Wildly Romantic: A Multi-Genre Collection Page 3

  Most passersby were on foot. Artisans wore brightly colored tunics. Members of the clergy walked at a stately pace with brown or black robes. Housewives wearing mantles to stay warm chose from the wares offered. Wealthier merchants were recognizable from the fur trim on their cloaks. This first sight of Berwick revealed a bustling, successful city. It was difficult to believe that thousands had been killed here only two years past.

  “I’d like to gain a feel for the place,” Garrick told his cousins. “Shall we ride through before we find an inn?”

  “Excellent notion,” Braden said as Chanse nodded.

  A flock of geese crossed the street just ahead of them, honking in protest as they scattered to avoid the horses’ hooves. The appetizing aroma of roasting meat hung in the air as they passed a cookshop, making Garrick’s stomach protest even more. A stray dog lingered near the doorway, sniffing the air.

  Chanse gazed longingly at the tempting display.

  “We’ll seek out a meal soon,” Garrick promised with a smile, knowing exactly how his cousin felt.

  They continued down the street, catching the wary eye of some residents. Garrick didn’t blame them for being suspicious of strangers. While this was a market city, with all that had come to pass here, outsiders would be watched.

  At last they neared the heart of the city where the market square came into view. Large halls provided places to trade wool, cloth, and spices. A few smaller stalls sat in the open square, selling both merchandise and food.

  “’Tis a busy place,” Braden noted. “And loud.”

  The chatter of people was interspersed with the cries of vendors, most notably the fishmonger, whose loud, booming voice carried across the area.

  A large church sat just north of the square, its spire a landmark to note the market’s location. More clergy were visible, going to and from the church to the other buildings nearby.

  Garrick turned and led the way down the other thoroughfare. More houses lined the street, built with tall posts and beams. Butchers and tanners occupied the district at the far side near the city wall with the linen makers nearby as well. The stench of garbage and animal dung filled his nostrils.

  “Let us return to the market and find an inn near there.” Garrick turned his horse, ready to stretch his legs and find food and drink. He caught the eye of a man walking past and inquired as to the location of an inn.

  Within a short time, they halted before a large building on a side street near the market, its wooden sign declaring it The Old Mill Inn.

  “I’ll take our horses to the stable,” Braden offered. The stable was directly behind the inn, giving them quick access to their horses should they have need.

  “Chanse and I will see about rooms,” Garrick said. He gathered his gear, giving his horse a pat before Braden took its reins.

  “I believe he would prefer to sleep in the stables with the horses,” Chanse said with a shake of his head as he watched his brother lead away their steeds.

  Garrick laughed as one of the horses bumped its nose against the big knight’s shoulder. “He certainly has a gift with them.”

  The inn had ample rooms, and they quickly secured three small ones for a sennight. In truth, Garrick had no idea how long they’d be staying. The place appeared clean and the rates reasonable. They stowed their gear in their chambers and headed back outside.

  “Shall we find Braden and seek a place to eat?” Chanse asked.

  Soon the three knights were seated in a tavern, enjoying oatcakes with tasty stovies made of potatoes, onions, carrots, and roasted meat. The place held only a few people at this time of day, but Garrick hoped it would be busier once evening fell.

  “I am in need of the bathhouse,” Garrick announced after he’d eaten his fill. “Does anyone care to join me?” He knew he smelled like dust, horse, and sweat. He didn’t care to attempt to make contacts for either of his missions while he reeked.

  Chanse and Braden readily agreed. The public bathhouse was nearby and they lingered there for a time as they washed, enjoying the way the heated water eased the stiffness caused from spending several days in the saddle.

  They donned clean clothing and made their way back to the market square, feeling much refreshed. More people roamed the square, selecting wares from the stalls. Fruits and vegetables were scarce this time of year and what little was available was sold at a premium. Spices and cloth were offered in smaller quantities for those who could afford it. Ribbons and lace were a popular item based on the number of people near that stall.

  “Would you prefer a red or yellow ribbon?” Chanse asked as they strolled toward the vendors.

  Braden and Garrick chuckled, catching the eye of several people in the square, especially the young women who shopped. A woman stopped in mid-conversation and turned to glare at them.

  Garrick halted at the sight of her. She looked much like the lady from his vision but the scowl on her face made him uncertain if it was truly her. Her hair was plaited rather than loose, but the dark thick strands were the right color. Large eyes were framed by long lashes. But the similarity ended there. No smile of welcome graced this woman’s lips, only a frown that told him of her displeasure.

  Chanse and Braden continued ahead of him, and he stepped forward to catch up, uncertain whether he should speak with her. Perhaps she wasn’t the woman from his vision after all.

  As though noting his regard, her eyes narrowed as she watched him approach. Her obvious irritation puzzled him as it was so different from his vision.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Chanse whispered as he realized who had caught Garrick’s attention.

  “I thought she looked familiar but I must be wrong,” Garrick answered, still confused.

  “Speak with her,” Chanse urged.

  When Garrick frowned in response, Chanse shrugged. “No one said this trip has to be all business. I, for one, believe in seeking pleasure when we can.”

  “I’m not certain speaking with an angry lass will bring pleasure.”

  “You won’t know until you try.”

  Another glance at the woman showed she’d returned her attention to the man with whom she spoke. Garrick tamped down the odd feelings spiraling through him, reminding himself that he’d seen her in a vision for a reason. It would be remiss of him not to follow up on it while he had the chance.

  The basket over her arm suggested she was shopping. Did that mean she lived in Berwick? He drew nearer, feigning interest in the wares offered by the cart next to her. He realized his mistake too late. The ribbons, lace, and other adornments were hardly suitable for a man.

  He looked toward her to find her watching him and felt his face heat with embarrassment.

  “In need of ribbon, are you?” Sophia asked. She couldn’t help but suspect the knight of eavesdropping on her conversation with the spice merchant. Why else would he draw so near?

  He stared at her for a long moment, making her even more certain he’d been listening. The three knights had caught everyone’s attention as they’d entered the square. All handsome, powerfully built, and very English based on their accents. Their appearance had set several maidservants to whispering and giggling amongst themselves. Though many English people had settled in Berwick since the siege, most long-time residents, including Sophia, treated them with caution.

  When he still didn’t answer, she arched a brow, determined to confront him to see what he was about. Those blue eyes of his studied her intently. Not just any blue, she realized, but the color of the sea on a stormy day, when the waves crashed on the shore, full of power and secrets. His dark hair fell back from his high forehead, the shadow of his whiskers giving him a slightly dangerous look. She shifted, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

  “My apologies, miss.” His deep voice rumbled through her. “You looked familiar to me. Do you have a sister perhaps?”

  Now it was Sophia’s turn to stare. That was certainly not the response she’d expected. “I do indeed, but she doesn’t look anythin
g like me. I don’t believe we have ever met.” She would’ve remembered such an event, of that she had no doubt.

  The knight glanced at the merchant with whom she’d been speaking. “Excuse us for a moment.” He stepped back, his lifted brow requesting Sophia to follow.

  She hesitated only a moment. Something about this big knight with his engaging blue eyes made her curious. His demeanor was a mixture of confidence and hesitation. She didn’t know for the life of her why it appealed so much.

  “What is it?”

  “Are you a resident of this city?” he asked.

  She frowned, uncertain why he’d asked. “Aye.”

  “Perhaps you might assist me.”

  “I don’t believe so.” She turned to glance at his two companions who waited nearby. She had no idea why the three men might be in Berwick, but associating with them would only cause her trouble. People were already suspicious enough of her family.

  Still she wavered a moment, longing for simpler times when she might speak with a handsome man for a moment or two without fear of the consequences. But nay—these days, the risk outweighed the pleasure. “Visiting with a man such as you would reflect poorly on me.”

  “A man such as me?”

  “The English are not welcome here, especially English knights. I suggest you journey elsewhere. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to finish.”

  She moved back to continue her conversation with the spice merchant, pushing aside her regret, hoping the knights would take themselves far away.

  ~*~

  Garrick sat in the tavern the following evening, a cup of ale at his elbow, which he had yet to drink. Finding a source to buy their wool had proven far more difficult than he’d expected. He, Chanse, and Braden had spoken with several merchants but either they had no need for more wool or they offered a price so low as to be an insult.

  It seemed what the woman in the market had told him was true—English knights were not welcome here. He hadn’t believed her at first. Though languages and accents from different parts of the world could be heard everywhere in the city, many English people lived here.

  But no decent wool prices had been offered.

  “This is frustrating as hell,” Braden said as he leaned his elbows on the table.

  “I had no idea arranging a transaction of this sort would be so difficult,” Chanse said then took a long draught of his ale.

  “We obviously need a connection or an introduction of some sort,” Garrick said. “But how do we obtain one?”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever been in a place where strangers were so unwelcome. Especially English ones.” Braden glanced around the nearly full tavern. “Surely someone here would be willing to aid us.”

  A man seated at the neighboring table shifted on his bench to glance at Garrick. “English, are ye?”

  The man’s strong Scottish accent was one to which Garrick had yet to become accustomed. The brogue was a pleasure on the ear, but difficult to understand at times, and everyone seemed to speak it differently.

  “Aye,” Garrick answered.

  “And dinna I hear ye speaking with Alistair about wool in the market earlier?” At Garrick’s nod, the man slid his chair closer. “That man has no’ likin’ for the English. They killed his family in the siege. Ye won’t be doin’ business with him if ye’re English.”

  Braden caught the attention of the serving maid and bid her to bring a cup of ale to the man. At his nod of thanks, Braden said, “You’ve been more helpful than any we’ve met thus far.”

  “If ye want a good price, ye need Lady Sophia.”

  “Who is she?”

  “The former governor’s sister. She knows everyone in the city. She makes introductions between parties and helps negotiate when needed. Has a hell of a gift for it.”

  Garrick frowned in surprise. “Lady Sophia Douglas?” How interesting that he now had a reason to speak with one of the people who could very well be at the center of the unrest.

  “Indeed. With her at yer side, ye’ll do well.”

  “Is she willing to help Englishmen?” Chanse asked. “I would think she has as much reason as others to despise us.”

  “Her priority is the people of Berwick. Always has been, from what I understand,” the man said as he took a sip from the cup of ale the serving maid set before him.

  Garrick made the introductions. Dugald, as the man called himself, told them he was also relatively new to Berwick.

  “I have to ask why you have been so helpful.” Garrick wavered between assuming the man was being honest and wondering if he was setting them up for failure.

  “Some of the Scots in this town are as suspicious of other Scots as they are of the English. As far as I’m concerned, ’tis not about where ye came from but about what ye intend.”

  Braden raised his cup. “To good intentions.”

  The others raised theirs as well and drank, sealing the toast.

  Garrick couldn’t agree more. He had nothing but good intentions. Not everyone might agree by the time he had completed his mission, but he wanted to help as best he could. Putting out any sparks that could ignite a battle and take more lives was his goal.

  “Where would we find Lady Sophia?” he asked.

  “She’s in the market most every day. Ask one of the merchants to point her out for ye.” Dugald leaned close. “Dinna seek her out at her home. She dinna care for that.”

  “Do you speak from experience?” Chanse asked, eyes lit with amusement.

  Dugald shook his head. “I do and ’twas no’ anything I’d care to repeat.”

  “Anything else we should know about her?” Garrick asked.

  Dugald held his gaze for a long moment. “Dinna speak of her brother. The rest ye’ll learn soon enough.” He pushed aside his empty cup. “Good luck to ye. Ye’ll need it.”

  “I don’t care for the sound of that,” Braden said as he watched the man take his leave.

  “Interesting how one of the people on the list of suspects is also the one who can aid us.” Chanse shook his head.

  “I look forward to meeting her.” Garrick wondered if she’d be willing to help them. He had no idea as to what they could offer her in exchange.

  As long as she didn’t know the woman he’d spoken to the day of their arrival, perhaps they had a chance at gaining her assistance.

  That woman, as beautiful as she was, hadn’t seemed to care for Garrick at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sophia drew her cloak tighter against the brisk breeze that chilled the air as she and their maidservant, Coira, walked toward the market the next morn.

  Much to her frustration, she had yet to speak with Edgar. When she’d approached him two days past, he’d brushed aside her request to speak with him, telling her that he did not have time. But she was nothing if not persistent and would try again this day. He was the key to gaining assistance to her brother’s release. She was certain of it.

  “I’ll be pleased when we can plant the garden,” Sophia said, putting aside her worries about Edgar and her brother to focus on what needed to be done in the present. “Buying all our food is costly.”

  “The man at the cookhouse said if he had any meat left, he’d give us a good price on it.”

  “Thank you, Coira. That is very helpful. I suppose it depends on whether Alec returns home with fish. Salmon would be welcome.” She bit her lower lip at the lie. Fish graced their table far too often. But with little money and the autumn harvest so distant, it was their best option.

  “I don’t mind the sea trout either, my lady.”

  Sophia closed her eyes at the thought. Alec had become a very good fisherman in the past months, which helped their family tremendously. She was grateful for it. Truly. But she’d grown weary of fish.

  Prior to the siege, Alec had served as a squire for her betrothed, Sir Richard de Comense. Now her younger brother wanted nothing to do with knights, nor did he have any interest in training to be one. Not after all he�
��d witnessed during the siege. He’d much rather be fishing, as he was this morn.

  Alec had told her what he’d seen when he’d joined her in the tunnel just before they’d escaped. How the knights in the garrison of Berwick Castle had watched while the people of the city had been slaughtered. Many had expressed their desire to fight, but her brother had forbid it, fearing it would only make King Edward angrier and therefore cost more lives. The king had eventually let the garrison flee with their lives as reward for not fighting.

  Richard had been one of the few in the garrison who had died. Had he felt any shame when he’d attempted to escape dressed as a peasant prior to the king’s pardon? Had he wondered where she was? Had he even tried to come to her rescue? Knowing Richard, she was certain of the answers. While his words were often noble, his actions were less so.

  She couldn’t help but wonder what her life would’ve been like as Richard’s wife had events unfolded differently. While she’d liked him well enough, she hadn’t loved him. In truth, his arrogance had irritated her at times, but when her brother had insisted her marriage to Richard would be a good match, she’d agreed. Now she realized they would’ve never suited. She should’ve known that when William had suggested the marriage, but she’d acquiesced to her brother’s wishes. Duty came before such a fanciful notion of love. She’d never expected to care deeply for her husband but had hoped to at least respect him.

  She admonished herself. Thinking ill of the dead was poor behavior.

  Alec had asked her permission to seek an apprenticeship with one of the craftsmen, but she’d held off. William would not be pleased if she allowed their younger brother to do such a thing. He’d always insisted Alec should train for knighthood and helped him do so when he could. If William was ever released—

  Nay, when he was released, he’d be sorely displeased to find Alec working in a shop.