Page 19 of The Unencumbered Warrior
“Well now, if it isn’t Ingrid, bonnie as a summer’s day,” said a man with a thick, dark beard and a self-satisfied grin.
She recognized him. Sweeny, a tanner’s son who always made a point of stopping at her table and making rude remarks.
“Sweeny,” she said politely, though she stepped slightly back away from the table.
He reached out and lifted a fold of one plaid. “Nice work. But I’ll wager your hands are better suited to?—”
Raff’s hand clamped down on his wrist before the man could finish.
“Put it down,” Raff said, having noticed the way Ingrid had distanced herself from him. “And mind your tongue.”
Sweeny scoffed. “I was only complimenting her.”
“And the rude remark that was about to follow?”
Sweeny pulled his hand back, but not before trying to shove Raff’s shoulder as he turned. That was his mistake.
In a blink, Raff grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shoved him back a step. “Apologize,” he said in a tone that clearly threatened an or else.
The square quieted just enough to draw attention.
Sweeny muttered something that might have been an apology, but Raff wasn’t satisfied. “Louder.”
“Forgive my rudeness,” Sweeny snapped, flushed and flustered, before stalking off, muttering curses under his breath.
Raff turned a smile on Ingrid. “He won’t bother you again.”
Two older women approached, one holding a basket of cabbages and turnips, the other with a baby slung across her chest.
“You’ve found yourself a good one,” said the first woman to Ingrid with a sly smile.
“Quick to defend your honor and easy on the eyes,” added the second. “Best hold tight to that one.”
Ingrid flushed, busying herself with refolding a plaid that didn’t need fixing. “He’s just… helping.”
“Of course he is,” one of them said and they both laughed.
As they wandered off, Raff leaned closer, pretending to inspect the display and with a crooked grin said, “Just helping, am I?”
Ingrid lowered her voice. “You do much more and I am grateful.”
His crooked grin vanished. “I’ll always protect you, Ingrid.”
She smiled softly but Raff couldn’t help but see a flare of doubt spark in her eyes.
By mid-afternoonthe gray skies replaced the sun and the crowd at the market had thinned, but laughter and the occasional clang of wares still carried on the breeze. Ingrid tied the empty cloth that once held her folded wares and tucked it into the cart.
“All sold,” she said with a breath of disbelief.
“You should double your prices next time,” Raff said. “Folk were nearly fighting over them.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the coin that pleases me the most. It’s knowing they’ll warm someone, comfort, serve a good purpose.”
Raff smiled at her, and it was a gentler smile than she was used to seeing from him. One that lingered a heartbeat longer than it needed to.
They left the cart and strolled back through the rows of remaining vendors. Raff insisted she eat something—proper food, he called it—before they returned home. He bought her a meat pie from a stout woman who winked at them both and muttered something about good matches being hard to find.
They found a low stone wall near the square’s edge and sat there, sharing the pie and a mug of cider between them. Children played nearby, tossing sticks at an imaginary beast, and a fiddler played a lazy tune that matched the winding-down feel of the day.
