Page 8 of The Darkland

The man was a loud eater. Trying to appear as pathetic as possible, Mara clasped her hands against her breast.

“Kind sir,” she said dramatically. “Could you find it within your heart to spare a poor widow a few coins with which to eat?”

The man paused in mid-chew, his gaze moving the length of her dripping cloak. Swallowing hard, he coughed loudly and struggled not to choke.

“A widow?” He coughed again. Then, he looked annoyed. “Go away, lass. Can you not see that I am eating?”

Mara would not be dissuaded. “But– sir! I have not eaten in days, and my children….”

“Children?”

She nodded eagerly. “Nine of them. They have not eaten, either.”

The merchant raised his eyebrows. “You have nine children?” he repeated. “You’re hardly more than a child yourself.”

Mara drew herself up, proudly. “I am a woman grown, sir. And I would thank you kindly for helping to feed my children.”

“All nine of them.”

“Aye, sir.”

The man took a bite of bread, chewing slowly. “You’re not a very good liar, lass.”

Mara looked innocent. “Sir?”

He took another bite of bread. “Who are you begging for? Your husband? Father, mayhap?”

Mara shook her head. “Myself, sir. Myself and….”

He put up a hand. “I know, I know. And your nine children.”

“Aye, sir.” Mara thought she could sense some amusement in his expression. “Will you help us?”

He continued to gaze at her, chewing on his bread. “How old are you?”

Mara thought quickly. “Twenty-two, sir.”

“Twenty-two, eh?” He put the bread down, collecting his wooden cup. “You must have bore your first child at ten years of age.”

She refused to recant her story. Once he had her confession, she was certain he would refuse to give her any coin. “Thirteen, sir. I… I was a very young bride.”

“Indeed.” He drank deeply of his watered ale. A dog came around looking for hand-outs and Mara shooed it away as it sniffed her skirt.

“Well?” she almost demanded. “Can you spare a few coins, sir? Or must I beg elsewhere?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Demanding little wench, aren’t you? There is a fine line between robbing and begging.”

Mara sighed. “I do apologize. ’Tis just that my children are starving and….”

He put up a hand, snorting into his cup. “No more, lass. I shall give you a few pence and be gone with you.”

Mara held out her hand and he deposited five coins into her palm. Flashing him a brilliant smile, she clutched the money to her breast and made her way across the room. Just as she neared an empty table against the wall, a large hand suddenly reached out to grab her.

Mara shrieked as she plopped into an armored lap. “Let me go!”

Loud male laughter filled the stale air. “Relax, sweetling. I won’t hurt you.”

She twisted violently, her hood coming off in the process. Silky black hair cascaded down her back, drawing a sigh of appreciation from the table’s occupants.