Page 70 of Swordheart
She did not particularly look like a woman making a bad bargain. She was flushed and her lips were still slightly parted.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice clipped.
Halla blinked at him. “Oh,” she said. “I… uh. Okay.”
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I didn’t mind?” she said, and then looked down at her hands on his chest and blushed suddenly scarlet. She dropped his surcoat as if she had been burned. Sarkis stepped back hurriedly to give her room.
“I… uh. Yes. Of course.” She nodded to him. “You’re a respectable widow. I understand.”
Sarkis waited.
“I mean,I’ma respectable widow. Me. Not you. Very respectable.” She seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “Not that you’renotrespectable, of course. Which is… err… are you going to do that again?”
“Not without your permission.”
“Oh.” Sarkis wasn’t sure if he was imagining her disappointment. “Right. Okay. Uh.”
Now why did I do that?
Obviously because you wanted to.Sarkis occasionally thought that his own mind believed he was an idiot. He only wished that he had evidence his mind was wrong.
He led her from the alley, back into the market. “The priest to travel with us will not be ready until tomorrow,” he said. “Are there any errands you need to run between now and then?”
Halla still looked a bit out of breath, but suddenly brightened. “Yes! I need clothes. More clothes. Any clothes, really. They don’t have to be good. Just something to wear that isn’t this.” She fingered the hem of the habit, looking glum. “This was a very nice outfit once and now I think I would like to have it burned.”
Sarkis privately thought she should burn it and buy something that suited her better, but he was her guardsman, not her maid.
“Do you have the funds?”
“We will once I sell this jewelry.”
The trader who bought and sold gems and metalwork looked at Halla’s offerings and grimaced. “This is old-fashioned stuff,” he said, picking up a necklace.
“My husband had old-fashioned taste,” said Halla.
The trader glanced at Sarkis, who was looming in the background, then over to Halla.
“Not him. He’s my bodyguard. My husband’s dead.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“That makes one of us. Look, I know the craftsmanship’s not great, but surely the gold is worth something.”
“Well…”
He ended up weighing most of it on a scale and counting out coins. Two pieces were deemed unobjectionable enough to sell, and he counted out more.
“Could be worse,” said Halla, pocketing the money as they walked away. “This should get me at least a change of clothes.”
“I am sorry you had to sell your jewelry,” said Sarkis.
Her gray eyes were amused, if slightly puzzled. “Why? I never wore it. I can’t even say I had fond memories, since I’m pretty sure his mother picked it out. But she favored heavy stuff, so she did me a good turn after all, since I had to sell it by weight.”
Sarkis offered her his arm while they made their way to the clothier’s stalls. She held his elbow. Her hands were small, with slim fingers, particularly compared to his. Had he never noticed that before?
As it turned out, Halla was an excellent haggler. Sarkis didn’t know why that surprised him. Clearly she’d been running a household for years, and getting a good price for something was a skill you had to acquire. He had never enjoyed it and had delegated as soon as possible. The Dervish had been much better at it than Sarkis. People were surprisingly willing to give a very handsome man with big, sad eyes a deal. Not so with Sarkis.
