Margaret Moore - [Maiden & Her Knight 03] Read Online Free

to do as she wishes.”
    “I will,” he conceded with a genial bow.
    Arriving at the green, they surveyed the crowd of people, dogs, horses, carts and hastily assembled stalls.
    “Which is the merchant from London with the ribbons Allis likes?” Connor asked.
    Isabelle withdrew her arm from his and looked around. “I think the one at the southern edge of the green,” she said, nodding at the slightly familiar wagon. “Why don’t you leave that to me? I shall select them and later you can go to the merchant to collect them, and pay.”
    “Excellent idea,” Connor said, his relief at being spared the selection process evident.
    She nodded toward a plump, bearded man well dressed in a long tunic of dark blue, with a wide leather belt about his ample waist. The fellow bustled toward them as if he were under attack. “Here comes the reeve all in a bother to speak to you, for I doubt Bartholomew has business with me. I suspect he more likely wishes to ‘have a word’ with you.”
    Her lips twitched, and so did Connor’s. They didn’t want to laugh, for Bartholomew was nearly upon them, and he took his duties very seriously. On the other hand, he began every single conversation with Connor with those words.
    Red-faced, the reeve came to a panting halt. “If I might have a word, my lord.”
    Isabelle had to turn away to hide her smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Connor,” she managed to get out without laughing. She hurried away toward the cart at the other end of the market.
    It was not difficult for her to make her way through the crowd. People tended to make way for the nobility, even if they were friendly nobility, and Isabelle was well liked.
    Nevertheless, their deference made Isabelle feel very much alone, as it always did. She wasn’t distanced from the villagers and the servants of the castle only by her rank. As the chatelaine’s younger sister, she had no real place here, except as guest.
    Still, her situation could be worse—much worse, she reminded herself. She was safe with her sister and brother-in-law. The village and estate were thriving, the weather fair, Allis with child. Their younger brother Edmond was visiting Connor’s brother, Caradoc, at his estate in Wales, and by all accounts, enjoying himself. The troubles with DeFrouchette and his coconspirators seemed over for good. Connor had feared repercussions and revenge because Lord Oswald, the man who had planned the treachery, had escaped, his power broken and his money given to the crown. But after three years, they dared to hope he had fled far away, never to return.
    As for her own future, surely she was too young to worry that she could never be as happy as Allis.
    As Isabelle drew near the cart, a slender, brown-haired man she had never seen before appeared beside it as if by magic. He began to call out to passersby to see his wares, and when he saw her, a merry smile dimpled his cheeks. “Ah, my lady!” he cried with a Gascon accent. “You must come and see what I have, for I can tell you have great taste and a discerning eye! I assure you, my wares are of the finest quality, all the way from Marseilles.”
    If she had not been headed for him anyway, his smile alone would have drawn her to him.
    His brown eyes were like those of a particularly friendly dog as she studied the selection, which seemed as good as the London man’s. “I’m looking for something in pale blue.” She picked one up. “This will do, I think. I am to pick out some ribbons, and Sir Connor will come by later to collect them and pay you for them—at the price we agree upon.”
    “Ah, the great overlord of Bellevoire himself!” the peddler cried as he put his hand over his heart and bowed. “I shall be honored.”
    “There will be no deceiving him about the amount he is to pay, for I shall inform him of the sum we agreed upon before he arrives.”
    The slender man’s eyes widened with surprise, and his expression became doleful. “ Oui , my lady, of