The Lover: A Short Story(3)

“Hello, Miss Judith, looking for a light read? I have a good stock of women’s books,” he said, patting a pile to his left. He picked up a book of illustrated fairy tales.

Judith might have normally been satisfied with such fare, with the manuals for embroidering flowers he had on display or the light novels with long-suffering heroines who were always blessed with happiness on the last page. That day, however, she was despondent.

“I’d like to see what you have there,” she said, pointing to a chest the man was leaning on.

“Oh, no, those books are not for you,” the man said, straightening up. “Here is a proper book of fairy tales for young ladies, with the moral of the fable explained on the last page of each story.”

“Why can’t I have the other books?”

“They’re bawdy little volumes for men.”

Judith knew as much, though she’d never gazed upon a “bawdy” book up close. Plenty of village youths paid for those wares and squirreled them away quickly, marching toward the inn or another spot where they might share a drink and laugh together at the content between the covers.

“How much for one of them?”

“I could not.”

“I have the money,” she insisted.

“Your sister would throttle me if she heard I sold you this, Miss Judith,” the man said.

“Let me look at one of those books,” a man said.

A stranger stepped up next to Judith. He was neither a farmer nor a merchant. His clothes seemed to have been rather fine at one point, but now they were dirty and had been mended too many times. His long, black coat was frayed at the bottom. His hair was tied at his nape, and he did not wear a hat, as any decent man should, although he did have gloves, which seemed made of good leather. Perhaps he was a gentleman who had fallen low or a vagrant who had gathered a few decent garments from a charitable Samaritan. Probably the latter.

The bookseller hesitated but opened the chest and handed the man a book. The stranger flipped through it and asked about the price. When the bookseller named it, he gave him a few coins.

Judith began walking away, but the stranger caught up with her in a few quick strides.

“Do you want to read this?” he asked.

“Yes, but you bought it, so what?” she replied.

“I’ll sell it to you.”

“You’ll hike the price.”

“Not at all. Clearly you wanted it and wouldn’t be able to obtain it without intercession. Meet me behind the inn at dusk. You can have it for cheap.”

“Give it to me now.”

“A man is coming for you,” the stranger said, looking behind her, and he smiled.

Judith turned around and saw Nathaniel approaching her. He had his hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. The stranger scurried away.

“Was that vagabond bothering you?” he asked.

“He was asking if he could lodge in the stable for free. I told him we can’t offer that kind of charity,” Judith said, hoping Nathaniel wouldn’t notice the fib.





The guesthouse was busy, and it took Judith longer than she expected to slip out. She rushed behind the inn, and when she arrived, she found herself alone under the branches of a crooked tree. Perhaps he had come and left. She cursed under her breath.

“You’re late,” a voice said. She was surprised to see a piece of darkness slip away from the tree. The man had been tucked rather snugly against its trunk; she had not spotted him. When his face was finally visible, she noticed his sharp grin.

Judith tipped her chin up. “I had business to attend to. Do you have it?”

The stranger patted his coat and took out the book. When she attempted to grab it, he pulled it away. “I’ll have my payment, Judith of the Black Hair. That is your name, isn’t it?”

“How much? You said I could have it for cheap, remember that.”

“Very cheap. You can have it for a kiss.”

“That’s not a decent thing to ask. You’re probably a vagrant.”

“I’m no vagrant. Besides, who’s going to see you in the dark?” he asked. “The moon is new tonight.”

There was no moon, but the glow from the inn’s windows gave her pause. Besides, it was immoral to barter kisses for trinkets. She told him so.

He shrugged. “Do you want the book or not?” he asked.

“Fine. A single kiss,” she said.

She had no sweetheart, though she’d kissed a couple of boys from the town. She’d spent too much time conjuring a dream lover to accept a commoner. She thought to allow him the same thing she’d allowed those boys: a quick peck.

The man cupped her face with both hands, and she felt the supple leather against her skin as he bent down to kiss her. Her mouth opened to his, and she let him pull her close to him by the waist, and to nip at her lower lip. But when he tried to touch her bosom, she swatted his hand away.

“You promised. Give me my book.”

“Let me see your breasts and I’ll get a second book for you. Twice the fun.”

“You’re crass,” she said, her voice almost a hiss.

He laughed, extending his arm and offering the book to her. She snatched it and rushed back to the house. But she did not dare read the volume while inside the guesthouse. She lay awake most of the night, and at one point she had a curious sensation that something soft brushed by her side in the dark, though it was only the blanket, which had fallen to the floor.