Page 21 of The Beast's Bride
Rhona found herself smiling, listening as Adaira started chatting to the merchant. She was entirely too familiar with him; Una would have reprimanded her for it. And yet that was what made Adaira so special. Her warmth, her ability to treat everyone—from the high to the low—with genuine attention.
“I’m getting the milk and honey tablet for myself,” Adaira announced. She then pointed to the dusky-pink block to her left. “Go on … get yerself some rose soap.”
Rhona sighed. “I don’t need any scented soap at present.”
“Who said anything about ye ‘needing’ it?” Adaira favored her with a wry look. “Every woman needs a sweet-smelling soap … isn’t that right, Artair?”
“Aye, Lady Adaira,” he replied, giving her an indulgent smile. “The rose soap is our best seller.”
Rhona huffed. She could see she was out-numbered here. She handed over the penny, took the soap, and slipped the scented block into her satchel. It would be something to remember her sister by.
Grief slammed into her anew.
Don’t think about it.
“Good day, Artair,” Adaira sang out. She cast another smile in the soap merchant’s direction. The man was still beaming at her like a moon-calf.
Oblivious to her sister’s turmoil, Adaira linked her arm through Rhona’s. “Come, let’s take a look at those silks!”
The young women wove their way through the sea of men and women who, like them, browsed the market. The sun warmed their backs, and the aroma of baking bannocks filled the air. An elderly woman was cooking the flat cakes over a griddle and selling them to the hungry crowd. Her name was Eva. No one knew just how old she was, although judging from the web of wrinkles that creased the crone’s face, she was easily the oldest person Rhona had ever seen.
“Lady Rhona,” the crone called out with a toothless smile. “How about one of Skye’s finest oat-cakes?”
Rhona smiled back, before shaking her head. “Maybe later, Eva. I must save my appetite for a bowl of stew at the inn.”
Continuing through the crowd, Rhona took in her surroundings. She noted the details she’d often taken for granted: the rosy cheeks of the women, the warm burr of men’s voices, and the smiles of the folk who greeted them.
The vise crushed Rhona’s ribcage now as the full realization of what she was about to do sank in.
She would leave all of this behind.
The sisters reached the cloth merchant’s stall, where a pyramid of brightly colored bolts of fabric rose up before them. Adaira fell upon them, gaze gleaming.
“This green silk is beautiful,” Adaira gasped. Rhona tore her gaze away from the milling crowd to see that her sister was holding a bolt of glimmering fabric up to the light. “Look, Rhona … we could use this for yer wedding gown.”
Cold washed over Rhona, obliterating the sadness she was feeling at leaving this place, these people.
Wedding gown.
Just two words, and yet they struck dread into her heart. She had to get away from here, before it was too late.
Chapter Ten
Racing South
“ADAIRA … I NEED the privy,” Rhona whispered into her sister’s ear. “I should have gone before we left the castle. I’ll return to the inn and be back soon.”
Adaira glanced up, from where she was admiring a delicate woolen shawl, her gaze distracted. “Of course. I’ll still be here … come find me.”
Rhona nodded, forcing a smile. “Don’t spend all yer pennies.”
Adaira laughed. “I’ll try not to. Go on then … off ye go.”
Rhona turned and wove her way back through the milling crowd toward The Stag’s Head Inn. Her eyes stung, but she drew in a steadying breath, forcing back the welling tears. It was an effort not to look back, not to take one last look at her sister. Yet she forced herself not to. If Adaira caught her gazing at her, all teary-eyed, she’d know something was amiss.
I could take her with me.The thought niggled at her, not for the first time over the past days, but Rhona dismissed it. What she was doing was dangerous. She’d risk her own neck, and her own reputation, but she wouldn’t put Adaira through it. Not only that, but she wasn’t sure Adaira would go with her meekly either. Her sister wasn’t desperate like Rhona was—not yet anyway.
She continued her path through the crowd. It was difficult not to hurry, when every fiber of her being now urged her to run. She needed to be many leagues from here by nightfall.
