The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [63]
Clay laughed. Ploy? It wouldn’t take much of a witch’s glamour to pull that off. If he wasn’t already curious about Rosette before this trip, he certainly was now. The ‘in love’ aspect was a given—had been so since the day they’d met. What he discovered, though, didn’t put him at ease and he was certain it wouldn’t satisfy the Sword Master.
He’d been here a week now, playing his music in every pub from the northern docks to South Lister Bay. Between sets, and in the busy shops and markets by day, he’d asked his questions. He queried as any enthusiastic suitor might, but nobody in the whole town had ever heard of Rosette de Santo. There was a Rosa de Santiago, and a Rosie del Mar. There was even a Vera and Armone de Santo, but no Rosette. It was like he’d dreamed her up and word was getting around that the redheaded bard from the north played wonderful tunes but seemed to be looking for a girl that didn’t exist.
He flicked the breadcrumbs from the table when his dinner plate was cleared away.
‘You’ll be playing more?’ the maid asked, her dimpled face blushing as she balanced the tray of crockery on her hip.
‘Yeah, sure.’ Clay managed a wink before he returned to his contemplations.
The results of his queries weren’t completely fruitless. He had aroused the interest of more than a few young women, gorgeous girls enamoured with his eccentric ways and alluring music. The flirtations were heady and he was planning to act on one of them tonight. He’d met her today by the jetty, a girl full of charm—touching his arm when she spoke, giggling at his every sentence and jouncing her bosom when she laughed outright. Her embroidered peasant top and short white skirt had made a very pretty backdrop for her waves of chestnut hair. If he couldn’t distract himself with the likes of her, he needed to visit the local herbalist. He wondered when they opened.
Clay drank the last of his beer and stared at the empty glass. Tipping it slightly to the side, it caught the light from a candle, creating sparks of brilliance on the rim.
The punters were turning his way, eyebrows up, glasses raised. Their desires were clear and if he was to do well when he passed the hat, he’d best give them one last round of songs. He put down the glass and finished tuning his guitar. Soon he’d be playing and that would vanquish the torment from his mind, for a while. It was like shooing away a stray cat, though. As soon as he turned his back, it’d be there again, right beside him. Meow.
Rosette was always on his mind, and having to leave Treeon and dig into her past rankled Clay like no previous assignment. Why hadn’t he walked that first day? This had been the worst year of his life.
He laughed at himself. Who was he kidding? This had been the best year of his life. Besides, he couldn’t walk away from Rosette, not then, and certainly not now. Clay was living a paradox that haunted him—Rosette had become his love and his nemesis all in one. He wouldn’t dare cross the Sword Master, who insisted on the deception, and he could barely look Rosette in the eye because of it. It was like being trapped between a bear and a lion and he didn’t know how to free himself. He wasn’t even sure it was possible, and now here he was, in her home town—supposedly her home town—searching out her past and coming up with nothing.
‘Rosette de Santo? Nah. No girl of that name or description, but there are plenty of de Santos further east. Perhaps you are in the wrong seaport? Have you tried Flureon?’
He got the same story every time he asked, except from the girl he met today, the girl on the jetty. Sally. She had told him there had been someone here like he described, until about six years ago.