Zared's anger that had built up over the last days came to the surface. Severn's sword lay propped against a nearby post, and she grabbed it, going after the boy as though she meant to kill him.
Tearle caught her about the waist and lifted her off the ground. "Release it," he said.
"I have had enough of his taunts and mean to silence him," she yelled.
Tearle's big arm squeezed her waist until she could no longer breathe. With his other arm he took the sword from her. He dropped her so that she barely caught herself before falling. "Go back to your master," Tearle growled at Jamie, and the boy scurried away.
Tearle turned to Zared. "Do you always greet anger with a weapon? Do you not know how to think?"
"As well as you do," she snapped. "That child—"
"Is just that," Tearle interrupted, then he sighed. "I should be grateful you did not agree with him and hope for Colbrand to win."
"Over my brother? Colbrand will no doubt beat the other men, but he will not beat a Peregrine."
Tearle was glad Zared was not ready to betray her brother for the stupid Colbrand. He didn't say more as he turned back to the field.
At noon the jousting was halted, and all the participants were to leave the grounds to go into dinner. Zared knew it would be another long meal serving her brother. "You are ready?" she asked Severn.
He looked down at her, then at Smith behind her, and he remembered the way the man had held her in the night. Severn wondered if Zared remembered what had happened. He ruffled his sister's hair, knocking her cap askew. "Go you with Smith and see what the merchants have to sell," he said.
"Leave? But who will serve you? Who will—"
"I will not starve. Now go before I change my mind."
Zared didn't waste a moment in making up her mind. She turned and was off the tournament grounds almost before Severn had finished his sentence. She almost ran into a man who had two dead pigs slung across his back.
Tearle's hand clamped on her shoulder.
"Leave me," she snapped at him. "I do not need a keeper."
"Will you enjoy this visit among the people as much as yesterday? You left early to go and sit alone in the woods."
"I wanted to do that," she said, her chin stuck out. "I was tired of the crowds, and… and…"
"Mmmm," he said, obviously not believing her. It didn't take a great deal of work on his part to figure out why she cried at night. Were he made to dress as a woman he would do more than weep.
"If you will allow me, I will accompany you."
Zared didn't want to agree to go with him, but she, too, remembered the night before, when she'd felt so alone. Perhaps a Howard was better than nothing— not a great deal better, but better than being alone. "All right," she said. "You may come with me."
"You are very kind to me, Lady Zared," he said softly.
"Lady" Zared, she thought, and she rather liked the sound of the words.
She hated to admit it—oh, very much hated to admit it—but she enjoyed the Howard man's company. He led her through the tents of vendors set up near the tourney grounds and showed her everything. At a booth selling religious objects she stared in awe at bloodstained splinters from Christ's cross. The Howard man showed her that some of the blood wasn't even dry yet, and he pointed to a wooden tent post that was suspiciously missing some large splinters.
He took her to a goldsmith's booth, and when Zared would have stood to one side to look at the beautiful objects the Howard man bade the goldsmith show them all his wares. At a cloth merchant's booth he had the man pull down all the luscious fabrics so that Zared could see and feel them. At another booth he showed her children's toys, bidding the merchant to demonstrate each one.
The few hours they had before the tournament began again went by much too quickly, and Zared was reluctant to return.
"A woman at heart," Tearle said, laughing. "How have you resisted purchasing? If nothing for yourself, then a gift perhaps for your lovely sister-in-law."
"The Howards stole our fortune," she said, hating being reminded of her poverty.
Tearle's handsome face lost its smile. He had only meant to tease her, not to remind her of her family's poverty. "Here," he said. "See what this man sells."
Zared lost her anger when she looked at the man with the big tray suspended from around his neck. On the tray were beautiful embroidered gloves. They were of white or tan leather, or of colored silk, and the embroidery was so bright it flashed in the sunlight.