Though this event was meant to fill her with joy, she still felt nothing.
Would she ever feel anything again?
Margaret’s words surged to the front of her mind. That Sawny would not have left Adaira at the altar, yet he was no’ dead.
That paradox was a concern.
She had been feeling nothing far too much. It was as if Sawny robbed all feeling from her when he absconded.
Yet, if that was who she was now, so be it.
There were worse things, she supposed. However, they were few and far between when compared to being dead inside.
Her gaze flicked from the fair to Arran, who stood a polite distance from her, and kept his own eyes on the activity in front of them. Nearly as tall as Reade, with a burly chest and wavy brown hair, he had kind eyes, and having him as a chaperone was not the worst thing.
And his presence would keep overly aggressive suitors away. Just as she heard the rumors about her and Sawny, she’d also eavesdropped on conversations about the parade of men who were willing to take Adaira, despite her supposed ruined reputation.
Ugh.
She appreciated Arran as her chaperone, as she was not exactly in the best frame of mind, and if something did happen . . .
What is going to happen?
Nothing.
Because there was nothing left to Adaira.
Still, her family had worked hard to make her smile, get her to eat, and now bring her to the fair so she might find some measure of enjoyment. Thus, Adaira did what she had been doing for the past few weeks.
Putting a fake half-smile on her face and going through the motions of life.
It was not overly difficult.
And spending the evening at the fair might help her forget some of her misery, at least for a few hours.
She tilted her head toward the lantern light.
“Shall we go?” she asked Arran.
His lips tightened into a narrow smile and nodded. “Wherever milady cares to go,” he answered with a sweep of his hand.
Grateful for his kindness, Adaira lifted her plaid skirts and made her way toward the fairway with Arran at her back. Maddock, Fiona, and Conall waved as they departed slightly northward toward the bonfire.
Once she entered the main fair area, she did forget herself, for a bit. Fiona’s plan had been more effective than she could have planned, despite Adaira’s protestations.
In fact, Adaira felt like a wee child as she followed the flagstones toward the first set of vendors.
Silver glinted in the torchlight, followed by shiny fruits and well-crafted leather works. Banners and canopies flapped in the night air, and every piece of silver, pewter, and gold sparkled like treasure. All the merchants seemed to have their appearance and brought out their best wares. Truly, it was a vision for the senses.
They passed an alley off to the right and away from the loud crush of the crowd. Adaira’s gaze slid toward the darkness unbidden. She did not expect to see anything other than dirt and debris, and her eyes widened when she noted a splash of flapping purple amid the hazy shadows.
When she turned the corner to investigate, Arran’s voice reached her ears.
“Milady, ‘tis but an alley.”
Keeping her attention fixed on the purple, she pointed toward it.
“Nay. I see a tent. I’d like to see what they have to sell.”
