When she caught sight of linen and velvet fabric, Lucy wanted to weep. The innkeeper’s wife and sister were both seamstresses, so Lucy hoped there would be time for them to sew her a simple dress and new chemise. She couldn’t wait to be clean again.
She watched while Callan made a show of looking over the fine cloth, rubbing the linen between his fingers. Content to let him haggle with the merchant over the prices, both of them obviously enjoying themselves, until at last they came to an agreement, both parties satisfied.
With a nod from Callan, she paid the merchant, who quicklyhid the coin away on his person. She’d purchased enough wool for a simple dress, along with linen for a chemise for her and a new shirt for Callan.
She’d offered to have a tunic and hose made for him, but he’d declined, saying his plaid just needed to be brushed and aired out.
Her own dress wasn’t so easily taken care of. It was stained, ripped, and itchy. While she knew the garment could be cleaned and mended, it held bad memories of the time she’d spent locked away by Angry Agnes.
A raven called out, making Lucy jump, but when she looked around, she didn’t see any sign of the dreadful woman or the mercenaries. Not knowing where Agnes was or what she was doing had added to Lucy’s stress as they’d traveled. There were nights she kept watch for half the night because she couldn’t sleep without having nightmares of Agnes hurting her boys.
Eager to take the fabric inside to the innkeeper’s wife and sister, a tiny grain on the bottom of the cart caught Lucy’s eye.
She pointed, eyes wide. “Is that?”
“Aye, ’tis a wee dead maggot.” Callan made a face.
With a scowl at Callan, the merchant looked to where she was pointing and brightened. He reached behind two barrels and pulled out a leather sack. The man carefully opened it, revealing a linen sack which he opened, gently putting the single grain back with the rest.
The man treated the bag as if it were filled with gold.
“Aye, ’tis rice.” He pursed his lips, black brows high. “Not many know of the grain.”
Unsure when rice actually made it to England, Lucy vaguely remembered something about the 15th century, but couldn’t be sure, so she said, “A traveler from far away passed through lastsummer with a few grains he’d won on a ship. Wherever did you come across it?”
Callan gave her an odd look, almost like he knew she was lying, but instead of saying anything, he leaned against the wagon, listening, ignoring a passing family who were whispering and pointing at him.
During their time together, she’d noticed he was good at reading people, enough so that she tried to be careful of what she said, otherwise, before she knew it, she’d be explaining time travel to him.
When the merchant took a breath, eyes crinkling, Lucy wanted to laugh, recognizing the signs of a natural storyteller readying himself to tell a story.
“The grain came on a ship from Italy.” He scratched his cheek.
Before he jumped into the story wholeheartedly, Lucy interrupted.
“I would like to hear the tale, but might we go inside where it’s warmer? I’ll buy you a cup of ale in exchange for your story. That way, the seamstress can get started on my dress.”
She waved a hand up and down her body. “As you can see, I’m quite in need of a new garment.”
He pretended not to notice. “A cup of ale would indeed quench my thirst, lady.”
She sniffed but didn’t smell the telltale scent, but decided to ask, anyway. “Have you come across coffee beans or tea leaves in your travels?”
“Alas, no.” The merchant frowned. “I have heard of coffee beans. What are they used for?”
“To make a most delicious drink.” She didn’t want to say too much. “If ever you do have the opportunity to purchase eithercoffee or tea, I will make it worth your while if you bring it to Blackford on the coast.”
Pleased, the man nodded.
Lucy ran a finger down the linen bag, a memory surfacing. “I would like to purchase the rice from you.”
“All of it?” Aaron nodded, then leaned close. “’Tis quite costly, lady.”
He quoted a figure that made Callan blink in surprise as he leaned over the cart to look at the bag.
“Are the bloody wee grains made of gold?”
Rolling her eyes, Lucy patted his arm. “Come, let’s hear the story.”
