“Which reminds me of my appointed meeting this afternoon. Let’s make haste at the market so we can return quickly.”
Kyra nodded. “I’ll sell the biscuits to a vendor, and we’ll head home.” As she negotiated with merchants at the market, I wandered past carts of brightly colored ribbons, mutton pies, fresh fruits and vegetables. A small black pig squealed as children chased it through the maze of carts. It squeezed past a stout woman’s skirts and darted toward the churchyard.
I turned back to the vegetable cart, my fingers pinching a potato. Was it worth the price to thicken our Esbat stew? I could sense that the vendor was a blood witch. Glancing up, I saw that he was eyeing me suspiciously.
“An odd thing, the potato,” came a familiar voice. “When digging in the dirt, one has to wonder, is it something to eat or a stone to be cast away?”
My heart sang as I swung around to sparkling blue eyes. It was my boy!
“Aye, sir, I would not eat a stone, but these would do well in a stew,” I said, holding two potatoes out to him.
“Hmmm. Or for a jester’s tricks.” He took the two potatoes and began to toss them, juggling them aptly.
“What’s that, now!” the vendor growled. “I’ll not have you ruining my wares, boy!” The man, sporting a dense brown beard and red nose, came around his cart, stamping a foot at my love.
“Easy, kind sir.” My boy stopped his juggling and held out the potatoes. “I’ve not damaged them in the least.”
The vendor looked angrily from him to me, his eyes narrowing as he took in my petite stature and dark coloring. “And you were touching them.” He leaned close to growl softly at me, “You’re a Wodebayne, are you not?”
“I am,” I answered truthfully, astonished as I was that he would dare speak openly of clans and covens in public. I turned to my boy, wondering if he had heard. Did he know that I was a Wodebayne, one of the so-called evil ones? If he had heard, he did not seem daunted by the fact. He studied the vendor with a mixture of distaste and curiosity.
“Then you, ” groused the vendor, nearly breathing down my neck, “are not permitted to touch my merchandise. How do I know you haven’t cast a dark spell upon my wares so that the person who eats them will come down with a racking cough? Or a hideous boil. Or mayhap a burning fever!”
My senses stirred with alarm at his attack. The only consolation was that this man, whatever his clan, would not want to raise the hackles of the people in this Christian village. “Sir, I do not cast harmful spells,” I said softly.
“That’s what all your kind say,” the vendor growled again, suddenly aware that the villagers were taking notice.
All around us it seemed as though people had stopped their business and conversation to watch. I could feel the crowd closing in, watching, waiting. The witches among them were probably hoping the Wodebayne girl would get her comeuppance, as usual. I felt a tightness in my throat, not so much at the disapproval of the crowd as that my boy should be dragged through such turmoil. And surely the hatred of Wodebaynes would frighten him away.
“Just a moment!” the boy interrupted, holding the potatoes high in his hands. He lifted them, weighing and measuring with some degree of drama. “They do not speak, and I see no cryptic message carved among their bruises. There is truly no charm here,” he told the vendor. “But the potatoes must certainly be far more delicious for having been touched by a lovely maiden’s hands.”
A few people laughed, and he nodded at them, his cheek-bones high and taut above his broad grin. The crowd began to turn away. Somehow my boy had diffused the swell of hatred against me.
The vendor folded his arms across his chest, still not satisfied.
“I must insist, sir, that you let me purchase these potatoes—these two, no others shall do—for I find that I cannot leave this market without them.”
The vendor took a coin from the boy and crept back behind his cart.
“Thank you, sir. A pleasure doing business with you,” the boy called. He turned away and handed me the potatoes. “My gift to you. Though it can hardly make up for the way that ogre tried to defame you.”
“His hatred does not surprise me,” I said. “I’ve come to expect it, though I don’t know that I’ll ever become accustomed to it.” I dropped the two potatoes into my skirt pockets, where they bounced against my hips.
He watched with awe and reverence. “Would that I could venture where they go,” he said huskily.
I laughed at the temerity of his words, here in the wide-open marketplace. “Aren’t you the daring one?” I said. “When you’re not swinging from trees in the forest, you rescue Wodebayne maidens from mad crowds, then dream of their skirts.”
He shrugged and eyed me merrily. “And you despise me for that?”
I looked up at his handsome face and felt the rhythm of my life force increasing. “No, no, on the contrary.”
“Rose!” Kyra called, summoning me. “We must go!”
“Rose?” he repeated. “Like the rose on the bush, gentle and sweet, yet ready to prick a finger when approached the wrong way?”
“’Tis I.”
He lowered his head, his hair falling over his eyes in a shroud of secrecy. “We will talk later, Rose.”
I nodded, trying to remember every detail of his sultry looks, his feathery light brown hair, his sky blue eyes, his broad shoulders and long legs, coltish yet strong.
With a deep breath I turned away and joined Kyra, who had apparently witnessed the scene with the irate vendor.
“I was so frightened for you!” she said. “What do you think the man wanted? Would he have you locked in jail because you touched his wares? Everyone examines merchandise before trading.”
I shook my head, feeling a sense of warm, tender love. It wrapped around me like a cloak of security, just knowing that my boy cared for me, was willing to fight for me. “The man was full of Wodebayne hatred. I don’t know what clan he was from, but did you see what happened? The way my boy rescued me? He is the boy I’ve spoken of. He is a hero. My hero.”
“I’m not sure of that,” Kyra said regretfully. “Falkner knows him, Rose. His name is Diarmuid, and he’s a Leapvaughn. Not one of us.”
“Diarmuid,” I said, treasuring the sound of his name. I repeated it over and over in my mind.
“He cannot be your true love, Rose. Falkner and I both fear for your heart. He’ll hate you as much as his clan hates Wodebaynes.”
“Aye, but he doesn’t. That’s the blessing of the Goddess. It doesn’t matter if he’s Leapvaughn or Braytindale or Wyndonkylle. He has a good heart. Diarmuid doesn’t hate without reason. Didn’t you see? He defended me from that peddler. I ought to toss that old ogre’s potatoes into the brook!”
“He was a terrible man!” Kyra pressed her hand to her throat, touching her charmed moonstone. “I’ll agree Diarmuid did save you. I’ll grant you that, and he is a handsome lad. Falkner says he’s not of Kirkloch. Where does he live, Rose?”
“That I don’t know, but I shall find out. I must cherish this gift from the Goddess.”
Kyra shook her head. “But he cannot be a gift from the Goddess, Rose. Not a Leapvaughn boy.”
“Would you stop saying that? I’ll not allow you to be so small-minded!”
“But to get involved with someone from another clan...”
“I know.” The reality of it stabbed at me. Diarmuid and I would have to face more than our share of foes. But as I walked along, my mother’s words came back to me. She always said that the other clans would one day see the good in the Wodebaynes.
Perhaps I had been chosen to help the world see our goodness.
It lifted my spirits to know that Diarmuid already saw the goodness within me. I couldn’t wait to see him again.
Kyra walked alongside me, observing. “You look more in love now than before you knew he was not one of us. But then, you’ve always been stubborn, Rose MacEwan.”
“Aye,” I said, thinking of Diarmuid’s eyes, his suggestive words, his strong jaw. “I think the Goddess has a plan,” I told Kyra. “And I won’t let anyone meddle with Her gift to me. I will not be daunted.”