With a nod of his head and a bow, Hedyn strode off toward his horse tied outside the tavern, while Beatrice continued toward the stalls lining the main road.
Penterwell was a very snug sort of town, clustered on the rocky shore, the cottages built with their backs against the higher, windswept ground. There wasn’t space for any kind of green; the main road served that function, with the stalls and shops of the merchants and tradesmen lining it. Smaller lanes led away from the main road, to the cottages or outbuildings.
The wives of the fishermen, however, set out their baskets near their husbands’ boats and the drying nettle-hemp nets on the beach.
The merchants were all happy to see Beatrice. She laughed and joked with them, and was genuinely impressed with what they had to show her, making it difficult for her to confine her purchases to what she’d come to buy. That was especially hard when she spotted a lovely piece of silk hanging from the post of one of the stalls. It was an eye-catching, delicate shade of blue—almost the exact color of Constance’s eyes. It would be a perfect present for her.
“I’d be willing to give you a special price, my lady,” the brown-haired tradesman with a pug nose offered when he saw her interest. His eyes were likewise deep brown and very shrewd. “Here, let me get it down for you, and you can feel the quality. All the way from the East, that is.”
She wondered how such a piece of fabric had managed to wind up in a stall in a little village in Cornwall, but decided it was better not to ask. “It is beautiful,” she said with a sigh as she draped it over her hand. “Unfortunately, I brought very little money with me. I didn’t think I would find such things in Penterwell.”
“How much?” Ranulf asked from behind her, making Beatrice start.
She had no idea he was in the village. She thought he was still in the hall, listening to the reports from the soldiers who’d been on patrol that morning.
“Five marks, my lord,” the merchant quickly answered, “and a bargain at twice that.”
“If you say so,” Ranulf replied evenly as he reached into his leather tunic, from which he produced a thin purse. “I’ll purchase it for the lady.”
“Oh, no, you mustn’t,” Beatrice said, flustered by his offer. He wasn’t a wealthy man. “Thank you, Sir Ranulf, but—”
“It’s to show my gratitude for all you’ve done at Penterwell,” he said. His tone was so firm and so final that she realized it would be useless to argue.
“It’ll suit you to perfection, my lady,” the merchant said, beaming as he folded up the cloth and handed it to Beatrice.
“Oh, I wasn’t thinking of it for myself,” Beatrice quickly corrected.
To the merchant’s obvious horror, Ranulf’s fingers curled around the coins in his hand. “Who would it be for, then?” he asked, raising one questioning brow.
“I planned to give it to Constance. It’s very early to be thinking of Twelfth Night, I know, but I’ve often discovered if I don’t get a present when I see it, I never find one to compare later on,” she explained, hoping he wasn’t going to rescind his offer.
On the other hand, it really was expensive. “If you’d rather not—”
“I have another piece,” the merchant swiftly interrupted, ducking down behind the table and reaching into a wooden chest. He drew out another piece of silk, in a slightly darker shade of blue. “I could give you both for seven marks.”
“That’s not the same blue,” Ranulf noted.
“And that would really be too much,” Beatrice said as firmly as Ranulf.
The knight looked at her, his expression impassive. “The second piece is more the color of Constance’s eyes. The first matches yours. I’ll take them both.”
She flushed and found she couldn’t quite meet his steady gaze. “I don’t need any silk.”
“You shall have it nonetheless, with my thanks, and the piece for Constance, too.”
By now, several of the people shopping in the market had noticed them by the stall and ventured closer.
Unless she wanted to argue with Ranulf, Beatrice realized, she would do better to say nothing except thank you, so she did. “Thank you, Sir Ranulf. That’s most generous of you.”
“It is little enough for all you’ve done at Penterwell.”
The merchant handed her the other folded piece of silk and swiftly pocketed the coins Ranulf gave him, as if he thought he had best get the money out of sight before Ranulf changed his mind.
“Are you finished with your purchases for today?” Ranulf solemnly inquired.
“No. I want to get some fish. The cook’s been complaining that fish is his specialty and he never gets to cook it anymore.” When she saw Ranulf’s expression, she said, “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t want to. There’ll be plenty of other things.”
“I’m sure,” he said. He looked over his shoulder to address the two soldiers behind them. “You can return to the castle. I’ll escort Lady Beatrice back when she’s finished.”
