The merchant, sweaty and submissive to the point of over-reactive, bowed hastily in Christian’s direction. “M’laird,” he said, his burr thick with nerves. “Yer new ta Cree?”
“I am,” Christian nodded, removing his helm to prove that there was a human lodged inside the fearsome armor, not simply a war machine. “My wife and I are relatives of Clan Douglas.”
Lutey’s eyes widened, the rolls of fat that constituted his chin quivering. “Clan Douglas?” he pronounced the clan title as ‘Doog-liss’, his burr heavy. But the fact that Christian had mentioned the overlords of the territory seemed to bear substantial credence and a bit of color reappeared in the man’s cheeks. “Douglas, ye say? Ye dunna look tae be dark like th’ Douglas.”
“My father is fair,” Christian replied, eager to maintain a civil conversation. Gesturing to the goods piled about on the merchant’s booth, he moved towards the stacks. “We are in need of a great many things. Your stock appears to be very fine.”
It was all the encouragement the rotund shop-keeper required. Immediately, he began to declare the superiority of his goods, making certain that Christian understood that he was supplied by several hard-working and knowledgeable farmers. Gaithlin was already inspecting the vegetables and dried goods, her experienced eye roving the stock with talent. When Christian cast her an encouraging wink, silent permission to proceed with the selection of their supplies, she commenced her duties with relish.
Lutey and his two sons soon had their hands full with Gaithlin and her shopping skills. From turnips to carrots to summer crops of leeks and onions, she inspected each and every bit of produce before deciding it to be worthy of their table. Christian stood aside with Malcolm as Gaithlin and the merchants gently argued over the finer qualities of the fresh produce.
It was an exacting task and Christian was immensely pleased with her abilities to not only select high-quality goods, but to barter for the price in such a fashion that she did not appear aggressive or uninformed of the current rates. Yet he knew her skill was bred from a lack of money; when the times occurred that she had been able to purchase supplies for Winding Cross, she had to make sure she received the very best bargain for her limited monetary support.
A talent for bargains that had developed from pure necessity. Even with Christian’s nearly unlimited wealth, Gaithlin carefully haggled the merchant to such a price that even Christian thought she was intent on robbing the man blind. In lieu of their earlier conversation when she had suggested he pay the man a generous sum for his wares in exchange for his support of the newest member of Cree’s community, Christian calmly entered the negotiations to interject his sensible opinion.
Ten minutes and several barrels of supplies later, Christian and Gaithlin had enough goods to last them for months. And Lutey was quite convinced he had procured enough money fit for a king.
Since Christian had no wagon to secure his goods, Lutey directed him to a livery at the edge of the village where he was able to purchase a satisfactory rig and a relatively healthy ox. With four barrels stuffed to the hilt with vegetables and sacks of grain, not to mention three wheels of creamy, tart cheese, he allowed a giddy Malcolm to steer the beast of burden down the thoroughfare as they went in search of a suitable cobbler for Gaithlin’s shoes.
Since the massive English knight had made him rich with his excessive purchases, Lutey bravely decided to accompany Christian as he became acquainted with the town; the fat merchant with the small hands waddled next to the armored warrior as the entire group moved down the avenue, pointing out various shops and objects of interest. There was even a small tavern, run-down and barely habitable, but loaded with rabble. It was loud and exciting.
Gaithlin found the entire concept of a gay tavern intriguing, as did Malcolm. But Christian assured them both that there were far better establishments elsewhere, promising to pay a visit to finer inns someday should time and situation allow. Although Lutey assured him that the tavern, bearing a hand-scratched sign with the name ‘Sword and Sheaf’ over the door, was in all actuality a fine hostel, Christian was not prepared to agree. It looked like a nest of filth and he went to great lengths to convince both Gaithlin and Malcolm that they would regret any visit to such a place.
Fortunately for Christian, Gaithlin’s attention was diverted by a merchant’s shop bearing great bolts of woolen materials and she immediately leapt into the midst of the goods. While Christian, Lutey and Malcolm stood by, she rapidly succeed in acquiring several portions of fabric highly suited for an active little boy. The price for the goods, however, was more than she was willing to pay and she nearly left the stall without her material and notions had Christian not assured her that he was undisturbed by spending such amounts of money. It was, after all, for a fine job done.
Reluctantly agreeing, Gaithlin paid for the goods with Christian’s money, acutely aware that she had spent more money this day than she had spent in her entire lifetime. The more she pondered her frivolous spending of Christian’s funds, the more depressed she became. In fact, ’twas not her money she was so free in dispensing; it was Christian’s hard-earned capital and she felt exceedingly guilty for her lack of control.
Christian, however, was coming to know her well enough to suspect she was disturbed with the passage of money from hand to hand, knowing she had survived thus far with very little in the way of monetary goods or procurement. Suspecting, incorrect though it was, that mayhap she was wishing some of the money to be spent on her, he sent Malcolm and Gaithlin and Lutey on their way towards the cobbler while he lingered at the dry-goods merchant, purchasing a measurement of expensive rose brocade that was not particularly good in quality but lovely in color, and another measurement of woolen tartan fabric bearing the Douglas colors of brown, dark blue, and green.
Bearing his burdens, he deposited them in the wagon without being noticed by his three distracted companions. Feeling rather pleased with his clever and sly intentions to present his captive with unexpected material treasures, he moved towards Gaithlin and the others only to discover that she was looking at a myriad of feminine products imported from France and points beyond. Displayed along a wide shelf in the very front of a particularly well-kept shop, she was enthralled with the delicate wares.
Certainly the material he had purchased could not compare to expensive perfumes and oils and pretty jewelry. Leaving an impatient Malcolm and an eager-to-be-of-service Lutey standing guard over their goods in the newly purchased wagon, he practically dragged Gaithlin inside the small, cluttered shop.
The rectangular enclosure smelled of flowers; heady, rich, and consuming as Christian all but shoved Gaithlin before him, gently demanding that she look about. Twice, she attempted to escape the stall, but he would simply laugh low in his throat and divert her attention with a pretty piece of finery.
Embarrassed and reluctant to spend any more of his money, especially on herself, she struggled against her interest and delight as Christian pointed out several lovely items she would be more than willing to accept. But ever so reluctant to express an interest in, knowing his money would be serving to flatter her silly whims. Whims she had never had the opportunity to indulge until now.
“Truly, Christian, I do not think…,” she protested weakly when he thrust a lovely pewter comb under her nose.
“I do not want you to think,” he interrupted firmly but gently, holding up the comb’s companion, a matching polished mirror. “I want you to select whatever your lovely little heart desires. Buy everything in the shop if you wish.”
Her cheeks flushed with frustration and longing, she gingerly accepted the mirror from him, hesitantly gazing down onto the shiny surface. An exceptionally beautiful woman gazed back, her cat-shaped eyes of deep blue wide and expressive. Having only seen her reflection occasionally in pools of still water or other reflective, distortive substances, she was enthralled by the relatively clear picture of her face.
Christian saw her brow furrow in awe, watching with reined delight as
she ran her long fingers over the surface as if to confirm the stunning image. Completely riveted to the magnificent reflection of her features, she was startled when a massive hand suddenly invaded the tranquility of the silver scene.
Christian stroked her cheek, grinning when she raised her wonder-filled eyes. “You have never witnessed your own beauty, have you?” he asked softly.
She shook her head, returning her astonished focus to the mirror. “Not like this,” she murmured. “I’ve seen my reflection in water, and when I was young my mother had a hand mirror made of Venetian glass. But I broke it.”
Still smiling, Christian gestured to the hovering shopkeeper and his plump wife. “We’ll purchase this set,” he indicated both the mirror and the comb. As Gaithlin’s startled expression met with his twinkling eyes, he merely cast her a knowing wink. “You must see your beauty every day, as I do. Moreover, I may wish to look at myself now and again.”
She wanted to protest; Merciful Heavens, she could not justify this extravagant expense in any fashion other than to express her sincere delight in coming to see her features for the very first time. The color of her eyes, the pert rise of her nose, the gentle curve of her cheeks… characteristics she had never truly come to know.
Aye, she wanted to protest the luxury of a mirror and comb. But gazing into Christian’s smiling face, she could not seem to form the words. Selfish! she scolded herself harshly, a mental scolding and nothing more. She wasn’t about to refuse his gift. Certainly she was selfish and petty, allowing him to spend his money on her vanity.
But a measure of her self-control gained strength, a bitingly sensible portion of her personality and she looked away from the mirror, setting it down on the table beside her. The sensible portion of her personality that realized the excessive cost of the small mirror and comb would be able to feed them for two months.
Certainly, if she starved to death there would be nothing to look at in the glistening pewter depths of the exquisite mirror.
“We cannot purchase these things,” she said softly, turning away. “We must find the cobbler, Christian. Lutey says that….”
Smile faded, Christian grasped her wrist with one hand and collected the mirror and comb with the other. “We can purchase these things and we will.” Gripping her tightly, he handed the pewter set to the balding merchant before returning his attention his mildly-struggling captive. “What else would you like? I demand you select something.”
She attempted to yank her wrist free of his iron-grip, but the effort was futile. Sighing heavily, she averted her eyes from his intense gaze. “The mirror and comb are enough,” she said softly, though she was unable to avoid the vision of perfume vials from the corner of her eye. “Please do not….”
“Do not what?” he demanded, more gently. Pulling her against him, he captured her tenderly in his iron embrace. “Do not spend my money on you? Do not purchase finery for the woman I am to marry? I want to do this and you cannot stop me.”
Gazing into his ice-blue eyes, she felt her cheeks flush with the familiar heat and realized she wasn’t entirely intent on escaping the shop any longer. Her slender hands were warm against his cold armor as she relaxed in his enclosure. “But why?” she whispered. “For what it cost for the mirror and comb, we could purchase nearly two barrels of wheat. You are spending your money foolishly and I refuse to allow you to…”
He tapped her gently but sternly under the chin, his icy orbs soft. “It is my money and I’ll spend it how I please.” Studying her delicious features, a mailed gauntlet gently stroked her cheek. “You do not have to worry about wealth or starvation or commodities any longer. I promise you will never again want for anything, Gae. I swear it.”
Staring into the depths of his marvelously pale eyes, she believed every word spoken. The Demon had vowed to protect and support her, and she had no qualms in the acceptance of his words. Still, the concept of wealth was difficult to digest and she found herself looking away from him, her reluctant gaze raking over the frivolously taunting displays of ware.
“Select several things,” he encouraged her again, noting that he had succeeded in casting a measure of doubt against her stubborn refusal. “I’ve a bit of business to attend to and upon my return I wish to see your arms full of silly, feminine, impractical items. Do you comprehend me?”
She tore her gaze away from a pewter broach inlaid with a large semi-precious piece of quartz. “Business? Where are you going?”
He kissed her on the forehead, intent on distracting her from his true objective. “Nowhere that would interest you.” Releasing her, he moved his mass between the tables and toward the door. “Select whatever you wish, Gae. As much as you wish.”
She watched him maneuver sideways to exit the door; he was far too large to move through it conventionally. Successfully diverted from his “business”, she pondered his instructions with restrained excitement. As if she was still having difficultly believing his command. “Anything?”
“Anything,” he repeated firmly. “In fact, I shall send Malcolm in to assist you.”
Her slightly-stunned expression returned to the tables of goods. “Can I select something for Malcolm?”
Christian cocked an eyebrow, motioning to the lad impatiently lingering outside by the ox. “Like what? Perfumes or cosmetics?” As Malcolm dashed into the shop, bumping into Christian’s bulk in the process, he jabbed a finger at Gaithlin. “I forbid you to shower the lad with feminine goods. If he is to return home with us, then it will be as a proper young man and not a glorified dandy.”
Looking up from a vial of pink-colored perfume, she smiled radiantly. “He will return as a proper young lad, I promise. As befitting your adoptive son.”
A smile tugging at his lips, Christian quit the shop. Entirely pleased that his dirt-poor captive appeared willing to succumb to the frivolous, useless items women seemed to cherish, he was better able to focus on a portion of important business he was eager to conduct. With Gaithlin properly diverted, he sought out the fat, dwarf-like man who had appointed himself the English knight’s shadow.
“Lutey,” he said, marching up on the man. “I am in need of advisement and services. Can you help me?”
The far merchant, his jowls quivering anxiously, bobbed his head in agreement. “If I can, m’laird. What d’ye wish?”
“I need a messenger to carry a missive to Castle Douglas,” Christian’s voice was low. “I need a well-spoken man who can relay my instructions to Laird Roger Douglas. Do you know of such a man?”
Lutey nodded eagerly. “M’son is capable. Ye met him earlier, at th’ stalls.”
“I met two young men. To which do you refer?”
“Peter, m’eldest lad. He’s a smart one.”
Glancing casually over his shoulder, Christian peered into the open shelter window to make sure that Gaithlin and Malcolm were still grossly involved in their quest. Returning his attention to the rotund merchant, he nodded shortly. “Send the lad to me. I shall pay him well for his troubles.” When the merchant turned away obediently, Christian suddenly halted his departure. “And there is one more matter. Is there a church nearby?”
Lutey thought a moment. “There’s an abbey in New Galloway, though it’s inhabited by reclusive nuns. Do ye need tae beg forgiveness, m’laird?”
Christian’s expression was impassive, though he did not appreciate the probing question. “No priest?”
The rounded merchant shook his head. “Nay. Th’ priests are at Sweetheart Abbey, near Glencaple on the Firth o’ Solway.”
Christian thought a moment, clearly recollecting his Scot geography. “To the south of Castle Douglas?”
“Aye, m’laird,” Lutey nodded.
Satisfied with the information, Christian waved the man on his way. Lutey quickly shuffled off, nearly slipping on a soft section of urine-soaked mud as he made haste to complete the Englishman’s bidding.
Christian leaned against his newly-purchased rig, watching the man lumber away and
feeling deeply satisfied with the information and arrangements attainted. Tomorrow, Gaithlin would become his wife at the appropriately named Sweetheart Abbey, and his message would reach Castle Douglas without delay. Once the missive fell into the hands of Roger Douglas, it was a virtual guarantee that Jean St. John would be reading his son’s revelations by the following day.
The missive containing the true extent of St. John-de Gare blood relations. But Christian would wait to relay the entire truth of the deeply intertwined relationship until the moment he met with his father personally. Some factors, imperative as they might be, were better left told in person.
As the day approached noon, he waited for the merchant’s eldest son to heed the call of duty, and found himself pondering his father’s reaction to his missive. Clearly, the factor of mutual Douglas relations and the subsequent marriage of the Demon to Winding Cross’ heiress would cast a distinctly fresh light on the Feud that had been plaguing the two families for decades.
As Christian had determined over the course of the past few days, the de Gares were far stronger in character than the shallow St. Johns. But, truly, he wondered just how deep the vein of shallow traits ran. Having never confronted his father on a matter of such predominant importance, he had no way of knowing the verity of St. John pettiness. But he was loathe in realizing that he would not be at all surprised should his father choose to disregard the blood ties altogether in lieu of his own agenda – victory at any price.
Hearing Gaithlin’s faint laughter, he turned to peer over his shoulder at the merchant’s shop; Malcolm had placed some sort of filigree diadem on her brow and she was having an amusing time prancing about in parody of a royal relation. Still leaning casually against the rig, he smiled at her gaiety and returned his attention to the distant avenue, continuing to wait for the produce merchant’s son.
He liked to hear her laugh. God only knew, she had been dealt very little in this life to find amusement with. And given the approaching circumstances, there could be very little in the future to rejoice over, either.
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