Lois Greiman

“Surely you know of a decent inn, Cole,” drawled Lord Bentor, better known as Cask by those who drank with him. “Even Teleerians must need libations and a bit of sport from time to time.”

Nicol scanned the crowds. Market day was winding down in Portshaven, but the rough-cobbled streets were still bustling with activity. He skimmed his gaze past a farmer, a miller, a rickety dray pulled by a spavined chestnut. And there, just beyond the leather wright’s stand, he saw her. She was leaning over a cloth merchant’s counter. Her back was narrow, her waist tiny, her hands delicate, and though he couldn’t see her face, there was something about her…
Something almost familiar, but not quite. Was it her laughter? Her movements? The curve of her breasts when she turned just so?

“Cole?” said Cask, drawing his attention from his silver flask, which was, by the by, nearly empty.

“Hmm,” observed William Enton, baron of Landow. “She doesn’t look to be his usual fare.”

“Who’s that?” asked Cask, glancing blurrily about.

“I believe it’s the maid in the straw bonnet who has whetted the good viscount’s interest,” said the baron.

“Where—Ahh,” Cask sighed as he caught sight of the girl. She stood in profile now, with her face gently shadowed by the well-worn brim of her hat. “Not his type?” He drank the last drop from his decanter and gave his friend a rheumy glance. “You must not have noticed her bosoms, lad.”

“As a matter of fact, I have.” William Enton, third baron of Landow, was bored and inebriated, though perhaps neither so bored nor so inebriated as Cask. “But if you can drag your eyes out of her cleavage for a moment, you’ll see that she doesn’t resemble a bitch of any sort.”

“Umm,” said Cask, scowling thoughtfully. “Baroness Delafont did look something like a saluki if you saw her in a certain light.”

“Panting to your face, but snarling at your back.”

“And the tawny-haired one…”

“Exactly like a whippet.”

“Lady whose her name…The one with the ungodly sad eyes?”

“A spaniel.”

“Needy,” agreed Cask. “But in a grasping sort of way. Do you suppose he chooses them for their money?”

“Cole?” Will asked, still not glancing at their enraptured companion. Of the three of them, Nicol was the least intoxicated, but he carried their nearly depleted bottle of wine,
therefore having a modicum of control over the two who gossiped nearby. “No. He chooses them on the basis of their willingness to see him gone when the time comes.”

Perhaps Nicol should have objected at this point, for he heard his companions’ every word, but the girl was fascinating somehow—entrancing.

“So what do you think of this maid?” asked Cask.

William watched the girl haggle with a nearby cloth merchant. She wore a simple, mint green gown. It was tied high above her waist and was a couple inches short, even for her modest height. Her frayed, straw bonnet gave her a youthful appearance, and no jewels adorned her slim hands. “I would say she is neither wealthy nor grasping.”

“But Cole has had something of a dry spell since…What was that last one’s name?”

“Amelia.”

“That’s it. There’s been a bit of a dearth since she’s found herself a rich husband”

“Six months at least.”

“Perhaps he’s losing his charm,” suggested Cask, but in that moment the viscount began to wend his way through the crowd toward the girl.

Will watched him go and wondered dimly if he himself would ever care enough to pursue a woman again. Grimly taking a drink from his mug, he turned toward Cask. “What now?”

“Well, old chap, we could find ourselves some female companionship.”

“You’re too drunk for female companionship.”

“And you’re too morose. But how ’bout we give it a go just…”

Their voices faded off, but Nicol barely noticed. Somewhere to his left a pig complained vociferously about its lot in life, while behind him a man roared about the size of his nuts, but the noise of the outdoor market did nothing to break
his concentration, for the maid was very close now. She stood stroking a scrap of pink velvet and speaking softly to a merchant who disagreed emphatically.

When she tilted her head much of her face remained hidden, but her plump lips were entirely visible. They were as bright as spring berries and just as lush. But that was not what intrigued him most. There was something entirely familiar about her. Something that drew him on, and in that moment the girl smiled. He had seen that expression a hundred times though he couldn’t say where.

Thus he pressed on, making his way through the crush until he could hear her voice. It was husky and soft as she concentrated on the stout merchant on the far side of the counter.

“I’m sure it
is
a costly piece,” she said. “But there’s so little of it. Hardly enough to stitch into a bonnet.”

The merchant scoffed. He was dark and balding, with a short man’s bravado. “’Tis the originality of it that enhances its value, girl. You’ll not find another piece with its richness and—” But his words stopped short as he noticed Nicol’s presence. “Good sir,” he said, his tone rising happily with financial hope. “What might I do for you this fine day?”

It was difficult for Nicol to wrest his gaze from the girl. So difficult, in fact, that he failed to try.

“It would be a good choice for you,” he said instead, still watching her.

She glanced up from under the brim of her hat, but her face remained shadowed, her features hidden.

“The color would suit,” he added.

Her lips twitched the slightest amount. From this close proximity he could see that her gown was faded and her hands rough. Will was right, she was hardly his usual fare, but there was that niggling familarity. Or perhaps it was the fact that he had drunk his weight in red wine on the voyage from Sedonia. Of course, it might be the soft rise of her
breasts beneath the pastel gown that fascinated him the most.

“Are y’ flirting with me?” she asked, her tone blunt and cool.

“Me?” Nicol tried to sound affronted. “Nay. I was merely stating a fact. The velvet would complement your hair.” It curled out from beneath her hat in flaxen waves and lapped merrily down her narrow back.

“Um,” she said, and he couldn’t help but admire how her plump lips curved tantalizingly up at the corners.

“Four anglas,” said the merchant, still beaming. “A bargain at twice the cost, and surely the lass would be grateful should you purchase it for her, good sir.”

“Would she?” asked Nicol, not turning toward the shopkeeper but keeping his attention steady on the girl.

She shook her head, but her smile widened slightly. “I am never grateful for less than a full yard.”

“Truly?” He couldn’t help but be charmed by her. There was an honesty about her, a simple earthiness that differed nicely with her cool confidence. “Then I suspect there is little purpose for me to purchase—”

“Ah look!” crowed the merchant, straightening from rummaging beneath the counter. “I’ve found a bolt of it.”

She turned. “Y’ said there was no more velvet to be ’ad.”

“’Twas what I believed myself,” said the merchant, grinning sheepishly and striking his shiny pate with the flat of his hand. “But your beauty must have driven the cloth straight from my memory. Would she not look fetching dressed all in pink velvet?” he asked, turning like a harried sheepdog from her to Nicol.

“She would indeed,” he agreed, “but I’d hate to see her dressed identically to the very next maid who happened to wander past.”

“Ach!” scoffed the merchant, shaking his head. “’Twill never happen. Such quality is only for the most discerning lady.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Nicol, “but I believe I saw a bit of lavender just down the way a piece, and now that I think on it, I believe that color might suit her better still.”

“Lavender! Nay!” The merchant was shaking his head vehemently, his hangdog eyes mournful. “A lady of such obvious delicacy should be dressed in pink.”

Nicol shook his head thoughtfully. “I fear I’d have to disagree.”

The bolt disappeared like a shot beneath the counter as the small scrap was resurrected. “Two anglas,” he said, lifting the small bit of velvet. “’Tis robbery, but it suits you, lass.” There was the slight tone of panic in his voice.

“Done,” she said, and reached for her reticule, but Nicol was faster. Dropping two coins onto the counter, he picked up the velvet and handed it to her with a shallow bow.

She took it without a word and turned from beneath the wooden awning into the fading sunlight.

They walked side by side in silence for several moments before she slanted a glance up at him. “Shall I assume y’ are unusually generous or that y’ still ’ope for me gratitude?”

He smiled at her. Contrary to Cask’s belief, Nicol had not had a dry spell, for women were attracted to him. He knew it as surely as he knew his name. They were drawn to his noble title, intrigued by his dark gypsy features, lured by his jaded demeanor. Perhaps a few even liked him a bit. But he was always careful that they knew the truth. He had no plans for a future with any of them, for he was neither a man who suffered the pangs of love, nor one who needed an advantageous marriage to improve his bank account. On the other hand, he did, often enough, need someone to share his bed.

And this lass would fill the bill very nicely, for she was comely and quick-witted and had that faintly familiar allure of mystery.

“I’ve been called many things, but generous…” He shook
his head and raised the bottle of wine. It was made of heavy, green glass, nearly empty and stoppered with a cork. “Would you like a bit?”

She took it but didn’t drink. “I should probably tell y’ that the rumors about me aren’t true.”

“Rumors.” He raised his brows. It was a glorious spring evening. The weather in Sedonia had been dark and drear, but here on the isle of Teleere the sun shone with bright optimism. “I like the sound of this. To what rumors do you refer, lass?”

The top of her bonnet barely reached the level of his nose, but even against the hard-packed turf, he could hear the click of her heels and realized her height was somewhat enhanced. She was a tiny thing.

“You ’aven’t ’eard rumors?” she asked. Her accent was that of the working class, burred and slightly lilting, but in his present state it did nothing but tantalize him.

He shook his head. Off to his left, two dogs quarreled over a lop-eared, grinning female. “I’m new to your fair city.”

“Ahh, well…” she said, and shrugged a little. “Then there
are
no rumors.”

He glanced at her. Even from beneath her bonnet, he could see the lovely slant of her smile. “I’ve spent a rough voyage with two drunken companions. Surely you wouldn’t deprive me of a few juicy stories.”

He saw her lips quirk and couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss them, to feel them curve beneath his own. In fact, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of other things, just as soft and plumper still.

“Surely y’ know what they say about rumors,” she said. “They are oft more interesting than they are true.”

“Ahh, and more’s the pity.”

“But y’ don’t even know what the rumors are.”

“That’s because you refuse to tell me, and me a guest to Portshaven.” He shook his head as if sadly disappointed. “I
must say, thus far I’m not overimpressed with your city’s hospitality.”

She laughed. The sound was husky and curled into his system like woodsmoke on a cool night. “And I suppose y’ think I should make amends for our lack of courtesy.”

“Or at least tell me the rumors.”

She glanced off to the side, where the dogs’ quarrel was growing louder. “I’m employed at the Cup and Loaf.”

It seemed to be a complete thought, and it took him a moment to read her meaning, but finally he understood. “Ahh, you’re a barmaid.”

She nodded.

“And therefore the rumors.”

“Goodness knows one cannot be a barmaid and be virtuous at the same time.”

He remained silent for a moment.

“’Ave you nothing to say to that?” she asked.

“If I knew whether or not you were being facetious, I could agree or disagree as seems most advantageous.” He shrugged. “But as it stands—”

“That is
other
people’s opinion of barmaids,” she said. “Men’s opinion.”

“Oh!” he said, faking chagrin. “Of course. And they are absolutely wrong.”

She laughed, then silence settled in again.

“Aren’t they?” he asked.

She arched a brow at him. “I can understand why your companions thought it best to get drunk.”

“I but jest,” he assured her.

She stepped into the lee of a corner booth. Canvas covered the side of the merchant’s stall, leaving them nothing to see but a green sweep of Teleere’s renowned hillocks.

“Do y’?” she asked. There was laughter in her voice, but there was, maybe, a deeper emotion.

He refused to acknowledge it. His sojourn to Teleere was bound to be a boring one. He would take his pleasure where he would, and here seemed a wonderfully likely place. “Of course,” he said, and gave her a truncated bow. “My apologies. I am often told that I do not appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“Are you?” she asked, and, sweeping her bonnet from her head, wiped away a droplet of sweat with her knuckles. “By whom?”

“By—God’s bones!”

She started back, her eyes going wide. “What is it?”

“You—” He shook his head, but the movement did nothing to clear his mind. Standing before him was the spitting image of Anna. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. You just…remind me of someone.”

“Who?”

Her eyes were as wide and green as the Teleerian hills. He wondered momentarily if there was fear in them, but he put the thought away. Neither she nor her counterpart seemed the type to fear, but damn they looked similar, though Anna’s hair was a shade darker and her skin not so fair.

“Who do I remind you of?” she asked again.

He stared at her for one more breathless moment, then smiled and forced a shrug. “A princess.”

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