The Warrior Poet (30 page)

But as she observed the consternation and, in some
cases, loathing, she found herself wanting to defend Christian against the
ignorant villiens who only saw the superficial Angel of Death within their
assembly, not the flesh-and-blood man beneath the fearsome facade. Clearly, the
populace was uncertain over the appearance of an English warrior and she became
increasingly anxious to ease their simple minds.

After all, there were literally hundreds of Scot
peasants observing Christian as he traversed the roadway.
Enough
people to substantially harm him should their fear get the better of their
common sense.

"Do you know most of these people?" she
whispered to Malcolm, leaning close to his bald head.

Malcolm nodded, too young to sense the turmoil brewing.
"I've lived here me whole life."

Gaithlin looked about her, watching as one young mother
gathered her three small children in a panic and rushed into the trees.
"Who is the town leader?"

Malcolm thought a moment. "There's no leader,"
he replied, then pointed to a large listing stand filled with indigenous
vegetables. "But tha's Lutey. He's
th
' richest
man in town."

Gaithlin looked to the shabby merchant's shelter,
scrutinizing the fat, dwarf-like man behind the piles of vegetables. Thinking
quickly on how to ease the situation, she delved into immediate action.
"Malcolm, go to Lutey and tell him that he has a customer," she
swatted the lad lightly on the behind to kick-start his motivation.
"Hurry, now. Tell him who we are."

As the bald boy immediately dashed off, she moved to
Christian with a certain degree of trepidation. "Malcolm says that man
over there is the richest, most powerful merchant in town," she pointed to
the leaning structure of goods. "Mayhap we should buy our supplies from
him."

Beneath his raised visor, Christian frowned. "What
does it matter if he is the richest man in town? I will purchase my goods from
the merchant with the best price."

Gaithlin cocked an eyebrow, feeling the tension
surrounding her like a suffocating vise. "These people do not trust you,
Christian. It is evident that they are startled and frightened by your
presence, and unless you want to become the victim of a frenzied mob, I suggest
you do your business dealings with the most powerful man in town so that the
ignorant populace can observe your peaceful and prosperous intentions,"
she put her hand on his gauntlet. "Moreover, I suspect that the merchant
will be more than happy to spread rumors of your amicable manner when you show
your generosity by purchasing his goods for a lavish price."

His gaze was even as he listened to her sound, rational
words. After a moment, he cocked an eyebrow as his gaze trailed to the large
merchant's stand where Malcolm was presently dancing about with anticipation.
"Your reasoning, as always, is sensible," he said softly. "Very
well, then. We shall purchase our supplies through this merchant in order to
guarantee me a nonviolent reputation."

She smiled at his agreement and he cast
her a
bold wink, refusing to let go of her hand even as they
made their way towards the large produce stall. Dismounting into a thick puddle
of rancid mud, he ignored the slime coating his boots in lieu of making sure Gaithlin
avoided the same muck. Tucking her hand into the fold of his elbow, he
approached the quivering, rotund merchant.

"Good day to you," he said in his rich,
booming voice. "My name is Sir Christian St. John. I understand that you
sell the finest produce in the entire village and would hope to be able to
conduct my business with you."

The merchant, sweaty and submissive to the point of
over-reactive, bowed hastily in Christian's direction. "M'laird," he
said,
his burr thick with nerves.
"Yer
new ta Cree?"

"I am," Christian nodded, removing his helm to
prove that there was a human lodged inside the fearsome army, not simply a war
machine. "My wife and I are relatives of Clan Douglas."

Lutey's eyes widened, the rolls of fat that constituted
his chin quivering. "Clan Douglas?" he pronounced the clan title as
'Doog-liss', his burr heavy. But the fact that Christian had mentioned the
overlords of the territory seemed to bear substantial credence and a bit of
color reappeared in the man's cheeks. "Douglas, ye say? Ye dunna look tae
be dark like
th
' Douglas."

"My father is fair," Christian replied, eager
to maintain a civil conversation. Gesturing to the goods piled about on the
merchant's booth, he moved towards the stacks. "We are in need of a great
many things. Your stock appears to be very fine."

It was all the encouragement the rotund shop-keeper
required. Immediately, he began to declare the superiority of his goods, making
certain that Christian understood that he was supplied by several hard-working
and knowledgeable farmers. Gaithlin was already inspecting the vegetables and
dried goods, her experienced eye roving the stock with talent. When Christian
cast
her an
encouraging wink, silent permission to
proceed with the selection of their supplies, she commenced her duties with
relish.

Lutey and his two sons soon had their hands full with
Gaithlin and her shopping skills. From turnips to carrots to summer crops of
leeks and onions, she inspected each and every bit of produce before deciding
it to be worthy of their table. Christian stood aside with Malcolm as Gaithlin
and the merchants gently argued over the finer qualities of the fresh produce.

It was an exacting task and Christian was immensely
pleased with her abilities to not only select high-quality goods, but to barter
for the price in such a fashion that she did not appear aggressive or
uninformed of the current rates. Yet he knew her skill was bred from a lack of
money; when the times occurred that she had been able to purchase supplies for
Winding Cross, she had to make sure she received the very best bargain for her
limited monetary support.
 

A talent for bargains that had
developed from pure necessity.
Even with
Christian's nearly unlimited wealth, Gaithlin carefully
haggled
the merchant to such a price that even Christian thought she was intent on
robbing the man blind. In lieu of their earlier conversation when she had
suggested he pay the man a generous sum for his wares in exchange for his
support of the newest member of Cree's community, Christian calmly entered the
negotiations to interject his sensible opinion.

Ten minutes and several barrels of supplies later,
Christian and Gaithlin had enough goods to last them for months. And Lutey was
quite convinced he had procured enough money fit for a king.

Since Christian had no wagon to secure his goods, Lutey
directed him to a livery at the edge of the village where he was able to
purchase a satisfactory rig and
a relatively healthy oxen
.
With four barrels stuffed to the hilt with vegetables and sacks of grain, not
to mention three wheels of creamy, tart cheese, he allowed a giddy Malcolm to
steer the beast of burden down the thoroughfare as they went in search of a
suitable cobbler for Gaithlin's shoes.

Since the massive English knight had made him rich with
his excessive purchases, Lutey bravely decided to accompany Christian as he
became acquainted with the town; the fat merchant with the small hands waddled
next to the armored warrior as the entire group moved down the avenue, pointing
out various shops and objects of interest. There was even a small tavern,
run-down and barely habitable, but loaded with rabble. It was loud and
exciting.

Gaithlin found the entire concept of a gay tavern
intriguing, as did Malcolm. But Christian assured them both that there were far
better establishments elsewhere, promising to pay a visit to finer inns someday
should time and situation allow. Although Lutey assured him that the tavern,
bearing a hand-scratched sign with the name ‘Sword and Sheaf’ over the door,
was in all actuality a fine hostel, Christian was not prepared to agree. It
looked like a nest of filth and he went to great lengths to convince both
Gaithlin and Malcolm that they would regret any visit to such a place.

Fortunately for Christian, Gaithlin's attention was
diverted by a merchant's shop bearing great bolts of woolen materials and she
immediately leapt into the midst of the goods. While Christian, Lutey and
Malcolm stood by, she rapidly succeed in acquiring several portions of fabric
highly suited for an active little boy. The price for the goods, however, was
more than she was willing to pay and she nearly left the stall without her
material and notions had Christian not assured her that he was undisturbed by
spending such amounts of money. If was, after all, for a fine job done.

Reluctantly agreeing, Gaithlin paid for the goods with
Christian's money, acutely aware that she had spent more money this day that
she had spent in her entire lifetime. The more she pondered her frivolous
spending of Christian's funds, the more depressed she became. In fact, 'twas
not her money she was so free in dispensing; it was Christian's hard-earned
capital and she felt exceedingly guilty for her lack of control.

Christian, however, was coming to know her well enough
to suspect she was disturbed with the passage of money from hand to hand,
knowing she had survived thus far with very little in the way of monetary goods
or procurement. Suspecting, incorrect though it was, that mayhap she was
wishing some of the money to be spent on her, he sent Malcolm and Gaithlin and
Lutey on their way towards the cobbler while he lingered at the dry-goods
merchant, purchasing a measurement of expensive rose brocade that was not
particularly good in quality but lovely in color, and another measurement of
woolen tartan fabric bearing the Douglas colors of brown, dark blue, and green.

Bearing his burdens, he deposited them in the wagon
without being noticed by his three distracted companions. Feeling rather
pleased with his clever and sly intentions to present his captive with
unexpected material treasures, he moved towards Gaithlin and the others only to
discover that she was looking at a myriad of feminine products imported from
France and points beyond.
 
Displayed
along a wide shelf in the very front of a particularly well-kept shop, she was
enthralled with the delicate wares.

Certainly the material he had purchased could not
compare to expensive perfumes and oils and pretty jewelry. Leaving an impatient
Malcolm and an eager-to-be-of-service Lutey standing guard over their goods in
the newly purchased wagon, he practically dragged Gaithlin inside the small,
cluttered shop.

The rectangular enclosure smelled of flowers; heady,
rich, and consuming as Christian all but shoved Gaithlin before him, gently
demanding that she look about. Twice, she attempted to escape the stall, but he
would simply laugh low in his throat and divert her attention with a pretty
piece of finery.

Embarrassed and reluctant to spend any more of his
money, especially on herself, she struggled against her interest and delight as
Christian pointed out several lovely items she would be more than willing to
accept. But ever so reluctant to express an interest in, knowing his money
would be serving to flatter her silly whims. Whims she had never had the
opportunity to indulge until now.

"Truly, Christian, I do not think...," she
protested weakly when he thrust a lovely pewter comb under her nose.

"I do not want you to think," he interrupted
firmly but gently, holding up the comb's companion, a matching polished mirror.
"I want you to select whatever
your
lovely little
heart desires. Buy everything in the shop if you wish."

Her cheeks flushed with frustration and longing, she
gingerly accepted the mirror from him, hesitantly gazing down onto the shiny
surface. An exceptionally beautiful woman gazed back, her cat-shaped eyes of
deep blue wide and expressive. Having only seen her reflection occasionally in
pools of still water or other reflective, distortive substances, she was
enthralled by the relatively clear picture of her face.

Christian saw her brow furrow in awe, watching with
reined delight as she ran her long fingers over the surface as if to confirm
the stunning image. Completely riveted to the magnificent reflection of her
features, she was startled with a massive hand suddenly invaded the tranquility
of the silver scene.

Christian stroked her cheek, grinning when she raised
her wonder-filled eyes. "You have never witnessed your own beauty, have
you?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, returning her astonished focus to
the mirror. "Not like this," she murmured. "I've seen my
reflection in water, and when I was young my mother had a hand mirror made of
Venetian glass. But I broke it."

Still smiling, Christian gestured to the hovering
shopkeeper and his plump wife. "We'll purchase this set," he
indicated both the mirror and the comb. As Gaithlin's startled expression met
with his twinkling eyes, he merely cast
her a
knowing
wink. "You must see your beauty every day, as I do. Moreover, I may wish
to look at myself now and again."

She wanted to protest; Merciful Heavens, she could not
justify this extravagant expense in any fashion other than to express her
sincere delight in coming to see her features for the very first time. The
color of her eyes, the pert rise of her nose, the gentle curve of her cheeks...
characteristics she had never truly come to know.