Taking Flight by Tabitha Rayne Page B

Birch made around the camp. He was on guard and she could see he did not want them to be discovered there. She kept hidden, willing Marcus to stay asleep, and strained to hear what the men were talking about.
    “Got visitors, have we?” Denva threw a sly look over to the new shelter when Birch handed him his tea.
    Birch sat on the log to the side and shrugged. “You know us, Den, never could turn down a stray.”
    Deborah shuddered at Birch’s words and felt utterly betrayed. What was going on?
    “So who’s in there?” Denva persisted when Birch offered no further comment.
    “Oh, just a traveler needed a place to lie down. That’s all.”
    “Where’s he headed?”
    “She,” Birch corrected, “didn’t say.”
    Though she was paralyzed with fear, Deborah inwardly applauded Birch’s sleight of mouth.
    “Really? Didn’t smell female.” Denva’s lip curled into a thick sneer that repulsed Deborah. Birch would have to act fast.
    “Well—” Birch yawned and stretched skyward in a macho pose. “She wouldn’t now, would she?” He smiled wickedly at Denva, who winked and smiled back.
    “Ahh, you old dog,” he said, licking his lips and looking over at the tent while Deborah cringed.
    “Don’t even think about it, Den.” Birch flashed him a warning look, and the creepy stranger shrugged and laughed.
    “Okay, okay, I get it. Does the lady of the house know?”
    “What do you think?”
    “Always was a charitable lass, that one.” He peered around the clearing again, taking in everything he saw.
    Deborah squeezed herself as small as she could while her muscles ached and perspiration slid from her forehead and nose.
    “So, my man, down to business,” said Denva while he dragged a scruffy pack from his shoulders. “Three we agreed on, was it?” He passed a package to Birch who lifted it to his face, inhaling.
    “I paid for four, Denva,” Birch replied, peering over the parcel.
    “I know, I know, I’m just toying with you.” His smile was playful but Deborah could see that Birch was on his guard, clearly knowing the trader’s habits. “It’s all there.”
    Deborah strained to see what might be inside the fraying rags, but Birch held them close to his chest as he peered inside. Curiosity was killing her. She did not trust Denva one bit and wished the men would finish their business before Marcus woke up and blew his cover.
    “Well, I’d better not keep you, Denva,” said Birch, rising to shake the man’s hand and send him on his way.
    “Oh, come on, Birch, no sharing?” For one hideous moment, Deborah thought Denva was talking about the phantom woman in the tent but instead he looked wistfully at the package, licking his lips.
    “Denva, at the prices you charge, you do not need my charity.” Birch’s voice was light and jokey but his eyes were dark and flashed hate at the trader when he glanced away.
    “Fine, fine, I can take a hint. Wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome.” He picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder. “See you in a fortnight then. Will you be needing anything else?”
    “No, just the usual end of the month candles and coffee,” said Birch with a cold edge to his voice and crammed something—Deborah assumed it must be money—into Denva’s dirty fist. He ushered the trader away through the undergrowth, and Deborah sank to the forest floor as she watched the stranger skulk off between the trees.
    Birch returned and looked straight at her from the middle of the clearing. “You can come out now,” he said with a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
    The logs by the fireside seemed unusually rough as Deborah sat down beside Birch.
    “Who was that?” she asked, rubbing her arms as the chill from watching Denva hadn’t quite left.
    “Who, Denva?” Birch poked nonchalantly at the smoldering ashes but his cold stare belied the action. “Don’t worry about him, he’s our rogue trader. Brings supplies every couple of weeks.”
    “What