She rolled her eyes. “Ask for the earth why don’t you?”
He smiled, gave her one last penetrating look, then turned and strode away. Izzy watched him go, already counting the time until he came back.
Chapter 12
The last thing Magnus wanted was to return to Hodwell. He ran the risk of running into people that he would really rather not. The blacksmith he’d threatened yesterday. Lord McRae’s henchmen. But most of all, he feared meeting the sandy-haired archer he’d spotted yesterday. If he did, it would ruin everything.
But he had no choice if he was going to get what he needed, so as he re-entered Hodwell, leading the horse he’d stolen from the outlaws, he kept his eyes peeled, peering around warily.
He slunk along the outskirts, seeking to avoid the center of the town where it would be busier. The smell of mud and horse manure filled his nostrils as he passed unnoticed behind the rows of thatched-roof houses.
Soon, he found himself at the edge of the livestock market, one of Hodwell’s busiest sites. It lay sprawling across a huge open field next to the town, a noisy, bustling place with pens of bleating sheep and braying donkeys, cawing chickens and lowing cows.
Pushing through the crowd, he made his way to the horse pens. He quickly scanned the area and spotted who he was looking for: Harold, a well-known horse trader with a reputation for fair-dealing and fine stock.
Harold was standing by a corral in which a herd of sleek looking fillies were grazing from a long trough. He was a stout man whose grizzled beard matched the silver streaks in his hair and he was busy haggling with a group of youngmen—noblemen or merchants’ sons, by the looks of them—who were after their first mounts. A brass emblem, depicting a rearing stallion against a setting sun, hung prominently around Harold’s neck, declaring his affiliation to his guild.
As Magnus approached, Harold’s gaze flicked over him, assessing him as though he were another horse to be traded. “What can I do for ye?”
Magnus jerked his head towards the horse he’d led all the way from the monastery. “I’ve come to sell.”
Harold’s eyes lingered on the horse for a moment before he waved the young men aside. They huffed but retreated, leaving Magnus and Harold alone by the sturdy wooden corral.
“Now here’s a fine steed,” Harold commented, stepping closer and running practiced hands over the mare’s flank. His experienced eyes darted over every inch of the horse, from her strong hooves to her glossy mane. “Where’d ye get her?”
“Never mind that,” Magnus replied sharply, wary of revealing too much. “What will you give me for her?”
Harold patted the animal, running practiced hands over her belly, haunches, and finally inspecting her teeth. He sucked his teeth. “Ten silvers.”
And so the dance began. That was an outrageously low price, but Magnus had expected it. They began haggling, the horse trader seeming to enjoy himself immensely, Magnus quickly losing his patience. He wanted this over with so he could get out of Hodwelland back to Isabelle.
After what felt like hours of haggling, they finally agreed a price. Magnus took the pouch of coins Harold held out, handed over the reins of the mare, and they shook hands. With a final nod to the horse trader, Magnus turned and strode away, feeling the weight of the purse. He only hoped it would be enough. If not, he would have to resort to similar methods he’d used on the blacksmith yesterday, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs. He wasn’t sure he could face that look of horror in Isabelle’s eyes again.
He skirted Hodwell at a dog-trot and was glad when he found himself on the monastery road once more. He glanced at the sun. It had taken longer than he’d hoped to get to Hodwell and back and the afternoon was wearing on, the sun beginning to dip towards the horizon. At the monastery, they would soon be getting ready for Vespers.
He couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed himself more than he had this morning, chasing chickens around the yard with Isabelle and Aiden. It was ridiculous. He was a trained warrior of the Order of the Osprey and yet he’d whooped and hollered like a child and felt lighter than he had in years. Isabelle seemed to have that effect on him.
Snaffles was the first to notice his return. As he closed the monastery gate behind him, he heard an excited barking and a giant streak of sable came hurtling from the direction of the kitchen garden.
Magnus only just managed to keep his feet as the excited hound jumped and gamboled around him, lines of slobber flying from his jowls.
