Page 40 of Paladin's Faith
“If we’d had time to wait on a cobbler, we could have gotten court shoes made for you,” said Marguerite sympathetically. “Double thick soles.”
“Oh, it’s fine.” The paladin put her foot down. “I don’t mean to complain. I’ve done forced marches before; it’s not like wandering around for a few hours is anything much.”
“It is when you’re not wearing the right footwear.” She looked over her shoulder at Shane. “Of course, Tall, Strong, and Handsome there gets to wear his usual boots.”
“Next time we do this, let’s put him in the dress and I’ll be the bodyguard.”
Marguerite grinned. “You know he’d look just devastating in it, though. That’s the annoying thing.”
Wren paused, tapping her fan against her lower lip. “That is…quite an image.”
“Isn’t it, though?” Marguerite stepped back and made a slight bow, a merchant to her patron. Pitching her voice up, she said, “Always a pleasure, my lady.”
“Miss Florian.” Wren sailed off, fan aloft. I must speak to her about not holding it like a weapon. Though for all I know, it could be. I wonder how many people she could kill with a fan.
It was easy to see, if you were trained to read people, that Wren was not nearly so confident as she looked. That was a good thing, really. No one would ever think that she was a spy. The best lies are mostly true.
“What an odious little mushroom,” murmured Davith in her ear.
Marguerite had a strong desire to come to Wren’s defense, or failing that, to kick Davith in the shins. She squelched it. “Useful enough, though. One of my top suppliers comes from her town and I was able to convince her to take me along. She was enchanted by the idea of having an entourage.”
His lip curled slightly. “Poor you.”
“She’s not so bad, the poor dear. Just young and completely lacking in airs and graces.” Marguerite gave a slight shrug. She did not feel guilty for playing her part well, but she hated the necessity. “Also…well, you know how it is. Anything that saves me money. I have to attend Court to sell perfume, but all my cash is tied up in stock.”
Davith grunted. “I hear that,” he muttered. “I begin to wish I hadn’t set my sights on Lady Sancha. Wealthy and widowed, but she’s making me work to get into her good graces. Much longer and I’ll be reduced to card sharping.”
“Poor Davith. How undignified.”
“I don’t give a damn about my dignity, I just don’t want to get caught. You go to a table where the play is deep and at least one of the players is fleecing the others. If I want to play it safe, I’m playing for chicken stakes.”
“Tsk, tsk.” Marguerite raised an eyebrow. “And your…ah…other widow isn’t providing sufficient love gifts?”
He went quiet for an instant too long. Marguerite could practically hear the wheels turning. Davith was clever and very good at getting into people’s good graces, but he did not have her experience in the game.
“My other widow would like results before they send more gifts,” he admitted. “Of course, you’re familiar with how that works.”
“Very familiar.” Her current hope was to convince Davith that she was still working for the Red Sail, and that their employer had seen fit to pit them against each other. Sadly, not as unrealistic as it could be. There are always spymasters who think it’s cute to make their people fight. “I would offer to help, but I would not want your widow to think that you were taking gifts from someone else.” She gave him a level look under her lashes. “You know how highly some prize loyalty.”
He grimaced. “I do, yes. I suppose I shall simply muddle through.”
Just how desperate was he? Marguerite studied the lines of his face; the circles under his eyes expertly concealed with paint. His clothes were quite fine, but if you knew where to look, you could make out signs of expert mending. His own work, if memory serves. How much is he cutting his coat to fit his cloth, though?
She examined her nails with studied casualness. “Of course, some would say that what one’s paramours don’t know won’t hurt them. If I were to come across a bauble that might interest your other widow, perhaps I might be convinced to part with it.”
“And what would be in it for you? I have little to offer except my gratitude.” His smile was equally studied, although there was a gleam of the old wickedness in his eyes. “Mind you, I have been complimented on the size of my gratitude before…”
She snorted at him. “I don’t require that sort of gratitude, thank you.”
She thought that she waited a sufficient amount of time afterward before glancing in Shane’s direction, but Davith always did have a sense for those things.
“Ahhh…” he murmured, “So that’s the way of things, is it?”
Marguerite didn’t bother to deny it. Denial would only have looked suspicious, even if it was, regrettably, true. “My bodyguard,” she said. “Pretty, isn’t he?”
“Very. I’d try to bed him myself if I hadn’t sworn off men.”
“You swore off men?”