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Past the homes, they encountered shops, some of them just opening, their owners sweeping the walkway while others hauled out bins of wares. They didn’t stop until they reached a paddock, an oddity to see in the middle of a city. It held a few horses and the moment the warlord swung off his steed, a young boy was taking its reins and leading it into the fenced area.
Fionna turned sideways and slid off the horse, squeaking as her mare moved, almost tossing her to the ground. Kormaccaught her before she could fall. A brief touch. She blamed her near mishap on her thundering pulse.
“Thank you again.” Her words emerged slightly high-pitched and breathless.
“The market isn’t far,” was his brusque reply.
She could literally see it from the paddock, a large square festooned with kiosks, some sturdy structures you could enter, others draped fabric to form canopies and tents. As with every other market she’d visited, wares were laid out and as they passed, merchants shouted about their specials.
As they wandered, she heard the murmurs about the warlord, most of them positive.
“The warlord is looking fit.”
“I hear he can fight a half dozen men without sweating.”
Then there were the curious…
“Who’s that woman?”
“I didn’t realize the warlord had chosen a bride.”
And finally, those who’d heard the rumors of her presence.
“It’s the witch who has him under her spell.”
“How has he not killed the intruder?”
She could tell Kormac heard by the way his jaw tightened.
“Don’t be upset at their words. After all, they’re just saying what you did a few days ago. Witches are bad, remember.”
“The reputation of witches and reality diverge. It might be time to educate ourselves more on outside customs.”
She halted. “Hold on, that sounds progressive. What happened to keeping to your ways?”
“Not all change is bad,” he grudgingly admitted.
“Perhaps I have bespelled you, for I didn’t think to ever hear you say that,” she said with a smile.
“A man’s pride shouldn’t get in the way of the truth. And the truth is, you’re not a crone trying to curse people. You’re nota charlatan playing tricks for money. You’re also not curdling milk.”
“Why would we curdle milk?” she asked in surprise.
“The same reason you steal babies, blight crops, and cause droughts.”
She blinked at him in surprise. “We don’t do any of those things. Wait, did you believe that?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t know what to believe. I contacted your queen out of desperation and because I had no other options. Had you proven to be any of those things, we would not be talking.”
“You’d have sent me back.”
“Or killed you.” He mentioned it so nonchalantly.
“My queen wouldn’t have been pleased had you done so. We might not be violent by nature, but we also don’t allow ourselves to be abused.”
“Would she have gone to war over one witch?” He glanced at her.
“No, but she would have ensured your country suffered as a result. Not all battles are fought face to face.”
