never saw someone lift an entire wagon of reeds like you've done. You're pretty strong."

He grinned. "Growing lad that you are, you'll eat me out of house and home." Nallock's gaze softened. "Wish you'd talk more."

"Less lonely," Klair rubbed his shoulder and grinned.

Nallock nodded, pleased at Klair's response. The older man down and pulled out a silver coin. "I have earned twice the money for the last few days. It's time to share the profit." He pointed to the storage box behind the wagon bench. "Check the supply crate and find something nice to wear. Find Merimee and relax a bit while you make your decision."

Klair grinned. He's reminding me of Merimee to give me more reason to stay. He stood up from his seat pad and opened the storage box. He began rummaging through the collection of shirts. He found a tunic that fit him perfectly.

In his departure, Klair jerked his head back to flip his braids behind him.

A few days ago he after he'd washed his hair thoroughly, he'd dyed it black, intentionally doing a bad job of it. It would let the people of the city see him with black hair, his first step as an aspiring Strand.

He hurried through the market.

With silver and a tunic, Klair was the shopper not the seller. He'd surprise his mentor by purchasing his own cutting shears.

A look to the South end of center and Klair saw a familiar sight. He'd never seen them at market until today. The Kindred women stood in various poses to adver­tise themselves. The prostitutes' appearance made Klair ache for home. His mother hadn't practiced being a Kindred since his birth, but she'd befriended those who lived in Merrsain.

Thinking of his mother, Klair realized he missed the warmth of his bed in the loft and his mother's humming.

One of the women noticed his attention and sauntered over. "Hello lover," she said, a gentle hand caressing his shoulder of blossoming muscles but frowning at the bad dye job as she looked at his hair. Her hand dropped to his leg and touched his hip. "Long day, dear?"

Klair made the Kindred hand signal for non-interest. "I don't wish to employ you."

She stared back, their sign language known only to a select few. "You know Kindred?"

"My mother was Kindred,"

Her mouth tightened. "That's impossible."

Seeing them, Klair hoped to find a way to let relay a message to his mother. Some of the women wandered from city to city and one may eventually arrive at Merrsain. Since his mother helped the Kindred, she would eventually get his message.

"My mother still birthed while taking Barren."

"Lie!" the woman's voice rose in pitch. She braced her fists on her plump hips. Two other kindred glared at him.

He spread his hands, trying to calm her. "Please pass the word, if any of you go to Merrsain. My mother has married a miner by the name of Scov. Tell her . . . tell her that her son is well."