“It was made clear from the outset that the rewards of this venture would depend on hard work.” Den Rannion’s tone was icily polite. “The hard work of each individual, that is.”
“I served my apprenticeship too long ago to take up my tools again.” The sturdy man planted his hands either side of an ample waist. “I am entitled to take a commission from my artisans when I am the one advancing them materials, buying in their goods, arranging carriage for their wares back to Zyoutessela. It’s only right!”
“No one is going to give you license to sit idly by and simply levy a percentage to make yourself rich, Master Swire.”
“Father, let’s just enjoy the evening. Don’t talk business at festival time.” A plain-faced girl tugged ineffectually at his elbow, her long blond hair unflatteringly dressed in coiled braids that only served to emphasize the length of her neck and nose. “Everyone’s staring!”
“I’ll have this out at Council.” The man ignored his daughter, leaning forward to raise a hectoring finger to Messire Den Rannion.
“Council has already established that every artisan is free to deal directly with whomsoever he pleases, whatever his previous status as tenant or journeyman may have been.” Messire Den Rannion’s tone remained courteous, but his face was starting to betray his contempt. “Tell me, Master Swire, you were obligated to Den Muret, were you not, before your Sieur granted you permission to join this venture? Will you be sending a due tithe to that House on the spring sailing?”
“Elsire, can you get Kindra out of there?” Temar was startled by the desperation in Vahil’s voice and looked again at the girl. She was a gawky piece in her lavender gown, thin-hipped and bony, no more bosom than a lampstand.
“Of course.” A combative light glinted in Elsire’s green eyes. “She shouldn’t have to suffer for her father again.”
“I’ll come with you.” Guinalle took a pace forward, to Temar’s consternation but Elsire raised a hand to stop her. “No, you know how nervous you make her.”
Temar watched Vahil wringing his hands as the argument became further bogged down into what seemed to be a familiar rut, astonished at his friend’s agitation.
“I think you should be preparing to defend your own position before Council rather than making complaint against me,” Messire Den Rannion was saying, lips thin with growing anger. “You might care to explain why you have been trying to buy food and fodder far in excess of your household’s needs for the winter. I will be interested to hear how that sits with the testimony of some of those artisans formerly obligated to you, who have been finding surprising conditions attached to your so-called gifts.”
“Kindra, my dear, do come and see what one of the trappers brought me today,” Elsire gushed heedlessly over Swire’s intemperate reply. “It’s so soft, white as miniver, but the pelts are far bigger, you’ll simply love it. You’ll have to tell me what you think, whether it’s fine enough to use to trim a gown or whether we should keep it for hoods and muffs and the like, not that we’re likely to need them here, not unless the winter turns very harsh, but think about the winters in Toremal and up near Orelwood. Do you know that area at all?”
Temar saw people all around smiling at Elsire as she tucked Kindra’s arm under her own and escorted her away in a manner more suited to a herd-dog cutting out a calf than a supposedly polite festival party. Now that her interruption had effectively driven Master Swire’s complaints on to the shoals, everyone turned back to their own discussions and laughter began to lift the murmur of conversation again.
“I’m going to see how Kindra is.” Vahil shot a hasty glance in his father’s direction. “Stall the old man for me, can you?”
“What’s going on there?” Temar raised inquiring eyebrows at Guinalle as Vahil headed for the shadows of the fences and a circuitous route toward Elsire, who was showing something to a clutch of exclaiming girls.
“Vahil has managed to fall desperately in love with the one girl whose father has been an unmitigated pest to both Messires since before we made landfall.” Guinalle’s reply was dry but not unsympathetic.
“She’s not to his taste, far too mousy. He must just be garter-chasing.” Temar spoke without thinking, his mind full of the flamboyant doxies Vahil had been wont to squire around Toremal.
“That’s a sport you excel in, isn’t it?”
Temar could have kicked himself but was immeasurably relieved to see Guinalle smiling at him. He felt heat in his face as it was his turn to try and stifle a blush.
“Not anymore, not since I met you.” His heart was racing again. “Not since we found each other this summer—”
“Temar, about that—” Guinalle raised a hand and Temar wondered at the sudden shadow in her eyes.
“Guinalle!” Before she could continue, Maitresse Den Rannion came in through the open doorway. “Have you seen Vahil?”
“I think he was thirsty.” Guinalle looked toward the wine table, a slight frown wrinkling her brow.
“Oh dear,” Maitresse Den Rannion sighed as she looked over at Elsire and her companions, Kindra’s fair head no longer visible. “I’m sure she’s a sweet girl and I know it’s silly of me to worry about rank and such like, now we’re all setting a hand to the same wheel, but I do think he could do better for himself, quite apart from the trouble it’s making for him with his father.”
“I’ll see if I can find him for you,” offered Guinalle.
“Thank you, my dear, it’s just that now that horrid man has spoiled Ancel’s evening, he’ll be absolutely furious if he finds Vahil’s been disobeying him and speaking to her.”
Maitresse Den Rannion suddenly noticed some new arrivals and hurried to usher them in the direction of food and wine. Guinalle turned to go but Temar caught her hand. “I just want a moment, can we find somewhere a little more private?”
Guinalle nodded. “Just for a moment, we do need to talk.”
She led him around the outside of the hall and into a shadowy corner in the angle of two walls. Temar reached for her, desperate to kiss her, but Guinalle held him away, a hand on his chest, looking around in case they had been observed.
“This isn’t the back end of some wildwood, Temar, with Avila turning a blind eye,” she chided him. “People will talk and gossip spreads faster than fire in a thatch around here.”
Temar pressed her fingers to his lips, his own hand trembling with passion. “Let them talk. Anyway, what’s to gossip about when we’re betrothed.” He reached into his shirt and pressed the precious parcel of linen into Guinalle’s hands, closing her fingers around the silken ribbons.
He heard her catch her breath as she untied the gift and held the gemstone up, the moonlight sparking blue fire from its facets.
“I know the chain’s not much, there wasn’t a lot of loose gold in the streams, but that diamond should have every girl this side of the ocean chewing their hair until they get one.” Temar could not restrain his glee, stumbling over his words in his eagerness. “I asked one of the miners to make it for me; there were only a handful of us on the trip into the hills and I’m to get them a charter from Council to make sure our rights are protected. You’ll be marrying a man wealthy enough to satisfy your family, no question. We announce our betrothal tonight, and then we can be married at Solstice. We’ll travel back to Tormalin next spring, if you like, to visit your family. As long as you’re not pregnant by then, of course.”
“Oh, Temar.”
Temar wasn’t sure what he had expected to hear in Guinalle’s voice—excitement, delight, devotion?—but he certainly hadn’t anticipated a mixture of regret and rebuke. “What?”
“I wish you’d spoken to me before making all these plans.” There was a definite edge of annoyance in her tone. “You haven’t thought this through.”
Temar was instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, my love. I suppose I should have made more of a ceremony of it, but after the summer I didn’t think you’d need me to send a designate to ask for your hand. I thought we’d left all that kind of thing behind us.”