The Pebbled Path (Sweet Treat Novellas #23)

Chapter One

Once upon a time, far away and long ago, a man and his daughter lived in a meadow at the edge of a forest. The man loved his daughter, and she loved him. They were not wealthy, nor were they important in the eyes of the world, but they were happy.

Yet time marched on, as it always does, and the man was forced to admit that his daughter could not remain so isolated forever.

She had, with increasing frequency, spoken wistfully of meeting a handsome young man, falling in love, having a home and family of her own. He could not deny her that dream.

With winter gone and spring making herself known, the man gathered food and supplies enough to see them to the nearest village, where he hoped to introduce his daughter to families with young people her own age with whom she might form friendships.

Perhaps among them she might find a suitable young man.

He had no expectations of an immediate match; indeed, he earnestly hoped for the opposite.

This, he told himself, would simply be their first journey of many.

In time, she would find her future. For now, they would focus on improving her present.

He led their pony cart along the narrow and seldom-used path through the forest. He knew the way well.

They ventured to the village twice per year, though only to replenish supplies and sell goods of their own.

This time, their purpose was more personal, and the journeys would, from this moment forward, be more frequent.

Gretel, his beloved daughter, was aware of their reasons for journeying. A nervous smile hovered unchanging on her lips. Her eyes were wide with anticipation. “Will there be a great many young people my age?” she asked.

“Have you been lonely, Gretel?”

“No, Papa.” The eagerness in her expression belied her declaration.

“The village boasts many families,” he said as they traveled deeper into the forest. “You have met them in years past. Surely you remember.”

She leaned against him, a warm buffer against the chill breeze. Winter no longer held the forest in her grip, but warmth had not entirely returned.

“I do remember,” Gretel said, “but I wish to hear again, as this time we are making our journey with the sole purpose of making friends.”

He told her of the families he knew, the size of the village, its many prospects and enjoyable activities.

She asked more questions than he’d heard from her at any one time.

His darling child was excited. Her anxiousness added to his.

Though he knew this journey would signal the beginning of the end of their time together, he found he could look on the pending change with increasing happiness.

They reached a familiar fork in the road. He made to guide the pony in the appropriate direction but hesitated. Indeed, his indecision led him to stop their forward progress altogether.

“Papa?” Gretel asked, eyeing him with confusion.

“Forgive me.” He eyed both paths ahead of them, no longer certain which was the correct one. “I believe we must go right.”

“No, Papa. I remember this well. We are to go left.”

That, he now felt certain, was wrong. “No. We are meant to go right.”

“But, Papa—”

“Gretel,” he answered firmly. “I have never been more certain. We are meant to go right. We have to go right.”

He guided the pony to take the right side of the fork, even as his daughter more loudly insisted he was mistaken.

He would not be deterred. The farther down the road they traveled, the surer he was of his decision.

This was the right path, the best path. It was important that he travel it. Turning back would never be an option.

He flicked the reins, urging the pony faster. Reaching the end of the road was paramount. The need to do so quickly filled every thought, every thud of his heart, every breath. On and on they went. Faster and faster.

“We have gone the wrong way,” Gretel insisted. “Please, Papa. We must turn around.”

Her pleas only served to urge him forward, a desperateness to prove her wrong. This was the path he had unknowingly been looking for all his life.

“Please, Papa.”

On and on.

“Please.”

And on. Until, quite without warning, a cottage appeared before them.

He had been looking for this very place, this very spot.

He felt certain he had been, though he could not say with any confidence when he had begun looking for it, nor how he knew it existed, only that this was where he had to be.

“I do not like this,” Gretel said.

“I must go in. I must.”

“What of our trip to the village?” Worry laced her words.

He eyed his daughter, baffled that she felt none of the excitement, none of the pull that he did. How could she not? He’d never felt anything so powerful.

“I must go in.” He alighted from the cart and walked with swift step up the flower-lined path. Every step felt more right than any step he’d taken before.

He knocked frantically on the cottage door, desperate for it to be answered. He knocked again. Footsteps sounded inside. Relief surged through him. Closer the steps drew. Louder. Only his pulse sounded with greater volume.

The handle turned. The door pulled open.

There in the doorway stood the most alluring woman he had ever seen in all his life, the most exquisite woman who had ever lived. He could do nothing but stand in mute awe of her beauty.

“Welcome.” Her voice warmed him through, pulling the very breath from his body.

He stepped inside, his eyes never leaving her.

Such beauty. Such grace. He stopped in the middle of her sparsely appointed home, words eluding him.

The woman walked in a circle around him, looking him over.

He straightened his posture, held himself proudly, all the while quaking with fear that she would find reason to disapprove.

“You are handsome,” she said, “though not so young as I might have hoped.”

“Forgive me,” he begged. “I would have come sooner, but I knew not how to find you. I knew not that I ought to find you.”

“It is of little matter.” Her smile pulled a sigh of utter relief from him. “You’ve youth enough.”

She closed the gap between them. The tip of one velvet-soft finger traced a path along his hairline, down his jaw, brushing lightly along his neck. Her touch was mesmerizing.

“I hope you mean to stay,” she said, her words deep yet airy.

“I could never leave you,” he insisted. “No one could ever make me.”

A single golden brow arched in pleased amusement. “You will do whatever I ask of you?”

“Anything at all.”

She gave half a nod. “Very good.”

“Tell me what it is you wish.”

She leaned close, her face near enough to his for her breath to tickle his face. “I wish you to take your supper with me.”

“I will take all my suppers with you.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “All of them.”

She kissed him quickly, lightly. As she broke the contact and stepped away, he felt as though some of his breath and a few beats of his heart left with her. He watched, ready to beg her to return should she move too far away.

“Come, sit,” she bade. “I will prepare our supper.”

He followed, desperate to do whatever she might ask of him. Somehow, everything depended upon her happiness. Everything.

“Papa?” a small voice interfered.

Frustration bubbled. He did not wish for interruptions. Distractions would only mean he might miss a request or a moment of his lady’s company and affections. He turned to bid the one interrupting to leave, only to realize that he had, somehow, forgotten Gretel. His own daughter.

“Gretel.” He bade her step inside. “You must meet—”

He knew not the name of his lady love. She did not supply it.

“Why have you come?” she asked Gretel. “I’ve no need of you.”

“My papa and I are journeying to the village on the other side of the forest.” She spoke to his love with disapproval. How could she?

“Gretel,” he scolded.

But her eyes did not leave the vision of beauty before them, a vision she appeared to dislike intensely. He would not countenance such rudeness.

“You must apologize,” he insisted. “I mean to stay here from now on, and you must not be rude.”

“Stay here? You cannot,” Gretel said. “We have a house of our own. We are visiting the village.” She looked back to the beautiful woman once more, revulsion filling her expression. “We must go.”

“You must go.” He knew it to be the truth the moment he said the words. Gretel did not belong, but he did. He always had, always would. “I will remain here with this enchanting and beautiful woman.”

“Beautiful?” Gretel repeated the word as if it made no sense. “Do you think she is beautiful?”

Could she not see what was right there before her? “No one has ever been more beautiful.” He returned his gaze to the vision before him, determined to never look away again.

His daughter and his newfound love continued to speak to each other, though the longer he stood there, the less he cared what they said. All that mattered was remaining in his love’s company and doing whatever she asked him to do.

“You are a witch,” Gretel said.

The woman laughed lightly. “An enchantress. There is a difference.”

“What do you mean to do to him?”

For a moment, his enchantress looked at him, and his heart sped with hope. But she looked away again, back to Gretel. “We are to have supper together.”

“And tomorrow?” Gretel pressed.

“We will have supper again, then again the next day, and the next, for however long it takes.”

“However long what takes?”

Again, a golden eyebrow reached upward. “You ask a great many questions, child.”

“I suspect you intend to kill my papa,” Gretel said. “That entitles me to a few questions.”

He adjusted his position so the beautiful woman upon whose favor he depended remained in his sight.

“You have pluck,” she said to Gretel. “I like that. And you are young, able-bodied.”

He did not like that she had lost interest in him. His very purpose was to bring this beauty whatever might give her joy, but she had turned away from him. “Dearest one.”

“Hush,” she instructed.

He immediately and silently vowed not to speak again until he was bidden to do so.

Once again speaking to Gretel, she said, “You are also clever. Not many realize so quickly the fate that awaits men who arrive at my door.”

“Only men?” Gretel asked.

She shrugged a shoulder. “An oddity of the magic. Still, it does make things more fun.”

“That does not sound like fun.”

The woman laughed. How he wished he had been the one to make her laugh.

“I might be willing to spare your father,” she said, still to Gretel. Would she never speak to him again? The possibility spread fear in his heart. “You would have to do something for me, though.”

“What would I have to do?” The girl did not even seem to be enjoying their conversation. How could she not realize the privilege it was to have this woman’s attention? He would have given anything to have it back.

“I am in need of a servant,” she said. “Someone to fetch water and firewood, clean the house, care for the gardens.”

“You are offering a trade? My servitude for his life?”

A simple nod.

“How do I know that I can trust your word?”

“Clever girl.”

She ought to have been offering him compliments. He would have said as much, but she’d not given him permission to speak again.

“Ours is a mutual agreement,” she said. “I will bind us to it on a talisman, one that will annul our promises should either of us break our word. Should I cause harm to your father, you will be freed from your servitude.”

He waited impatiently for her attention to return to him.

“And if something were to happen to you?” the girl asked his lady love.

The answer began on a laugh. “Foolish child. Do you think me so weak as that? I am protected by magic more powerful than you can imagine. I cannot simply be killed, so you had best put that idea from your mind.”

“What is to stop me from fleeing or refusing to live a life of servitude?” The girl spoke a great deal.

Even as the woman’s gaze narrowed in apparent anger, she remained exquisite. “Your father would be lured back.”

His love stood in silence, watching the child, waiting. He did not look at the girl to see what she felt. Only this vision before him mattered.

“What if he comes looking for me?” the girl asked.

“He won’t.”

He moved to close the distance between them, but his love waved him away. He obeyed.

“I will send him away, and he will agree to go. Upon returning to the fork in the road, the spell will be broken, but he will remember nothing of what is here, and that includes you.”

“He would forget me? His own daughter?”

“There is a price to be paid for cheating fate. Are you willing to pay it?”

He did not see her answer. He did not look.

A moment later, his love turned to him once more. She snapped her fingers. Confusion settled over him. He still knew he wished nothing more than to remain, yet he could not remember why.

“Go,” the woman said. “Climb into your cart and drive home.”

“I will do whatever you ask,” he said. He indeed would, but the declaration sounded odd to his ears. He turned and walked toward the door. The younger woman stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Pardon me,” he said and pushed on.

Go. The instruction repeated in his mind, forceful, unignorable.

He climbed into his cart and set the pony in motion.

All of his attention focused on the path laid out before him.

It was very important that he reach home quickly.

He flicked the reins, setting the pony at a faster clip.

Onward and onward. Faster and faster. Until the path he rode merged with another.

A cool spring breeze rustled the trees all around him as he made his way home. Trips into the forest were enjoyable, but he always looked forward to returning home to the quiet solitude that awaited him there. Many might think a man alone would be lonely, but he wasn’t.

He’d always been alone, and he found comfort in it.