A Time of Exile - Katharine Kerr [119]
“In for the market, were you?”
“I was, sir. And a good day to you.”
He smiled, then suddenly leaned forward, staring into her eyes. For a moment she felt as if she’d been turned to stone and his cold gaze was a chisel, slicing into her soul; then he released her with a small nod.
“And a good day to you, lass. Oh, wait, I just thought of somewhat. Would you like to earn four coppers a week, doing my laundry and sweeping out my cottage and suchlike?”
“I would indeed.”
“Splendid! Then come in tomorrow, because I’m afraid I’ve let things pile up a bit. After this, two mornings a week should do it.”
“Well and good, then. I’ll be in before noon.”
As he rode on his way, Nevyn was thinking of the strange vagaries of Wyrd. The last time he’d known this woman, she’d been queen of all Deverry and the virtual regent of Cerrmor while her royal husband was on campaign. The oddest thing of all, though, wasn’t the obvious change in her fortunes; it was that he’d pitied her even more when she’d been queen.
Out in the paddock behind the merchant’s big wooden house, twelve Western Hunter colts nibbled at the grass or stood drowsing head down in the warm sun, blood bays and chestnuts, mostly, but off to one side was a perfect strawberry roan, Ganedd’s favorite. When he leaned on the fence, the roan came over to have his ears scratched.
“I’m thinking of giving that colt to the gwerbret in Aberwyn,” Wersyn said. “It’s been a while since I’ve given his grace a token of our esteem.”
“This lad will make a good warhorse, truly.”
“Just so. You know, I think I’ll let you be the one to deliver him to his grace. It’s time he knew your name as my heir.”
“Uh, well, Da, I’ve been thinking, and …”
“You’re not going to sea! I’m sick to death of having this discussion. You’re my son, and we deal in horses, and that’s that.”
“You’ve got Avyl! He’s your son, too, isn’t he? He’ll make a fine horse trader! You say so yourself.”
“You’re the eldest son, and that’s that.”
Wersyn had his arms crossed over his chest, a sure sign that arguing was futile. Ganedd turned on his heel and stalked off in the direction of town. At times he wished that he had the guts to just run away. If he could only find a merchant captain who wouldn’t mind offending his father … but that was worse than unlikely down in Aberwyn, where Wersyn was an important man in the guild. His aimless walk brought him to his grandmother’s cottage and the new herbman in town, who was grubbing away in the garden. When Ganedd leaned on the fence to watch, the old man straightened up, wiped his hands on a bit of rag, then strolled over to say good morrow.
“And does the cottage suit you, sir?” Ganedd said. “If it needs repair, I can try to set things right.”
“Good of you, lad, but so far, everything’s just fine. I hear you and your father are going to Aberwyn soon.”
“Tomorrow morning, actually, with the dawn. We’ve got some tribute to pay to Gwerbret Aberwyn, and then there’s going to be a big meeting of the merchant guild.”
“Interesting. What about?”
“I’m not allowed to discuss it, sir, with someone who isn’t in the guild.”
“All right, then. I’ll wager you enjoy going to Aberwyn, though.”
“Oh, I certainly do! Ye gods, life is so beastly boring here in Cannobaen.”
“No doubt, but don’t you go with your father when he trades with the Westfolk?”
“Of course, but so what? They’re just the Westfolk.”
“Ah. I see.”
And Ganedd was left with the infuriating feeling that the old man was doing his best not to laugh at him.
That very evening their two fathers arranged the wedding pact, but the formalities of life demanded that Braedda’s father come ask Lord Pertyc’s permission to formalize the betrothal of his daughter to Ganedd the merchant’s son.