Page 39 of A Wife for the Highland Wolf
Wilma tipped her head. “I’ll escort Lydia to the festival. Give us some time and then meet us there. Ye’ve never done any proper courtin’ of the lass, so ye might as well try treatin’ her like a proper betrothed. At the very least, ye can let her see ye out among yer people.”
He hated the idea. Even so, he was getting nowhere in his courtship efforts thus far. And perhaps if he let Lydia see how his people reacted to his presence, she might understand his reticence.
He sighed. “All right.”
As soon as the noon meal was cleared away, Lydia found herself being escorted to the village by Wilma and her brother, Gordon. Time didn’t seem to have improved his disposition toward her but he was courteous enough, so Lydia resolved to let the matter be. Perhaps he was simply one of those who took time to open up to new people.
The village was laid out in much the same manner as the one closest to Clyde Castle and Lydia could hear and see the sounds of merrymaking long before they arrived, with a cheerful bagpipe providing a lilting counterpoint to the chatter of excited voices.
Once they had arrived, she realized the festival was everything Wilma had promised it would be. Lydia felt her mood lifting with every step she took. The smell of baked goods and roasting meat hung in the air, and all around her tradesmen and villagers alike plied their wares.
The blacksmith and the tanner were at the far end of the designated festival space, and a tinker had a cart set up alongside the smithy, while a shoemaker was nearest the tanner. A sensible arrangement, in Lydia’s opinion.
Moving toward the keep, there was a wide array of different wares. Pottery, dairy products, candles, soap, ribbons, woven cloth, and wood carvings were just a few of the things on display.
In addition to goods, there was a bard, an acrobatic performer and a handful of musicians, all engaged in plying their trade for coins in their caps.
Best of all, as promised, there was a bookseller, set up in a hastily erected stall full of artfully arranged tomes.
Lydia knew herself well enough to save the bookseller’s stall for last, otherwise, she could have cheerfully spent the entire festivalbrowsing through his wares. Instead, she took her time looking around at the other stalls.
Halfway through, Wilma excused herself to go speak to an older woman who worked at a small table. There was a sign for herbal remedies, but Lydia had also spotted the more discrete sign of a fortune-teller and wise woman, and she had no doubt Wilma had seen it too. Most likely, Wilma was going to see if the woman could teach her anything about witchery. the Fair Folk, or spirits.
No doubt, she’d also be asking the bard for any tales he had about the fey folk, and the musician for any songs of that sort. Even in as short a time as she’d known Murdoch’s cousin, Lydia could tell she harbored a passion for magic and lore worthy of any scholar.
Lydia didn’t begrudge the young woman her enthusiasm. In fact, it reminded her a little bit of Nora. Her sister mostly worked with natural healing remedies these days, but she had done some study into more esoteric subjects when she was younger.
Of course, that was before she’d been falsely accused of witchcraft twice, once by their cousin, and decided to avoid any potential misunderstandings in the future.
The villagers were friendly enough, more than willing to chat with her about harvests and the basics of their lives. More than once, Lydia was tempted to ask about Murdoch, to see how they felt about their laird, but she held herself back. She didn’t want word getting back to him that she was a gossip.
They were beginning to set up the main square for feasting and dancing when she made her way to the bookseller’s stall. Lydia had a quick discussion with the merchant to be sure he didn’t need to take down his stall, then slowly began to peruse the offered volumes. She was joined by an older woman, who asked the merchant about herbals and recipe books; probably a tavern cook, an herbalist or a healer from another village.
There were two or three books that she thought Wilma might like, which she shared with the older woman. Then, in the second to last pile, she found a true treasure. A collection of stories and tales from the Continent, most of which she’d never read. The cost of the volume would take most of the silver she’d brought from home, but Lydia thought it would be well worth it. She could spend many days reading such a tome and never grow bored.
She was just finishing her browsing when silence fell around her. The music slowed to a halt, and in the place of laughter, whispers flew around the village square. A low, familiar voice sounded from behind her. “Did ye find somethin’ to interest ye, Lydia?”
She started to turn, but the older woman grabbed her hand. “Tis best ye don’t acknowledge his interest in ye, lass. Leave before he does more than ask ye a question.”
Murdoch moved into her line of sight, a frown on his face. The woman released Lydia’s hand as she winced away from his forbidding expression. “Enough. Leave me betrothed alone.”
The woman gulped and hurried away. Murdoch looked at the book he’d taken from Lydia. “Were ye interested in this book?”
“Aye.” She glared at him. “But I can pay for it meself.”
“I’m sure ye can, but ye’re me betrothed and me guest. Tis me honor and me pleasure to purchase it for ye.” He turned to the merchant. “How much are ye asking for this one?”
The number the merchant quoted to Murdoch was far lower than Lydia knew the book was worth. Murdoch apparently had no idea of the book’s worth, for he simply pulled out the requested number of coins from his purse and set them down.
He handed the book to her. “I hope ye enjoy it.” He offered her his arm. “Will ye walk with me?”
On one hand, she was still angry with him. On the other, they were in public, and she was his betrothed. That meant keeping up appearances. She nodded and laid her hand on his arm as they strode away from the bookseller’s stall.
Once they were a safe distance away, Lydia looked up at him. “Is that the way everyone reacts when ye’re around?”
“Aye.” His expression was somber, although she couldn’t tell if it was due to anger, irritation or hurt.
“And that’s why ye daenae like to leave the castle very often?”
