CHAPTER 10

I went around in a depressed haze of rage and sadness for the next two months. We heard nothing from Sir Guy, though every day I hoped for a letter. I poured out my grief to Charmaine, who was as patient as Job with my mood swings between anger, deep regret, exhilaration over the idea of Guy's return and everything in between. When I couldn't visit her, I threw myself into my work with ferocity I had never showed before. I spun, wove, knitted, crocheted and embroidered so much that Father had to tell me to stop near midnight each night, or I would hurt my eyes from the candle. I always did so regretfully, for sleep was elusive, and often woke to his hand on my shoulder, gently trying to ease my crying. While I knew he had never fully approved of my courtship with Sir Guy, I could see that he was not unkind enough to mock me or my dreams. I actually believed he had begun to accept, if not like Sir Guy, and felt angry in equal measure at the situation.

As the weeks passed, out trade continued, and Father began to take me to the black market with him to teach me the tricks of barter and effective sale of our goods. I usually handled our more genteel private customers, such as the ladies of the court and private vendors, but he knew I needed something new to occupy my time. While he was not one to say it, I also believed he wanted to keep a close eye on me. I mostly sat, observing him barter successfully with customers and other tradesmen, in a miasma of wretchedness. I listened and observed, but had no desire to take part in life with others, especially happy couples or families.

One day, while Father was visiting a fellow tradesman's table to trade for goods, I sat at ours, staring at the cloaks with disdain and attempting to crotchet a hat for winter. I had no inclination to try to sell our wares, this day or any other, and so when the sharp point of a sword was abruptly laid across the purple cloak I had been staring at, it gave me quite a start.

"Like Euridice rising from the Underworld," a voice above me called.

Before the speaker could reveal himself, I was up in a flash, over the table and the sword, and had my dagger to the throat of my tormentor. I glared at him, my eyes blazing and snapped, "Get away from our table, you bloody bastard!"

"I give up, my lady," he said. Hazel eyes stared back into my own, before I realized it was another of the tradesmen's sons, who was about my own age, simply pulling a prank. He was very attractive, leanly built, with dark hair to match his eyes, and dressed in a loose fitting shirt, and tight fitting breeches. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal muscular forearms and hands callused by work. Those same hands were thrown up in surrender, but with a slight air of humor as if he hadn't expected me to react so extremely. I still held the dagger at his throat, glaring at him, before using it to push him away. "And don't brandish swords at people unless you plan to use them, idiot. Go back to your father's stall," I hissed.

The young man seemed remarkably unruffled for having just had a knife put to his throat, but such was the atmosphere of the black market. Tempers were often short, as most were afraid of being found out by the Sherriff. He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "My name is not idiot," he said, "It's Will Scarlett." He took a slow step, more carefully, back towards our table. "Didn't catch yours, though."

"I didn't have the idiocy to drop it," I said, annoyed. "Do you always go about brandishing weapons at fellow tradesmen?"

"No, just showing my wares," he said impishly. "My father is Thomas Scarlett, the swordmaker. I thought you might like to see one of my latest creations."

"I could scarcely have less interest in your sword, Will. It's a bit short for my taste." I answered tartly. His eyes gleamed at me, amused.

"And yet you carry a dagger rather than a sword, lady," he said. "You haven't even really given it a good look."

Still irritated, I glanced at the sword that still lay on our table, well understanding the meaning behind his words. Alec was right; the craftsmanship was beautiful. The hilt was simple but finely decorated, and blade looked well balanced, light and strong.

I glanced back at him brusquely, offering the courtesy of one tradesman to another.

"Nicely wrought," I said, "But we have no need of a sword at this moment."

"What a shame then, " he said, smiling a little. "But it is nice to see you up and about after looking forlorn for so long."

Cold rage began to bubble up from the pit of my stomach. "It's none of your affair. Leave."

"Still never caught your name-"

"Nyssa!" Father called out, returning to our table with beads for another cloak. I shook my head in annoyance at him for giving up my name. He noticed Will, and broke into a smile. "Well good morning, Will," he said. "Is your trade well?"

"Very well, Master Edan," Will replied courteously. I nearly vomited. "My father wanted me to show you my newest sword, in case you have any interest in trading for it. I'm afraid I may have spooked your daughter, though," he said.

"Oh," Father looked from me to Will, and back to me again. "Well, I'm happy to see her standing, at any rate,"

"As am I," Will said, his eyes gentler now. He smiled shyly at me, then withdrew the sword from view. "A good day to you both." He regarded me for a moment before leaving, as Father watched. "Keep those strong spirits, up, Nyssa," he said kindly.

I collapsed onto my bench, sighing in frustration. Father smiled. "Well, darling, it seems you are not short of admirers. Will Scarlett is a handsome man and his father is a respected weapons maker. Perhaps there is life after Sir Guy?" he suggested gently.

The mere mention of his name drove a spike through my heart, and my eyes dropped. I felt Father's warm hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. "I'm sorry, love," he said. "Our tradesmen's life leaves us with few choices, especially for daughters. But you can still choose to whom you give your heart."

"My heart is broken," I said, my face crumpling.

Father sighed. "I know my love," he said, squeezing my shoulders in a brief embrace. "I know."

By the end of the day, we had done a brisk business, no thanks to me, but Father was thrilled from the energy of business. As we folded our goods and saddled them onto Gwynna, Father chatted busily about how well we had done and that it might enable us to buy another female sheep for the business. We exited the black market through the usual back route, so that we would not easily be seen by any authorities, and eventually found ourselves on the main road in the midst of town, and several other day travelers. Lost in my thoughts as I was, I barely heard the trot of hoof-beats, and my heart suddenly leapt into my chest. Aomir. I knew his gait better than anyone. Was Sir Guy back then?

As the sounds grew closer, I gripped Father's hand. "That is Sir Guy's horse," I whispered. Father straightened, looking up, and in another moment, the rider came around the corner. I held my breath, waiting.

And exhaled. It was Guy. He had returned. I had forgotten how handsome he was, how tall and masculine, until I saw him round the corner. Tears filled my eyes to see him again, and despite myself, I called out to him. "Guy!" My face broke into the first smile I had experienced since he left.

Aomir immediately slowed as he came close to us; he had learned for many months to do so since Guy always reined him in when he saw me. I was prepared to throw myself into his arms, when I saw him urge Aomir forward, picking up speed. The horse appeared confused until Guy spurred him. Shocked, I cried out, "Guy? GUY!" Several people in the street turned to watch this drama unfold.

He finally looked at me, his eyes cold, his face expressionless. "Sir Guy, tradesman's daughter. Do you not know how to address your betters?"

I was struck dumb. Father drew himself to his full height, squeezed my hand, and called after him. "Sir Guy, you must forgive my daughter. She was much mistaken." His words carried a double meaning, which was not lost of Sir Guy. While he did not look back, he shoulders tensed as he rode away.

I was stunned, and leaned against Father in shock. Tears stung my eyes. "Was that…him?" I asked, unable to reconcile the cold man who had snarled at us and the man who had told me he loved me in the lily grove. "Why would he…?"

"I don't know, Nyssa," Father said darkly. "But I suspect it has to do with his time in France." He added, trying to be gentle, "I didn't want to tell you, but he has been back for a week now. I saw him the other day at one of the clothing shops, but assumed he would call when he could. Something has happened."

Everything in my stomach emptied upon this news. Gwynna looked at me casually, wondering why I was waylaying us, while Father gently picked me up from my hunched over position, put me on Gwynna's back, and headed for home.

I had a fever that night, and terrible stomach cramps, so Father put me to bed early and brought me clear broth until the next morning. When he went to the market, he left me with one of Mother's lilies from our garden, and tucked me into bed for the day. I slept fitfully, hearing a deep baritone in my dreams that continued to torment me: "It's Sir Guy, tradesman's daughter… I plan to collect your heart, your soul and your body…"