Page 66 of Alliance Bride
Eadlyn fell in step beside Ranvi as she, Inga, and the children walked back toward the longhouse. The morning heat was lifting mist from the fields, and she welcomed the gentle breeze that tugged at the edges of her dress.
Ranvi glanced over, her eyes bright. “While the men are occupied, we should see what your merchants have brought.”
Eadlyn liked the sound of that.
Back at the longhouse, Ranvi and Inga gathered items from the storage shelves—woven trim, an extra tunic, a pair of fine wool dresses to trade. Eadlyn added a few of her own pieces, though she suspected they were worth less than the others. She also took a small pouch of coins from what Edward had sent.
With the children in tow, they made their way to the open field, the sun beating down as they approached the circle of merchant wagons. Other women and children already milled about, their voices overlapping in a cheerful buzz. Trygg shot ahead like a streak of chaos and joy, darting between legs and barrels with gleeful shrieks as he joined his friends.
At the first wagon, they browsed an assortment of utensils, iron pots, polished goblets that gleamed in the sun, and various other household goods. At the next, foreign spices hung thick in the air. Eadlyn leaned in to sniff one jar, savoring the warmth of clove and cinnamon. She sampled a pinch of something sharp and smoky that brought tears to her eyes and forced her to press her fingers to her mouth to stifle a cough. Inga laughed, patting her back and purchasing a selection for special occasions.
The third wagon displayed a wide variety of fabrics. Piles of soft wool, bleached linen, and exotic furs sat in generous stacks. Eadlyn lingered at a bolt of vibrant red silk, brushing her fingers over the smooth, delicate cloth. Back in Essix she may have bought it, but here it was far too fine and costly for her needs.
A bundle of pale blue linen drew her next. Light as a breeze, it would make the perfect summer dress. Something simple and airy, edged with the delicate tablet-woven trim she’d been working on. She held a corner between her fingers, imagining it swaying in the wind near the fjord.
Ranvi appeared beside her. “That color would look lovely on you.”
Eadlyn admired the fabric a moment longer but then set it down. “Aevar has already given me more than enough dresses.”
“You should still get it.”
She hesitated, weighing the pouch on her belt. “Maybe I’ll think about it.”
As she stepped away, Ranvi’s voice rose behind her. “Will you take this dress and this trim for the linen?”
Ranvi still stood at the merchant’s table, holding out a green wool gown and two lengths of tablet-woven trim. The merchant studied her offer and gave a sharp nod.
Gathering the linen, Ranvi turned and pressed it into Eadlyn’s hands. “Now you don’t need to think about it.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” Eadlyn clutched the fabric, both grateful and flustered. “I could have paid for it myself.”
“I know.” Ranvi grinned wide and unrepentant.
“Tahk fyr. For this, I’ll give you one of the dresses Edward sent. Any one you like.”
“I’m not sure what I’d do with an Essian dress.”
“You could use the fabric for something else.” Eadlyn lowered her voice. “Or wear it to see how Erik reacts.”
Inga laughed.
“That could be fun,” Ranvi admitted, mischief dancing in her eyes.
They moved on to the next wagon, where wide tables displayed a variety of trinkets and small wares. One in particular caught Eadlyn’s eye. Baskets and bowls overflowed with beads—wood, horn, glass, polished stones—some strung in strands, others scattered across rough cloth like treasure spilled from a broken pouch.
A cluster of Camrian glass beads drew her like a lodestone. They gleamed in deep blues and stormy blacks, flecked with silver and gold. She reached out, letting them slide through her fingers. They were perfectly smooth, catching the light as they moved.
Ranvi reached her side again. “Those are beautiful.”
“They are,” Eadlyn murmured. “My mother used to have beads like these…part of a necklace with a silver cross. I don’t know what happened to it after she died.”
The memory arose, no longer sharp, but still aching. She would have loved to carry that piece of her mother with her. It was probably locked away in a monastery vault now, forgotten among other treasures that once meant everything to someone.
She turned to the merchant. “How much for a strand?”
The man, heavyset and flushed from the sun, faced her. “You are Princess Eadlyn.”
She nodded.
