of her expression again, Gavin was at her side.
“What was going on?” he asked. “Was that man giving you any trouble?”
“Not at all,” she answered, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow as they stepped back across the street. “He was just seeing if we needed a guide.”
“Not anymore,” Gavin said. “The mother of that little brat gave remarkably clear directions. We’re no more than five minutes away.”
He led her away, but Esme could still feel the eyes boring into her back.
11
It was a good thing they were finally close, because as the light faded, the streets dimmed, only the occasional flickering lamps of windows clear enough to watch by as they entered the darkened old market square.
Despite the growing darkness, the booths that lined the far side seemed busy enough and a cluster of people gathered at the side of the well that marked the middle of the square.
If he hadn’t known better, Gavin would’ve thought it was Esme’s family come back to life.
Women flitted back-and-forth between the caravans that were set up behind the booths.
They wore the same short dresses over loose pants as the bodies he’d brought to her, back at the site of the massacre.
Men in bright colored tunics, white teeth flashing as they called out to passersby, so alike in build to those he’d buried.
Beside him, Esme’s breath caught.
He paused, drawing her closer, wishing that damn veil wasn’t in the way so he could stroke her hair back.
“Are you going to be all right with this?” he asked softly.
She nodded, face pale.
“Of course, I am,” she said. “Besides, there isn’t a choice. And it’s silly to be so worked up about seeing another clan.” She swallowed hard. “It’s just for a moment, it was like looking into a mirror, a vision of the past. Let’s go, see what they know.”
“And then we’ll get back to the inn,” Gavin offered. “I’ve often found a good meal helps with random silliness.”
She dipped her head, almost leaning it against his arm and straightened.
“You’re probably right about that.”
She led him straight to a booth before which a burly, older man stood, shoulders still broad despite his years.
His black beard was grizzled with gray and sharp eyes flashed back-and-forth across the marketplace.
Gavin had no doubt that he missed nothing.
“Find embroidered fabrics for your home, mistress,” he started. “Flowers so lifelike you’d swear they’d been plucked from the forest and brought--” He stepped forward. “Lady bless us, is that you Esme?”
She smiled, laughing in his confusion.
“Yes, you don’t need to shout it.”
“What are you dressed like that for?” he sputtered. “And who’s this?” he scowled at Gavin.
“This is a friend,” she said. “I need to talk to you and the rest of your clan leaders. Something terrible has happened and I need your help.”
All of the bluster passed out of the man’s face in an instant and he nodded sharply. “Mikael, you and your brother come watch the booths.”
A pair of teenagers emerged from the caravans.
“Yes, Uncle Hendrick,” they replied, eyes wide with the looming possibilities that being in charge would give them.
“Don’t try to sell anything, just keep watch,” the old man continued in a low voice. “There may be trouble.”
The teenagers suddenly looked older, mischief washed away by grim reality.
Taking Esme’s hand, Hendrick led them between the booths, and into the circle of caravans.
“Brynlee, Freya, Lian. Why don’t you join us?”
Hendrick moved to where there were seats circled by the fire, and silently the cluster of families that had been by the fire faded away, leaving only three people remaining.
Hendrik pulled over a chair for Esme, fabric straps slung across the wooden frame. Gavin suspected it all folded up quite neatly for traveling, and it looked comfortable. Better than the emergency gear stored in the air sleds, that was for certain.
“I don’t want to sit,” Esme pleased. “There’s no time.”
“There’s time enough to be polite to your elders, I assume,” Hendrik scowled, then his face softened. “You said something terrible. What’s happened?”
Gavin stood behind the chair and met Esme’s eyes.
With obvious reluctance, she sat, and the others pulled their chairs around her.
The other man, must be Liam, was younger. Maybe Hendrik’s son, or another nephew.
Of the two women, one was old enough to be Hendrix’s wife or sister, the other one close to Esme’s age.
Despite the spread of their years, all had a wary look in their eyes as if waiting for an axe to fall.
The silence pressed on the group as all around them the sounds