He and the soldier followed several feet behind Sheridan and Alys. Their very first shop was a perfume den, a place that stank like a sheik’s harem. Exotic oils from all over the known world filled the shelves of the dingy little shop and it wasn’t long before Alys smelled in horrible combination. Sheridan was wise enough not to rub the oil on herself, but Alys got caught up in the goods and found herself a victim of her sister’s enthusiasm.
Neely stood by the door, watching Sheridan forcibly rub scented oil on Alys’ arm and grinning when Alys would snort and howl. As he watched, he thought to himself that it was good to see Sheridan smile again. She’d smiled so little since her father’s death. Today was the first time in months he’d actually seen shades of the old Sheridan return.
It seemed like ages passed as he stood and watched them. Finally, Sheridan settled on Gardenia and Lilac and paid extrato have the oils placed in lovely glass phials. Alys couldn’t remember which fragrance she liked best so she settled for something that smelled like Apple Blossoms. The perfume miser wrapped the goods in dried grass and an envelope of fabric, handing them off to the happy women. As Sheridan left the shop, she handed the packages to Neely and continued on down the avenue.
Nearing the second shop, this one of fabric goods, Alys spotted a vendor across the street selling apples cooked in honey and spices. She tore off across the street.
“Go with her,” Sheridan told Neely. “Don’t let her buy more than one. And for heaven sakes, don’t let her wander further away. There are smells all over this street that will lure her.”
Neely didn’t like leaving Sheridan, but did as he was asked. The seasoned soldier remained behind with Sheridan, posted just outside the stall door of the fabric merchant.
This stall was bigger than the perfume miser’s. It was lined with bolts of fabric from every part of the world. Sheridan started at one end and inspected every piece, every thread, in every bolt, until she reached the other side. The merchant had spied her early on and had taken to following her through the accounting of his wares, answering any questions she may have. Her questions were intelligent, usually about the country of origin and the materials used.
A fabric called Albatross was a particular favorite; it was very fine, all-wool, and favored by women in the cloister for their wimples. Another favorite fabric was called Brocaded Brilliantine– a silk and wool mix styled in a brocade pattern. Lastly, the merchant showed her something new from Paris called French Crepon, a delicate yet durable weave.
In a relatively short span of time, she had selected three fabrics– a Brocaded Brilliantine of deep green with a golden undertone, an Albatross of pale yellow, and a French Creponof ruby. The merchant also had all manner of notions to accompany the fabrics such as thread and faux decorations. One such decoration was a bird made from sawdust and real feathers. It looked positively alive. Delighted, Sheridan purchased it with the intent of having it paired with the ruby satin.
She also purchased a variety of delicate Irish lace, woven with golden thread as fine as a spider’s web. Sheridan appreciated good craftsmanship, as she herself had never had a particular talent for needlework. Handing the fabric off to the soldier waiting outside the door, she proceeded down the avenue.
The street was quite crowded by now, mostly with nobles seeking finery whilst visiting London. For many of those from the far reaches of England, a visit to the Street of the Merchants was required lest their reputation suffer. Street vendors dotted the street, selling soft wheat cakes, honey candy, fruit, and meat on a stick. Sheridan looked around for Alys and finally found her at the cart of another street vendor who was selling fruited cakes. Even across the distance, Neely caught her eye and she simply shook her head in a combination of disgust and resignation. She didn’t blame Neely for not keeping a rein on her sister’s appetite; she’d never been able to do it very well, either. Alys would eat herself to death some day and they’d all be to blame.
Sheridan became aware of a rumble of noise, gradually increasing in intensity. There seemed to be some commotion on the opposite end of the street, but she couldn’t clearly see what was happening. It looked to her as if there were a great many soldiers about. But passing notice was all she gave it as her attention fell on the next stall. In addition to more fabric, there were also a variety of items that had been brought from the Continent– carved wooden figurines from the land of the Norse, beaded jewelry from Greece, and little blocks of incensethat looked like dirt but that, when lit, created smoke of the most wonderful scent.
She couldn’t keep her hands off the finery. Her fingers soon smelled of myrrh and sandalwood as she handled the little blocks of incense and put them to her nose. Then they made her sneeze and she had to put them back. The bolts of material were of less variety than the previous stall, but she rifled through them nonetheless. She did manage to come across a very fine blue wool from Scotland, which she promptly put on her purchase list. Alys would look wonderful in the color. Noticing that there was a shelf of material next to the front door that she had missed, she went to inspect a bolt of thin, gauzy linen when a shadow moved through the doorway. She saw no more than that before someone abruptly pulled her away from the door and back against the wall.
It was dark, as whoever had her against the wall was quite a bit larger than she and covered her with his entire body. Startled, not to mention terrified, she opened her mouth to protest when a mailed glove covered her lips.
“My apologies, my lady,” a quiet, very deep voice rumbled. “I did not mean to startle you, but you must stay here, just for a moment.”
She recognized de Lara’s voice immediately. Looking up, she was able to discern his features in the weak light of the shop. He dropped his hand from her mouth and she was able to speak.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Why have you restrained me?”
His clear blue eyes were steady and appraising as he gazed upon her. He was in his armor, an enormous man made even larger by the protection he wore. All she could see was the face beneath the raised visor, the features everyone had told her to be terrified of. Even now, she could not summon the will.
“I saw your sister outside and assumed you were somewhere close by,” he said. His tone turned serious. “Please do as I ask; stay here and do not leave until the king clears this avenue.”
She was torn between the thrill of seeing him and the frightening ambiguity of his words. “I do not understand.”
His hands gripped her upper arms; she could feel his strength through his mail, her fabric. It was the most powerful, wonderful feeling she had ever known. “I mean that you should not,” he said quietly. “But I would ask that you trust me in this matter.”
She wasn’t sure how to take him. She could hear the commotion outside as the king approached. “You do not think… you do not believe that I would try to harm the king somehow? Is that what you think?”
His eyes flickered with humor. “Nay.”
“Then why do you wrest me against the wall like a common criminal?”
“What I do is for your protection, not the king’s.”
An idea occurred to her and she was coming to understand what he meant. The light of comprehension dawned. “You do not want him to see me, is that it?”
He didn’t answer. He continued to gaze down at her, thinking he’d never in his life seen a lovelier creature. Three days of not seeing her, of not witnessing her beauty or coming to know her wit, had left him starving like a man without food. But he had been the shadow of the king and the king had been busy, affording him no opportunity to break away.
“I would express my deep regret at not having been given the opportunity to see you for the past few days,” he changed the subject as delicately as he could. “I hope you have been well.”
Part of her wanted to hear his words very much. The other part of her did not want to be sucked into the mysterious games he liked to play.
“I have,” she replied, rather casually. “A pity that you have been so busy.”
