Please forgive a sister her concern for a beloved sibling, as I am sure you are doing the best you can in these trying times.
That being the case let me waste no more time on such useless dithering. Instead allow me to share with you some joyous news!
Not two weeks after you departed from Twin Orchards to fulfill papa’s military service, Mama Muirgheal arrived at the house with a tincture made from the petals of a flower that only blooms this particular time of year. The Root-Bane, as she calls it, has proven exceptionally effective! Already Papa shows great signs of recovery. Since he’s started taking his daily tincture, we only have to trim his feet every other day! And not only that, but he has started getting up again to instruct little Rogan for almost 3 hours every day! During the rest of the day he sits up in his chair on the porch and he once again has time and a kind word for his daughters. Lady be praised for this miracle.
I will tell you that Siobhan and Blair especially have blossomed with smiles and laughter ever since Papa awoke again. Truly it is a blessing! In other news I am as well as can be expected, while Kaitlin has also begun to blossom, if in other ways from the littles. She will be a woman soon and now that father is more awake and spending time with the three youngest, I have decided that I have been far too remiss in her education. While I will withhold A Chatelain’s Defense from the curriculum, for obvious reasons, a renewed focus on sewing, knitting, etiquette and arithmetic (in the form of the household accounts) has already started. To the sound of much lamenting and gnashing of teeth, not unlike someone else I remember trying to teach her long division and multiplication (wink).
Know that everyone here prays for your safe return. Come back home just as soon as you can.
Always with Love,
your sister,
Christie
P.S. –
I have entrusted this letter to the hands of Fred Carter and it should arrive along with a supply wagon of food purchased by his lordship’s agents for the resupply of the army. It embarrasses me to ask, but if you hand him a few coppers for his troubles I would be forever in your debt. Also he assures me that for a silver he will carry any return correspondences to our home, even if it might be out of his way and off the return route for his cart.
The party was a rousing great recruiting success, so first thing that very next morning Falon was on her way to see Sir Orisin—the Knight whose surrender she had accepted. He had taken up residence within his own personal tent, which he had pitched right in the middle of the Wicks camp as if he were their Knight and Lord in truth and not their prisoner. She had nearly reached said tent when she was intercepted by Aodhan.
“Yes?” Falon said, she came to a stop when the Headsman placed himself in her path.
“I have something that might interest thee,” he said with cunning look on his face that she very much distrusted after last night’s deception.
“I was going to see the prisoner,” she said neutrally.
“You’ll want to see this,” Aodhan replied and turned away. She watched for a long second as he strode off without bothering to look back and check that she was following. Presumably, he was going toward whatever it is he wanted her to see.
Despite her still hard feelings toward the man, curiosity got the better of her and she quickstepped after him to catch up.
More than a little surprised when he took her to her very own wagon, Falon looked up at him quizzically.
“The wagon?” She asked.
He reached under the driver’s seat and pulled out a pair of large, bulging leather sacks. He had to pull and twist them from side to side for several moments before he was able to get them out, so tightly had they been wedged underneath the seat.
The bags couldn’t have weighed that much, however, because even though he was a strong man with well-muscled arms he easily lifted them out of the wagon, one in either hand, once they were free of the seat.
“Here,” he said, plopping the bags down in front of her. He maneuvered the sacks so that they were just at the edge of the underside of the wagon, and partially blocked from view by their bodies also.
Curious despite herself, Falon squatted down and untied the intricate leather string at the top of sacks. Opening the first bag, she had to squint against the dim light of the barely rising sun but a single look inside took her breath away. Gold, blue, green and red velvet met her gaze.
“Dresses?” Falon said with rising excited and complete disbelief. When Aodhan nodded, her excitement ticked up another notch until despite her anger of the night before and she could hardly contain herself. Wiggling from side to side as she ran her hands across the soft fabric and digging in deeper to see more of the dresses without taking the time to actually pull anything out, she gasped at the quality of the garments.
“From the Pink Princess’s baggage,” the Headman nodded soberly. “Liam brought them back around night fall. Although, two of them were torn in the fronts.”
Falon looked up at him in stunned disbelief, his words not really penetrating the sudden haze which had come over her. Dresses like these were something she and her sisters had only been able to dream about. With a dress like one of the ones in the sack, a girl’s marriage prospects were almost assured. The cost of dresses like these was enough to count for a woman’s dowry all by their selves!
“Why were they damaged…unless someone was wearing them and they got caught on something,” she said with alarm as her fingers discovered some of what he’d just described. Yet despite her low regard of the man, surely even Liam wouldn’t have tried on a woman’s dress. Any man who did so would be laughed out of town, never daring to show his face again if he knew what was good for him.
“Jewels; there were a couple still left around the edges. Noble women must sew them into the front of their gowns,” Aodhan speculated, but from his tone of voice she could tell the subject didn’t interest him very much.
Realizing this, Falon quickly steeled herself. She was supposed to be a boy—a young man, really—but neither section of the male gender were supposed to have very much interest in dresses, or pretty things in general. Gold or gems, yes. Fine swords, certainly. But pretty dresses? Not on your life!
Not for their own sake, anyway, she reminded herself. Not unless, as Aodhan had just said, they had valuables woven into them or the man had a girl, wife, or maybe even a sweetheart they wanted to impress. Of course, she thought, her eyes narrowing in sudden speculation, dresses like these could be considered valuables in their own right, even damaged and minus the jewels.
“Why did you show me these?” Falon asked keeping her face neutral and doing her best to project a disinterested tone of voice. She ran her hands over the material one more time before reluctantly standing back up.
She spotted a pair of what she thought were courtier dresses like exactly one faded, old gown that had gone threadbare around the sleeves and hem her sister Krissy had. Except this one was in far better condition than her sister’s gown. However, she also saw one or maybe two others which were of such superior quality and work from what she could see that she didn’t dare speculate without a further look. Realizing it wouldn’t do to let the Headman realize how tempted she was by these dresses, she affected an aura of deliberate unconcern.
Despite herself, she considered that the damaged dresses had probably been worn by the women who had been assailed by that cowardly whiner Liam. But even if they were, her sister was a deft hand with a sewing needle—not that Aodhan wanted or needed to know any of this.
“Thou has sisters. Sisters who might like pretties such as these,” Aodhan said with a shrug that belied the sharp gaze he turned on her. “They’d probably manage to wear such dresses better than my own Maggie would.”
Yes! Falon realized with a jolt. Any peasant woman, especially one of the Old Blood, who showed up in such a dress would face many questions. And a Reeve like Modesto might even assess a higher tax levy on a family rich enough to afford such things.
“They
might be interested,” Falon allowed, feeling feverish with suppressed delight at the tenor, tone, and general direction of the Headman’s words. She knew her sisters would have killed—at least metaphorically—to get their hands on such dresses. Even if nothing fit, the fabric alone could be repurposed and old patterns pulled out and used to make new and properly-fitting, quality dresses.
“Then let’s talk price,” Aodhan said with a nod.
“Several have been damaged,” Falon objected immediately, knowing she only had so much coin, “that has to drive down the price.”
That’s the moment the Headman smiled.
“If I was interested that is, which I’m not saying, yet,” Falon blurted, realizing she’d already just given too much away. How much more obvious could she be? But simply being in possession of a single, high noble’s gown would vastly increase the marriage prospects of any Squire’s girl who possessed it. Even more than gold for dowries, these dresses could make all the difference for her and her sisters.
“Of course,” Aodhan said the corners of his mouth turning up.
Falon closed her eyes and sighed. She was completely hopeless. She might as well give up now and wave her flag in surrender.
“How much do you want for them,” she asked finally. Hoping she’d be able to afford at least a pair of the courtly gowns or convince him to part with the more ‘damaged’ but still infinitely valuable high noble dresses. After all, from what she could see these weren’t everyday wear. No, these dresses were perfect for dances and court attendance—times when a woman, Lady, or Maiden needed to appear her best. Now that she thought about it, the lady—or ladies—these once belonged to had probably been wearing their sturdier traveling wear at the time these were lost. She grinned eagerly, knowing that their loss was a gain for her sisters.
“There’s six dresses,” Aodhan said so contemplatively that she knew he was figuring out the price in his head that very moment.
“Two of them torn and heavily damaged,” she interjected speaking rapidly. She didn’t know how damaged they were, but she had to keep the price down low.
“Two…” Aodhan looked at her under his brows and frowned at whatever he saw. “Four gold,” he said firmly.
“Done,” Falon said and not even caring that it was terribly disgusting male habit she immediately spat in her hand and extended it to shake on the deal.
“For each dress,” Aodhan said a bit desperately, his eyes widening. Literally and verbally backpedalling as he stepped aside and away from her hand
Falon’s eyes gleamed, the cheapest of the dresses she’d seen had to be worth something on order of thirty golds each. Getting any of them for the four golds price was a steal.
“Deal,” Falon said stepping forward quickly to close the distance between her hand and his.
“That’s for the damaged gowns,” Aodhan said in a strangled voice as he stumbled back a step, “I want more for the undamaged ones. Say, five…,” he hesitated and she was on him in an eye blink. Even at five golds apiece, these were still excellent prices!
“Great!” Falon exclaimed happily.
“No—eight. Eight golds for each of those!” Aodhan said, holding up his hands as if to ward her off.
He had just made a fatal mistake and before he could talk up the price any further, Falon grabbed his right hand out of the air and clasped it firmly in hers.
“Four golds for the damaged dresses and eight for each of the rest,” Falon said her eyes shining. One dress alone would cover the cost of the rest, but she’d seen two perfectly good, undamaged, courtly dresses. She could sell only those—not that she would—and come out many, many golds ahead on this deal. That meant that all those other dresses she’d just got were free and clear. Score!
“That’s forty…” she watched as Aodhan mentally redid the math and saw the moment his eyes widened with realization over how much money they were talking about. “Forty golds,” he said firmly.
Falon winced. Each dress was literally a steal, but when added together the total price hit like a blow to the gut.
“Let’s call it an even thirty five,” she said. Forty golds was more than she had. Her share of the common spoils taken by the Two Wicks Militia band had only been eight golds.
“Are thou welching?” Aodhan said starting to look relieved. He obviously hadn’t had a clue as the actual value of the dresses and now that he did, it looked like he was regretting the deal that had just been made.
“That cart you’ve got won’t hold everything, I wouldn’t think,” Falon said quickly. “You’ll need my wagons to haul the heavier things like weapons and armor.”
“We need those wagons for the wounded,” Aodhan growled, “and we’d be doing thee a favor guarding the wagons on their way home.”
“The wounded could fit in one wagon and the cart,” Falon said firmly, despite the chill she felt run through her at his initial denial.
“But five golds; that’s unreasonable,” the Headman protested angrily.
“Let’s talk about golds,” Falon said suddenly feeling irritated, “how about the fact that I only just heard about these dresses? I thought everything was supposed to go into the common pot that was too large to wear yourself or fit in your pockets.”
Aodhan suddenly looked put out. “It’s clothing,” he spluttered.
“Highly valuable clothing, so unless you’re telling me someone—like Liam—plans to wear a noblewoman’s gown all the way home, you all’ve been planning to cheat me,” Falon said sharply.
“Hey, I showed it to thee didn’t I,” Aodhan growled. “And thou can get thy fair share of the profits from it. Be careful who thou calls a cheat!”
“Pardon me,” Falon said, not feeling sorry in the least, “but you can keep my one in forty odd part share; consider it part of our price reduction deal.”
“You’d get just under a gold, that doesn’t make up the—” Aodhan disagreed.
Falon cut him off. “Remind me again, did it cost ten gold for the party or was it fifteen?” she asked sweetly.
“Now that’s a completely different issue,” Aodhan said abruptly. “And it was fifteen, like I done told thee at the time.”
“Yes, five that I shouldn’t have had to pay out to you and everyone else,” Falon snapped.
“We can talk about those separate deals later,” Aodhan grunted.
“I consider them linked,” Falon shot back.
Aodhan turned red in the face and then he abruptly broke out into full belly laughter. “Agreed,” he said, wiping his eyes. “Well, Falon Half Blood, you drive a hard bargain…I think thou’re going to keep on doing fine as both an Officer and a Squire it thee keep this up.”
“Thanks…I think,” Falon said feeling decidedly nonplused.
“Thirty five golds,” he agreed and then reached down to retrieve the two sacks of dresses.
“Hey,” Falon protested.
“Thou gets the dresses when we gets our golds,” the Headsman said with a pleasant expression on his face as he hoisted the two sacks up over each shoulder. “Until then I’ll just keep a hold of these. I suspect their value will only go up, should things go amiss somehow,” he said with a wink.
Falon’s face screwed up and she scowled at him. “You’ll get your golds,” she said sourly.
“Have it to me before we finish breaking camp or the deal’s off,” he said with an unrepentant grin. He was clearly pressing the issue, now that he knew just how much of an upper hand he had.
Falon stomped her foot. “Where’s the trust?!” she called out after him as he walked away.
She didn’t have forty golds; why, she didn’t even have the thirty five she’d just haggled for. All she had was eight, single, solitary gold pieces to her name. The only other coins in the whole wide world that she still had access to was in the company supply fund. But even if, after last night, she could sink so low as to steal all of it, she still couldn’t completely cover the remaining twenty seven.
The only ot
her assets she had was the new riding horse his Lordship had just sent over—a horse that looked like it used to be some rich lady’s riding palfrey. But being a gift from his Lordship, she dare not sell it for risk of insulting him. He gave her a horse, after all, so that she would have a horse to ride like a proper officer. If she traded it the very next day, how exactly would that look?
So since the horse was out of the question, she supposed she could try and sell one of the wagons. Her sisters could always sell a dress later on and replace the wagon. That would probably have covered the whole thirty five she owed but she couldn’t do that, even though she’d be replacing it with something just as valuable. It still felt too much like stealing from her family. But even if it wasn’t that, Aodhan was right the militia needed that second wagon for the trip back to the Wicks.
She sighed, as it looked like her only hope at this point was with Sir Orisin. He owed her a ransom after all, not to mention he was still holding onto the effects of his sworn battle-brother, Sir Orin, the Knight she’d killed. If her memory from being trapped under the horse was correct, she had slain Knight Orin with a certain boar knife to the face. The memory of that boar knife—and the man who had given it to her, the now dead blacksmith Vance—squeezed her heart with painful force.
When she recovered from the bout of heartache, she squared her shoulders and continued her trip over to the prisoner’s tent.
There had better be twenty seven golds or its equivalent in there, or her sisters were going to be out all those pretty dresses. She paused mid step, recalling that he had agreed to sell her the two damaged dresses—the most valuable of the two if she was any judge—for only four golds each. She would certainly be able to get her hands on those two, even with just eight gold pieces to her name!
This realization was like a great weight had just been taken off her shoulders. Even two of those dresses, if repairable, would be more than enough to help her sisters get married. Prince Charming and happily ever after might be too far from her own reach, but that didn’t mean her sisters had to suffer like she did!
The Painting (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 2) Page 5
