Page 62 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

The merchant handed Gavin a cake of soap. He sniffed, then placed it under Fiona’s nose. She inhaled the rich scent of pine.

“Rosemary,” the merchant said before Fiona could inquire.

“’Tis far better than smelling like a bunch of flowers,” Gavin said. “I’ll take a dozen. And three pounds of beeswax candles.”

Purchases made, they moved on, passing a stall with rounds of cheese. The pungent smell was not unpleasant, making Fiona’s mouth water.

Next was the cloth merchant’s stall. Long pieces of fabric were arranged in neat piles by color and type, stacked one on top of the other, while some were hung over the wooden joists at the top of the stall.

Fiona was impressed. Twisting her head from side to side, she wasn’t certain where to look first. There were piles of wool, damask, and linen cloth, of varying texture and quality. Clearly, this merchant knew it was best to offer something for all classes of buyers.

She picked up the end of a piece of yellow wool, amazed at the softness. The tight weave would provide a solid protection against a winter wind, yet it was delicate enough to wear against the skin without chaffing.

“I see the lady has an eye for quality,” the cloth merchant said with a broad smile. “That is the finest wool weave you can find, but I have something even better suited to the lady’s beauty.”

The merchant reached into the wagon behind him and lifted out an armful of silk. Fiona’s eyes widened at the vibrant red, blue, green, and gold colors, but it was the feel of the fabric that had her sighing in wonder.

“’Tis light as a feather,” Gavin commented as he fingered the silk. “Do ye like it?”

“’Tis beautiful, the finest quality I have ever seen.” Fiona cast a final, longing glance at the beautiful material. “But I’m sure the cost is too dear.”

“I can afford to buy ye whatever ye desire,” Gavin said.

“Shh, don’t let him hear you say that!” Fiona glanced anxiously at the merchant, then lowered her voice for Gavin’s ears only. “I thought the Scots appreciated the art of negotiating a good bargain.”

“They do,” Gavin replied. “But it isn’t necessary to beggar a man either.”

“He’ll make a profit as well you know,” she hissed. Turning to the merchant, Fiona assumed an air of indifference. “The silk is pretty, though I’m not certain I like the colors. I find them to be rather ordinary.”

The merchant’s brow rose. “The lady is English?”

Gavin’s hand reached down for his sword handle. “Aye.”

The merchant stepped back, holding his hands aloft and waving them dramatically in apology. “Please, milord, no offense was meant. I was merely surprised when I heard the lady speak.”

Fiona was silent, her thumb rubbing against the smooth fabric. She had not taken offense at the merchant’s inquiry, for she had grown accustomed to such reactions. But it was Gavin’s passionate defense of her that made her ache to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly.

“Since the earl insists on buying some of your cloth, I shall ask you for your very best price for a bolt of the blue silk,” Fiona said, acting as though she was doing the merchant a great favor by allowing him to sell her his wares. “But before you answer, I should warn you, good sir, an English lady is far more difficult to please than the fair maidens of Scotland.”

It took but a few moments for Gavin to realize that Fiona truly was a master at bartering. By the time she was finished, she had acquired bolts of satin, silk, linen, and wool, with thread and ribbons to match and a fine assortment of sewing needles at half the price he would have most likely paid.

From there they moved at a snail’s pace, examining and sampling the wares at each cart and booth. As she exclaimed over the variety and quality of the items, Gavin waited with good humor for Fiona to turn to him with pleading eyes when she came across something she desired, but she never once asked. The leather pouch of coins hanging from his belt remained full and heavy.

“Do ye see nothing that ye like?” he finally asked.

She looked surprised. “I don’t expect you to buy me anything. ’Tis the looking that I enjoy the most.”

Gavin had a difficult time believing her, but for the next hour Fiona stayed true to her word, never once indicating there was something that truly caught her fancy.

A cheer went up and Gavin turned. He saw a crowd clustered at the end of the row of carts and stalls. He captured Fiona’s hand and tugged her down to the gathering, annoyed when he saw a wrestling match about to begin. Shaking his head, Gavin pushed forward, but Fiona pulled him back.

“You aren’t going to wrestle that giant tree trunk of a man, are you?” she asked.

Gavin wasn’t certain if he should feel insulted by the incredulous tone she used or pleased at the underlying worry in her expression. He raised a brow. “Are ye implying that I would lose?”

“Not exactly. Though I will say that I prefer you with all of your limbs in one piece.”

“If ye must know, I intend to stop the match from starting. I don’t want any of my men injured. Last year that fellow broke several of Duncan’s ribs.”

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