The Toll Read online

  The Toll

  By

  Jeanette Lynn

  Smashwords Edition

  ***

  Published By:

  Jeanette Lynn

  on Smashwords

  The Toll

  Copyright 2015

  Jeanette Lynn

  Smashwords Edition,

  License Notes

  Thank you for purchasing and downloading this e book.

  It is the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and or distributed for commercial or noncommercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to purchase and download their own copy.

  Thank you for your support and respect for the property of this author. It is very much appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events, or locales, is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked ownership of all trademarks and word marks mentioned in this book

  ***

  Table of Contents

  Please Read Before You Proceed

  No Good Deed

  Plight Of The Wallflower

  Nice Girls Finish Last

  Quiet Conundrum

  Barterers And Beggars

  Flesh Of My Flesh

  A Toll, Ye Say?

  Troll Brokering

  A Life Of Servitude

  Offerings

  Beyond A Reasonable Doubt

  Home Sweet Home

  Family Reunion

  Rose-tinted

  Bridging The Gap

  Kick Rocks

  From The Brink

  A Reason

  Grey Skinned Quandary

  Ashes In My Mouth

  No Place Like...

  What Dreams Are These

  The Dregs

  It’s The Little Things

  Exposed

  Pining Isn’t Only For Lowly Sap

  Whispers In The Dark

  Wide Open

  Of The Lake

  Dark Within Light

  What Be This?

  Depths

  Elemental, My Dear Phedaenya

  Somewhere In Between

  Watered Down

  Hearth-less

  Travellers

  Other Travels

  Lost And Found. Lost Again.

  Small Beginnings

  Unsettled

  Farther Along

  Into The Thick Of It

  Deliver Me

  Parturition

  Tis Time

  Lineage

  Upside Down

  Midnight Rendezvous

  Rupture

  Four-chambered Refuge

  Salvation

  Mending-Gersthart

  Welcome Back-Nugget

  Flying By

  Inviolable

  Tipping Point

  Epilogue

  Not Quite The End

  Bonus Short- “Brother-cousins”

  The Bridge Over Kellerman’s Pond

  All Shook Up

  Fresh Start

  Other books by Jeanette Lynn

  About the author

  Warning: Please Read Before You Proceed

  This book contains sexually explicit material, foul language, and some subjects of questionable nature, which may make some uncomfortable—such as rape, suicide, and violence—intended for readers 18 and older.

  ****

  The Toll

  No Good Deed

  The sun was setting, the crickets having started up their little song not long ago. I got up from my comfortable spot in the field, plucking up my basket as I went.

  “Don’t go yet.” Trystan’s hand came up and snagged mine, tugging me back down to him.

  With only a small, token protest, I let him reel me back in, his thick arms wrapping around me comfortingly, solid and warm, giving me a quick, affectionate embrace.

  Trying hard to keep within proprieties boundaries—just in case someone might stumble across us—we didn’t let it linger longer than seen as proper. Not that it would be seen as proper at all, but it was a compromise we could both agree on.

  It was bad enough I’d let him kiss me the other day, and in the middle of an open field out in broad daylight, no less. We didn’t wish to tempt fate any further, risking the plans we’d made together, staining his reputation, as well as mine, as far as the community was concerned.

  “I have to go.” Tugging away from him, I giggled when he pulled me towards him by the back of my dress and kissed me one last time, plastering his lips to mine. It wasn’t proper at all, but temptation was calling, battering at my door, and I gave in.

  His lips were soft and thick against mine, the taste of the mint he liked to chew still fresh on his breath.

  “I’m going to ask him tomorrow,” Trystan said easily, tracing my lower lip with his index finger longingly as he eventually pulled back.

  I smiled slowly, my bowed lips creasing teasingly, blue eyes peeking up at him as I shook out the skirts of my gown.

  “Oh?” My voice implied I understood, maybe a little too well, just a hint of disbelief bleeding out to catch his notice.

  And notice it he did.

  My smile went crooked, kicking up at just the one corner at the sharp look on his face.

  Clearing my throat, as if unaffected, I ran my fingers over my hair, meticulously tracing along the thick orangey-red lengths pulled back into the prim bun I’d put it up in this morning, making sure it was still intact. It was, and, satisfied with its state, I gave it a quick pat before I dropped my hands.

  Trystan nodded, opting to ignore my hinted sarcasm at hearing him say the same exact thing for the umpteenth time since we’d begun our secret courtship.

  “I am,” he promised, and I gave him a speculative once over. He caught it and stood up taller, chest puffed out as my perusal went from skeptical to appreciative in two seconds flat.

  His lips pulled back and he chuckled, grinning knowingly when I flushed and my eyes danced away, his dark brown eyes alight.

  “Yes,” Trystan stated confidently, “and when he says yes, you owe me a kiss.”

  “So bold, sir. Are you sure he’ll even let me accept?”

  “He will. And maybe I’ll steal another. Or two…”

  Cocky, but adorable. I loved this side of him—the confidence I saw blooming in him daily.

  Maybe it had to do with him being with me—always being told how wonderful I think he is giving him a tiny bit of a puffed up ego, like a peacock—or maybe it was just him—something he’d always naturally possessed that I hadn’t noticed before. Either way, I enjoyed it.

  He winked when I snorted at him, my grin matching his.

  A kiss, then, he says? Okay. I can do that. The thought brought little excited flutters to my stomach. I wasn’t going to deny him that. Trystan was, after all, quite the talented kisser. Not that I’d had much experience at it, but I enjoyed his attentions, all the same.

  He straightened his own clothes out, noting the darkening sky, picking the odd bit of stray grass or greenery off his otherwise pristine grey shirt and dark brown trousers. Readjusting the ties to his billowing grey garment, he put his black vest back on and shoved his wide brimmed hat down on his head.

  I almost mourned the loss of all those tousled onyx locks, itching to yank the hat back off and shove my fingers through the short, tangled mass.

  “Hmm… I wonder…” I teased, already managing to put several feet of distance between us, standing up on tip toe as I prepared, anticipation flitting about inside me.

  His eyes darted towards me, and his hat—as if willed to do my bidding—fell off.
Black, full head of hair bobbing up in his wake, flapping heavily into his eyes from his currently bent over position, he finished buttoning his last button.

  “What’s that?” From the leery expression on his face, I knew he knew I was up to something.

  I held back a mischievous grin, but barely. “I wonder… how do you get anything done at all around here if you’re spending all your time in the fields in the evenings... fooling around?”

  “Fooling,” he barked on a startled laugh, incredulous. “Is that what we’ve been doing, then? Fooling?” Smile dipping, his hands sat heavily on his hips as he cocked a questioning brow.

  My grin was cheeky, and maybe a bit cocksure, but I let it loose.

  He knew what I’d meant—the tease. The mirth in his voice confirmed it when he tried to say something but could no longer contain his chuckle.

  “Yes.” I nodded, a loose wisp of hair falling over my eye. “With me.”

  He paused and stood up taller, towering in his height, a stern expression on his face.

  “Why, milady,” he huffed, his thick face bunching up as he scowled down at me in mock consternation, “and to what, exactly, are you implying?”

  I grinned, lips pulling back so wide I thought my cheeks might split. His black look might have scared other women, but not me.

  Trystan wasn’t the finest looking man in the village—in fact, he wouldn’t even make it to the top ten, or even twenty—but he was a good man. He was sweet and genuinely likeable, and best of all, he liked me just as I am. He’s my good man.

  Tall, he was, towering over me by quite a bit, intimidating the other ladies beyond reason, but I rather liked it. He was thick, my Trystan, maybe a little thicker than most of the strapping young men his age, but not all, and he had a thick thatch of jet black hair atop his head that stuck up at wild angles—untamable. I liked to run my fingers through it on evenings like this, the both of us teasing and laughing together in the field freely, lazily laying in the tall grass that shaded us from others.

  He had deeply bronzed skin from working out in the fields and the pasture all day, and his eyes were a deep set brown. I loved the color, like dark pools of molasses, and hoped more than anything that when he finally worked up the courage to ask Papa for my hand, our children would someday inherit their father’s deep, dark, crisp brown eyes.

  Trystan also had scars along the left side of his body, and he limped—a hunting accident with his uncle gone wrong when he was young. The flesh didn’t quite heal right, leaving tightened, misshapen, pulled and sewn together, puckered flesh along his arm and upper neck. Some would say these things rendered him unattractive. They didn’t to me. Trystan fought and he lived. He fought through the pain and subsequent fever, and he healed. If anything, it made him strong and sympathetic. It made him more human, more real—compassionate. He was a fighter, in my book, a true survivor, and I told him so often.

  Truly, I had no doubts that Papa and Mamma would approve the match. It didn’t hurt that Trystan’s father owned quite a bit of land, conveniently adjoining ours. A point in favor towards father’s liking that I couldn’t care less about, but still, it didn’t hurt.

  “Well,” Trystan demanded, “explain yourself, Daphedaenya.”

  “Uhm...” Eyes darting about, I chewed my lip, worrying it between my teeth as I cleared my throat, cocking a slender brow. “That you’re lazy? Or that we’re fools?”

  “Daphie!!” The outrage in his voice wasn’t feigned as I burst out laughing and took off. I turned and ran, clutching my basket and my skirt together in one hand as I shot off towards home.

  “Oh, Trystan,” I chortled, “you should have seen your face! That look would peel paint!”

  My feet made wet, squishing sounds as I reached the muddy hill—which would reveal my house once I’d made it just beyond—soaking my slippers, but Trystan’s thick booted, heavy foot falls soon met up with mine and he scooped me up, swinging me around as I squealed and squawked in protest.

  He hugged me to his thick, meaty chest tight and chuckled into my hair. I laughed and squealed happily as he glanced around quickly before he dove in and started raining kisses down the tip of my ear and along the column of my exposed throat.

  “Now I’ve caught you, my Daphie-girl,” he whispered huskily, smiling against my skin when my hands wrapped around his thick, strong arms in return. “What’ll you give me to let go? Hmm?”

  “A basket of berries? My berries?” I offered, still giggling hysterically, plucking one up and feeding it to him, my fingers lingering a tiny bit at his lips as he licked the berry juice from them.

  He chewed and swallowed, groaning into my neck as he gently set me on my feet. “You’re such a tease,” he groaned, much more pitifully than it warranted, his large, calloused hands giving my thick waist a little squeeze. “Sometimes I wonder if you know more than you let on.”

  I knew things, not that I’d ever done those things, but I had married friends and they talked. Most women my age had already wed by now or were engaged to be. Not that I knew a lot about sexual things, just the basics, but I felt it my personal duty and mission in life to taunt him, my beau. So, I’d say little things, never confirming or denying his wonderings. It’s more fun that way. I’ll let him figure that out on our wedding night.

  A slight moment of apprehension filled me when I could feel the thickness of his member protruding, pressing into my back through his thick trousers impatiently, but it was brief and fleeting feeling as he slowly stepped back.

  Deep down, I knew Trystan would never do anything to hurt me, not on purpose. I had to wonder, though, how will it fit?

  “Daphedaenya! Daphedaenya!!”

  We both sighed heavily and groaned at the sound of Mamma’s voice calling my name.

  “I best be going now,” Trystan finally muttered as we stood there helplessly, only several feet separating us as we faced each other now, wanting to hug good-bye once more before we had to go, yet both of us unwilling to risk getting caught in the act.

  “Daphedaenya!”

  We both jumped at the shrill intonation that is Mamma.

  Exchanging a quick, sympathetic grimace, I waved as he started off, slowly walking backwards as he watched me from over his shoulder.

  Waving once more once I’d reached the top of the hill, he winked, grinning, and blew me a kiss. Giggling happily and smiling like a nincompoop, I caught it and returned the gesture.

  He chuckled, and with one last hearty wave and a tip of his hat, he was gone.

  Mamma continued to shout out my name. Her voice, something off about it, pricked me as the urgency lacing it made itself more and more apparent, along with the ever increasing volume of her incessant yelling, and the sharpening in her tone.

  I picked up my pace once I’d reached the bottom of the steep hill, breaking out into a run when I heard Mamma’s voice catch and choke, breaking on a sob.

  My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest as she started crying openly, wailing out my sister’s name.

  “Otvla! Otvla!” she sobbed out desperately.

  “Mamma! Mamma!” I shouted, following the sound of her sharp cries as they got louder and louder.

  Skidding along the loose, dark gravel covered ground, I came to a sudden halt, almost running my mother right over in my haste. As I’d turned the crumbling brick corner on the side of the house that led to the cobbled walk way and heavy wooden front door, I almost smacked right into her. Or over her, I should say.

  Mamma was crumpled on the bottom front steps, huddled in a little ball, her thick brown skirt billowing around her as she rocked back and forth, hysterical, her favorite dark blue knit shawl clutched tightly to chest in her long, bony hands.

  “Mamma! Mamma? What’s happened? Mamma?” I knelt down in front of her and clutched her cold, clammy fingers in mine, trying to put a bit of warmth into her. They felt like ice, they were so cold, and as I glanced down, I noticed they were clutching something, gripping it—whateve
r it was—tight.

  “It’s… it’s… oh,” she burst out, revealing a flash of silver as she slowly clenched and unclenched her white knuckled fists.

  I knew that bit of silver—the little oval with the tiny rose in the corner—it matched the one I was wearing perfectly, an exact copy.

  Fingering mine as worry and panic engulfed me, I felt my own skin growing chilled. “Mamma…”

  “My little Otvla!” she wailed, pressing the little locket up to her forehead as she said a quick prayer, tears streaming down her gaunt face.

  It was her locket she had clutched in her hand, Otvalena’s, my younger sister.

  “What happened to her, Mamma?” I tried, but she couldn’t hear me, her sharp, pain filled cries overpowering my own strong voice. “Mamma,” I soothed, trying another approach, rubbing her fingertips reassuringly.

  Letting out a few, inarticulate cries, she shook her head and pulled her hands back. “My baby… my baby… She’s gone. She’s… she’s…” Overcome, she couldn’t finish.

  My heart broke for hers as my own chipped and cracked, torn by her repeated rebuffs, yet worried for my sibling. Still, given her precarious state, I tried to comfort her, but she shoved me off whenever I went to put my arms around her, in favor of rocking herself back and forth violently.

  “No… no… no…” she mumbled, “they’ve taken her, they have. My little baby. My little angel! My little Otvla!!”

  It was starting to weigh on me as I squatted down over her, just watching, feeling impotent, helpless, not knowing exactly what had taken place.

  Taking a chance, I gripped her shoulders, hoping to bring her around enough to get some answers. Otvla is in trouble and she needs help. We can’t help her if I don’t know what from or what happened. I don’t even know where she is.

  “Mamma! What has happened? Who’s taken her, and where? When?” I tried once more, with much the same result.