The Lost Heiress

I ran. My legs ached, telling me to stop. But fear covered my skin in cold sweat and created a knot I couldn’t untangle in my throat. It carried me through the woods, letting me to ignore the sting of branches scraping at my arms, allowing me to jump over roots and boulders and not fall face-first on the floor. The setting sun’s red light struggled more and more to make its way through the green foliage above me. I could hear gallops and shouts far behind. Getting closer. “Go to the right. She went that way.”   The words were stuck in my head, pushing me forward. My sprint continued for so long that I didn’t even stop to think about how much time it’d been. The thought would’ve tired me more. Once my legs faltered and my knees shook, I decided I need to stop—of only for a minute. Hiding behind the thick trunk of a tree, I heaved, catching my breath. I listened attentively. The woods were almost silent now. There were no signs of the guards and their horses. Perhaps they had given up.  I leaned over, hands on my knees as I caught my breath. Continuing my path, I picked up a new pace, walking fast but not running. The sky was turning darker with each minute that went by. The whisper of the soft wind through the tree leaves made the hair on the back of my neck rise. I was late—and I was alone in the middle of the woods. I’d heard too many stories about wild animals in here. And I had left my dagger at home. A stupid move, considering I’d gone off to steal at the market. Guards swarmed the place. The moon and the stars were the only light guiding me when I reached a small clearing. I paused my walk, opening my ears to the faint, not-so-distant sound of running water. My heart leapt with excitement. I rushed towards the sound, thankful for how clear the path that led there was, free of poking branches and with a stable ground. I came to face a small stream of crystal-clear water. Kneeling before it, I splashed the water on my face and cupped some to drink. I reached into my satchel, grabbing my empty canteen and filling it to the brim. Now on my feet again, the water sloshed around in my empty stomach as I moved. “What are you doing here?” The deep voice startled me. It’d come from behind me, so I turned around, ready to run or fight. My eyes met the blue ones of a large figure. I blinked, making out its features. A tall man with folded arms stood there. His face was set in a scowl, but he held an unaggressive position. However, I didn’t let my guard down. After getting a better look at him, I concluded that, if the need arose, I would have to run. I wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight against him. He cleared his throat. “Well?” He stepped closer—too close. I looked him in the eye. “I’m drinking water.” A deep laugh escaped his lips. “Don’t you say, girl.” He unfolded his arms. “I figured that one out. My question is, how did you get here?” “Running,” I replied. I didn’t know for how long I’d ran. All I knew was that, as soon as I heard that guard shout and set after me when I grabbed that loaf of bread from the baker’s stand, I ran as fast as I could. I reached the outskirts of the town, diving into the forest and dodging all common sense that urged me to remember how dangerous it was. “Running? All the way from where?” He eyed me suspiciously. “From outside the woods,” was my only response. I would not give this man any information that might get me in trouble. For all I knew, he could recognize me. After all, even if it was small, there was a bounty on my head. “Why were you running?” He stepped even closer. “Are you escaping from someone? Or something?” “That’s none of your business,” I answered, folding my arms in front of me. He raised an eyebrow. “Where are you headed now? Do you plan to keep running all night?” “You ask a lot of questions,” I commented. He remained quiet. Waiting. “I don’t know where I’m headed,” I said. An honest and harmless response. I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I was starving, my head hurt, and I was exhausted. Even my shoes were even more worn out now. I couldn’t keep walking through the woods all night because it was too dangerous. I raised my head, meeting his curious glance. “And I can’t keep running all night.” “I agree with you there. Now, what do you mean you don’t know where you’re headed?” “I don’t know.” He might have thought I was playing dumb, but I truly didn’t know. “Right. Well, I don’t want to have to clean up the mess tomorrow morning if you get eaten by some wild animal, so you can come stay at my place for the night.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and turned around. “Come.” He began to walk away. “Your place?” I walked up to him, jogging to keep up. “You live here?” “Yes,” he replied. So he lived in the middle of the woods… That alone was suspicious enough to make anyone turn around and continue on their own. It was either going with him without knowing who he was or finding my way out of the woods late at night by myself. I weighed my options before deciding to test my luck. “All right,” I said, walking after him, a few steps staying back. If he wanted to do me any harm, I had a better chance of running away from him than of running away from whatever wild animal I might encounter. It was the safest option. He remained silent, only shooting some glances back at me now and then. I kept a hand atop the flap of my satchel, aware of his every movement. Sooner than I expected, we arrived to a small house made of old bricks. The lower parts of the walls were covered in moss, as though the place were old. The man pushed the wooden front door open. I followed him. Inside, it smelled like tree leaves and berries. the place was spacious, but as small as it was, I envied him for it. What wouldn’t I give for a roof and four walls? Thanks to the light coming from the fireplace burning at the far end of the house, I was able to get a clearer look of him. Bright blue eyes contrasted against his tanned skin, dark clothes, and black shoulder-length hair. He looked down at me, tilting his head to the side. “Got a name, sweetheart?” No, I wouldn’t give him my real name. I didn’t tell anyone my real name. I looked down at my shoes, then up at him. “Drae,” I replied, going for the only safe and logical choice I could’ve made—lying.      “Drae,” he repeated, as though tasting the word. “I’m Doyle.” He smiled at me, like he knew something I didn’t. “Welcome to my humble home. You can have the bed.” He turned on his heels and walked over to a wooden sofa covered in blankets of somber colors. I looked at the big bed and then back at him. “Thank you.” I didn’t bother to play polite and tell him that oh, thank you, but I wouldn’t want to take away your bed. I wanted to sleep comfortably. My body hurt and manners were the least of my concern. They’d been the least of my concern for a while already.      “Sure.” He frowned, sitting down on his sofa. “Are you hungry?”      Right then my stomach growled silently. I hadn’t eaten in hours—many hours. I spotted a small area in a corner. It had some kitchen utensils and a small table littered with pots and plates. Next to the table was a pantry. That had to have food inside.       “Yes,” I said in a small voice. Even though I felt as an intruder just by being here in this stranger’s house, I needed to eat and I wouldn’t deny myself the opportunity to do so. I feigned proper niceties. “But you don’t have to worry about—"      He cut me off, raising his hand, palm out. “Please.” He stood up from the sofa and made his way over to the tiny kitchen. He opened the pantry and took out five potatoes and three eggs.      I watched as he began to peel each potato with a knife. If I was going to shamelessly eat his food and steal his bed, helping him was the least I could do. Therefore, I stood up and approached him. “I will help,” I said to his back.      Without turning around, he pointed at the eggs on top of the table and ordered, “c***k those in a bowl and add some salt.”      And so I did. I grabbed a small bowl and cracked the eggs before adding a pinch of salt and starting mixing it with a wooden fork. Across from me, he began chopping the potatoes. After he was done, he placed them on a plate and threw them into a pot hanging atop the flames of the fireplace. Stretching his back, he went back to the sofa. I grabbed the bowl and walked over to him, a questioning look on my face.      “What should I do with this?” I asked.      He looked me up and down, eyes finally landing on the wooden bowl in my hands. Humor flashed briefly in his eyes. “There’s a small stove outside.” He pointed at the door. “Just go around the house. It’s in the back.” Outside? Well—then I had to leave the door open to get some lighting and be as quick as possible.  I took a deep breath and set for the door. Just as I was about to open it, Doyle’s voice stopped me.      “Are you really going to do it?” he asked with surprise.      I frowned. “What?”      “You can’t go out by yourself this late to cook. It’s dark and the smell will attract animals.” He pointed to the fireplace. “Just roll the pot to the left and use that pan.”      Next to the pot was hanging a crooked pan. It had two long handles that pointed upward and held it on the horizontal pole from which the pot hung. I cleared my throat. “Thank you,” I muttered as I walked over to the fireplace. Knelt down in front of it, I poured the egg batter into the pan and watched it as it sizzled. As I moved the eggs around with the fork, I thought about how this man probably considered me an i***t now. Not that it mattered. If he didn’t kill me before, I would be out of here once morning rolled around.  He came over and knelt next to me, checking on the pot. Stabbing a potato with a fork, he spoke up, “Will you tell me now what are you doing in the middle of the woods at night?” His tone was accusatory, as though he knew I was hiding something. “If I’m giving you shelter for a night, I should get something back. And I think you’d prefer it be information than anything else I might have in mind.”      I kept quiet, moving the scrambled eggs around in the pan. His undercover threat made me realize that, perhaps, I should have been more scared of him.      “I am running from someone—or something.” I stood up, going to grab a plate from the small kitchen table.      “Tell me something I couldn’t have figured out by myself,” he complained, taking the plate from my hands and placing potatoes on it. He added the eggs before standing and setting the food atop a rickety dining table against the wall by the fireplace.      Why did you ask that earlier, then? was what I wanted to say. But I didn’t. Maybe he would have taken it the wrong way. And it seemed I wasn’t completely safe inside these four walls. It wasn’t the time for risks. Sitting down, across from him, I watched him as he leaned his elbows on the table, watching me with furrowed eyebrows.      “What else do you want to know?” Perhaps if I didn’t come off as too secretive, his curiosity would subside.      He didn’t even pause to think before saying, “Your real name.”      “What?” I gripped my fork tightly. How did he know?     “You looked nervous and it took you like five seconds to actually speak when I asked you your name.” Leaning forwards, he added, “That’s just suspicious.” I looked him the eye, thinking. With a playful tone, I asked, “How about you answer some questions first?” If I managed to distract him, he could drop his interrogation. He laughed, like he had expected my question. With a shrug, he fixated his interested glance on me. “Ask on.”      I was nervous. But at the same time, I was glad he gave in so easily. If he found out who I was, he could report me the authorities. Or he could send me out to the woods in refusal to shelter criminals. Or he could use it as a way to manipulate me under the threat of turning me in. Many possibilities rang in my mind. Hoping I would manage to avoid them all, I began to ask.      “Is Doyle your real name?” Asking him the same thing would make it look as though I was, indeed just playing a game of two with him. And entertaining him was all I needed.      He laughed. “Easy one—yes. I don’t have any reasons to keep my name a secret, unlike you.” He had to be bluffing. This man lived in the woods. How could he know that I was—      “Why do you live in the woods?” The question escaped my mouth as soon as it popped up in my head. It was a good one. No one with nothing to hide lived in the woods.      He eyed me carefully. “Why don’t you?”      “I’m asking you.” I brought the fork with mashed potatoes to my mouth, enjoying the warm food. This was the best meal I’d had this month.      “It’s better,” he answered as though it were obvious. His broad shoulders surpassed the small frame of the chair as he leaned back. “There’s water, food, shelter, and even some entertainment the nights I find fine ladies like you escaping from an unknown fear.” He smiled at me. “And it’s, in a way, free. The currency here is hard work.”      I raised an eyebrow and kept eating as I debated what to ask. But I didn’t know what to say. Thankfully he didn’t ask me why I kept quiet—or anything else. He probably was just letting me eat. Hunger was evident in the way I chewed as fast as possible to get more into my mouth. If he was nice enough to allow me to eat in peace, then maybe he wasn’t as dangerous as he tried to come off as.      When I was done, I stood up, plate in hand, and walked over to a water-filled bucket by the pantry.      Still sitting on the dining table, Doyle said, “I can help you.”      I turned around, confused. “With what?” Did he think I couldn’t clean some dishes?      He looked me in the eye, the intensity of his impossibly blue eyes catching me off-guard for second. “I think you what I mean, Tajana.”      My heart leapt into my throat and I backed away, fear crawling up my spine.  I took a step back. Another one. He stood up, approaching him. From the kitchen table, I grabbed a long wooden spoon held it before me. “Back off,” I said.      “What on earth are you doing?” he said, sounding amused. He tried to grab the spoon but I held it tight. Eventually, he pried it off my hands with a pull.      I was about to punch him and set on a sprint but he caught my fist.      “I’m not going to harm you.” He let go of my balled hand, as if realizing the irony of what he’s said and his iron grip on me. “I won’t turn you in either.”      I breathed. “Why—not?” Was he going to do something worse?      He stared at me blankly. “Don’t you recognize me?”      I blinked. “No.”      He chuckled lightly. “There’s a bounty on my head, too, you know.” He folded his arms. “You haven’t heard of a Doyle Phis?”      I shook my head.      He waved a hand in front of his face and took a step closer, like he wanted me to get a better look of him. “Do you live under a rock?”      I gestured to my surroundings. “You are the one who prefers the woods to civilization.”      “Yeah, because I don’t want to get killed.” He calmy went to sit on a sofa close to his bed, as though he hadn’t just called me the name that I hadn’t told anyone in years. “No one ever comes around here. I don’t know how you did.”      “What did you do? Why is there a bounty on your head?” I asked, sitting as far from him as the sofa allowed me. I crossed my legs and looked him in the face, but his eyes were focused on a spot on the wall.      “I’d rather not say,” he answered somberly,      “Is it that bad?” Whatever he told me wouldn’t surprise me. I’d see some things throughout these years, enough of them that whatever he did wouldn’t shock me.      “I’d rather no say,” he repeated. So I stopped asking.      Perhaps—he had killed someone? Or something worse? I didn’t know. And I wasn’t sure that I wanted to find out anymore.      Now I was even warier about the idea of even being here. So much that for a minute I considered leaving. The problem was that I was facing the same kind of danger both inside and outside. At least I could ask a human being for mercy. An animal would just act like what it was: an animal.      Deep, awkward silence blanketed the room. Meanwhile, I picked at my nails, darting my eyes around the house. There was a green woven rug on the floor beneath my feet. My soles were so thin now that I could feel the thick woolen threads that made it up. But, even if I was scared, I need to ask him something more. “How did you know it was me?” He shrugged, turning to face me. “I saw you a couple of times in the outskirts of the city.” He waved his hand dismissively. “But it’s late. Let’s sleep.” He stood up, stretching his back. “You can have the bed. I’ll sleep in the sofa.”      The sofa was big enough for me but way too small for him. If he slept there, his neck would be cramping tomorrow. And I truly did not care, but I had to take into account that if he woke up in a bad mood, he would be less likely to guide me out of these woods. Because of this, I said, “It’s okay, I can sleep in the couch.”      He shook his head. “No.”      “Really, it’s okay, I—”      He cut me off. “You take the bed.”      I felt like I was not going to able to convince him. And trying do so could upset him, which is what I didn’t want. I was about to tell him that we could share the bed, but the far-away look in his eyes—and my own self-respect—made me discard the option.      Upon reaching the bed, I sat on its edge and ran a hand across the comforter. It was light brown and soft, but looked very old. Taking off my shoes, I glanced at Doyle. He walked over to a low-lying shelf next to the bed and grabbed a bone-white blanket. Going back to the sofa, he threw the blanket on top of it.      I placed my ankle-high boots next to each other on the floor and lay down on the bed, pulling the comforter up to my chin. I watched Doyle as he turned a couple of lamps and helped the small flames in the fireplace die down a little. We were in the middle of the woods. Outside, the darkness must’ve encompassed everything already, eating up everything but the moon. We were far away from the city. At least far enough that, if I were to scream, nobody would hear me. Doyle accommodated himself on the sofa the best he could. His legs hung from the arm of the sofa and his head was set on a pillow. The lack of illumination didn’t allow me to see his face clearly, but I had a feeling he was looking at me.      “Good night,” he said softly, turning on his side, his back facing me now.      “Good night,” I replied, shutting my eyes and sending a prayer up above to whoever heard me, asking to be able to wake up in one piece tomorrow morning. There was unease in my chest. Expectedly so, because I didn’t know this man, nor his intentions. But I was exhausted—of running away and of life. And the bed was so soft. It felt like a million clouds beneath my body, and the comforter was warm and big and long enough to cover my feet.      I closed my eyes. If I was going to die, so be it. At least I would die comfortable.