Chapter 19
Even with his convictions and promises to himself to give Imogen time and space, Balar thought it very big of him, and brave and gracious, too, that he’d made it four days. Anything more would be considered cruel, surely.
Even Soren agreed that it couldn’t hurt to stop by for a little while. Just to ask how she was getting on and see where it went from there.
Balar wouldn’t arrive emptyhanded, either.
He was in Granach when all the marketplace stalls opened for the day, carefully considering the wares as shopkeepers went about setting out their goods.
Quite a few people called out greetings, but Balar wouldn’t be deterred.
He’d determined to bring just one gift, not too much, so it needed to be perfect.
After a circuit of every stall, he’d narrowed the choices down to five strong contenders. Balar wanted to be decisive, yet passersby kept getting in his way.
“Well, aren’t you a stranger nowadays.”
Balar looked up from the little ear bobs glinting in the morning sun to behold Bettie the barmaid with a few of her friends. He nodded politely before going back to his careful consideration.
“Good morning, Bettie. My apologies, but this courting business is quite serious.”
“Courting?” she said in a voice that sounded suspiciously choked.
Balar glanced up again to make sure she wasn’t actually choking.
One of Bettie’s friends pushed her aside, her face bright with interest when she asked, “So it’s true, then? You’re courting Imogen Ahearn?”
“Indeed I am,” he said, a smile spreading across his lips just to hear her name. “She’s my kigara.”
The women and all the nearby shopkeepers twittered with surprise, and Balar realized he may have made a mistake when at least a dozen people leaned closer, encircling him.
“The Ahearn woman? Really?”
“Weren’t you asking about her some weeks ago?”
“Does that mean you actually found her place in the woods?”
“Is it as haunted as they say?”
Balar frowned, trying to keep up with all the questions. “It is a perfectly quaint cottage. Not haunted.”
“Oh ho, so he has been there! Have you been inside?”
“I was dared once to go touch her front door, but I couldn’t find it!”
Elbowing her way to the front again, Bettie demanded, “What do you even like about her?”
“She’s rather…unfriendly,” agreed another barmaid.
“She only ever talks to those animals of hers.”
“Always been a strange one, keeping to herself.”
“It’s sad about her face.”
“Especially having such a beautiful sister,” a barmaid tittered, sending the crowd into agreeing laughs.
Balar’s ears flattened. Shaking out his mane and wings, he reclaimed a little space and breathing room. “Imogen is a strong, competent woman. Any would be pleased to have her as their mate.”
From the way the gathered townsfolk looked amongst themselves, Balar got the impression that no, they didn’t agree.
A growl shook his throat. What did these people know, anyway? Turning on his heel, he marched toward another stall.
“Wait, are you looking for something for her?” called the jeweler. “I have other things!”
“What about flowers! I have the last of the season!”
“No, no, she’ll want lace, for a veil, perhaps!”
Balar didn’t know how, but more than two dozen people flocked around him. Merchants, shopkeepers, barmaids, and curious passersby followed him down the stalls, all calling out questions.
How impertinent. How rude. They all spoke of his Imogen so poorly, how could they think—
“Get back, you ninnies!”
Balar came up short to see an older woman throwing her elbows into the crowd to make room for herself. Taking a wide stance, the woman declared, “Imogen’s a sensible girl. She won’t want flowers or lace. Come with me, manticore, I’ve got just the thing.”
The crowd whispered amongst itself, so Balar took the opportunity to hustle away. He followed the older woman back to a shabby stall on the edge of the marketplace.
Turning to find that he’d followed, the woman smiled wide, making her tanned face crinkle with dozens of lines. “Smart choice,” she said before ducking down to rifle through something under the front table of her stall.
“You speak very…familiarly of Imogen.”
“Oh, sure, we’re great friends. She always comes to my stall when she comes to town. You ask your girl all about Gilda next time you see her.”
The woman continued searching in her booth, so long in fact that Balar grew suspicious about her having something in mind for Imogen at all. He was just about to edge away when her puff of white hair appeared again.
With a triumphant sound, she slapped a little stoppered pot of something on the tabletop. “Here we are. Your girl will appreciate this more than anything else.”
Picking up the pot gingerly, Balar looked at the nondescript ceramic. “What is it?”
“A salve for hoof rot. With winter coming, she’ll want to stock up for the animals.”
Balar made the mistake of putting the pot to his nose. Even stoppered, the rank scent made him grimace and cough.
Gilda cackled. “It’s certainly not rose oil!”
He considered for a moment. Imogen was practical, and if she bought this every year for Chestnut and the goats…
Still, he wasn’t sure he liked the oily way Gilda smiled at him. Imogen had never mentioned the merchant before, and just because she spoke of Imogen familiarly—and more importantly without comment or derision—that didn’t mean they were actually friends.
“How much?” he asked reluctantly.
Gilda named her price with that greedy grin, and it made Balar’s eyes water.
It certainly was practical, and Imogen was the practical sort. With a sigh, he laid down the correct number of coins. The silver pieces disappeared almost before they hit the wood tabletop.
“Excellent choice; you’re a good man.”
Balar wasn’t so sure, and after bidding Gilda goodbye, he wandered back into the marketplace proper. He didn’t come away from the exchange feeling right about it.
No, he determined, he couldn’t waste his one gift on hoof salve. So, he decided, this would be a gift for Chestnut. Which meant he still needed a gift for Imogen.
He’d just put the stinky salve in his pocket when his own name caught his ear.
Looking around, his gaze landed on another, far nicer stall. Behind the front table stood Emelda, a kind woman who sold fine fabrics. He’d patronized her stall many times now; she had procured him his fine blankets and pillows for his cabin.
Striding over to her stall, he greeted her warmly. “How are you and Harald?”
“Both fit and fine, thank you,” she said. Leaning over her stall, she lowered her voice to a more intimate tone to tell him, “Be wary of whatever Gilda says. She’s rather…unscrupulous.”
Balar bit back his growl. “So she doesn’t know Imogen?”
“No, she does. Imogen Ahearn always seems to deal with Gilda for some reason. I’ve tried to catch her before to warn her, but Imogen’s always so quick to leave.
” Lips pursed unhappily, Emelda admitted, “Gilda has been taking her for a song for years. Imogen produces some of the finest goat’s wool and milk in the demesne; she could be getting double the price in Dundúran that Gilda pays her. ”
There was no biting back his growl this time.
That woman was taking advantage of Imogen, likely knowing how uncomfortable she was in a crowd.
From what he knew of his kigara, Imogen most likely took the quickest option, and that for her was Gilda.
And the old woman profited from Imogen’s discomfort.
Unacceptable.
Seeing the outrage on his face, Emelda nodded.
“I’m glad Imogen’s got someone looking out for her finally.
She’s the quiet sort, but everyone knows what a hard worker she is.
That farm would’ve failed long ago without her.
” Cupping her hand around one side of her mouth, Emelda added, “And between you and me, it’s failing without her now.
Her sister and brother-in-law don’t know what they’re doing. ”
Unhappiness swirled inside Balar to hear it. Ibás, no wonder Imogen had fled into the forest. So much weight placed upon her shoulders and all the thanks she got were whispers behind her back and lies to her face.
That stopped now.
Looking over Emelda’s stall, he said, “I want your finest, softest blanket. Preferably in a sensible color.”
He would not be showing up with just hoof salve.
Emelda grinned. “I’ve got just the thing.”
It was late morning by the time Balar finally swooped down into Imogen’s meadow. He hadn’t meant to lose so much time in Granach, but at least the visit had been fruitful—he bore gifts and had learned important information about his kigara.
Information that only made him want to wrap her in her new soft blanket even more.
Human villages weren’t unlike mantii prides and tribes.
All had their tightly woven connections and politics.
Those at the bottom of the structure often had a harder time of it; they held less power and respect while also facing more chances of ridicule or even harm.
It wasn’t fair or just, but it seemed that was how many beings lived.
Knowing just what the connections and politics of Granach had done to Imogen made Balar respect her all the more. He could understand the appeal of getting away.
She’d carved a little bit of peace for herself here. Her own little sanctuary.
Which he’d brazenly invaded.
He didn’t regret it, of course, but he had the courage to feel a little sheepish over it. Perhaps, in his haste and enthusiasm, he hadn’t executed the best strategy for winning over his shy kigara.
That changed today.
From now on, he’d be the epitome of the patient lover. All softness, kindness, and understanding. Everything would go at her pace; she’d have her way and say in everything. There was nothing he wouldn’t—
A surprised bleat caught his ear. Balar looked toward the animal pen in surprise.