"You may touch them," Tearle said, smiling. "Smell them."
"Smell?" she asked, and she picked up one soft, beautiful pair. The gloves smelled of roses. She turned to him, delight on her face. "How?" she whispered. In her experience leather smelled of horses and men's sweat.
"Before the gloves are cut the leather is buried for months in flower petals. Do you have jasmine?" he asked the vendor.
The man, watching the strange pair, dug through the pile and took out a pair of yellow leather gloves heavily embroidered with gold thread. For all the world, he thought, these people talked as a man and his lady, but what the vendor saw was a big, handsome, obviously aristocratic lord and a pretty red-haired boy who had a s
mudge of dirt on his cheek.
"Choose the one you want and one for Lady Liana. Or perhaps a pair for each of her ladies."
"Liana would love these," Zared said, looking at the colors, feeling the softness of them. She put the gloves down and stepped back.
"Choose," Tearle urged her.
She glared at him. She didn't want to admit before the vendor that she had no money and couldn't afford something as frivolous as one pair of gloves, much less several pairs as gifts.
Tearle understood her thinking. "I mean to purchase all that you want."
Her fists clenched; her back teeth locked together. She was so angry she couldn't speak but turned on her heel and stalked away.
Tearle grimaced. He was beginning to understand the Peregrine pride. He lifted his tunic edge, felt for the drawstring bag hanging from his waist, and pulled out a gold coin. He flipped it to the gaping vendor, then took the gloves—all of them—shoved them down the front of his tunic, and went after Zared.
She was walking so stiff-legged that it was easy to catch her. He didn't try to reason with her but grabbed her arm and pulled her into a narrow place between a thatch-roofed hut and a stone wall. He blocked the exit with his big body.
Zared glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Peregrines do not take charity from a Howard. We do not take charity from anyone. Even though our lands were stolen we—"
She broke off because he kissed her. He didn't pull her into his arms but just leaned forward, head turned, and kissed her firmly. When he stood upright Zared could only look at him, blinking. It was a moment before she could recover the use of her senses. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stared at him.
"It is good to see you have no words," he said.
"I have words for you," she answered, and tried to push past him to get out of the confined area. "Let me pass."
"Not until you listen to me."
"I will hear nothing you say."
"Then I shall kiss you again."
Zared stopped and looked at him. His kiss had not been unpleasant. In fact, it had made her feel a little warm. "I will listen if it puts an end to such degradation."
He smiled at her so knowingly that she looked away.
"Say what you must."
"First, see this," he said softly, and he pulled a pair of red silk gloves out of the inside of his tunic. They were embroidered with bumblebees and yellow buttercups.
In spite of herself Zared took the gloves from him. Before, in front of the vendor, she couldn't try the gloves on, but now she did, slipping her small hand into the silk. They were beautiful, soft and bright, glistening as she turned her hand to look at them. "I have never seen anything as beautiful," she whispered.
"Not these?" he asked, withdrawing another pair. "Or these?"
She took them one by one, but as he pulled more and more pairs from his tunic she began to laugh. "What have you done? Stolen them?"
"I gave him a gold Howard coin," he said, watching her.
Her face lost its laughter. "Take them. They are yours."
He made no effort to take the gloves, and he could see that Zared wasn't about to drop them in the dirt.