A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,4
two-handed broadsword he carried only fueled the notion that Highlanders were savages bent on running men through.
Drawing herself back to the present, Laurel nodded as the man droned on and on about how he could only accept the best-quality craftsmanship since ladies from court frequented his shop. It was the same monotonous routine each time she came. Drawing herself up to her full height, she raised her hand and shook her head.
“Enough. I haven’t the time nor the patience to continue listening to the same prattle you repeat every time I come to sell a gown. You know I am an expert seamstress, and you know the ladies who purchase these gowns pay ridiculous prices for them. You don’t need to examine every stitch as though I intend to cheat you. Pay me the fair price, and we can be done.” Laurel drew in a breath and looked down, waiting for the real negotiations to begin. The haberdasher would offer an insultingly low price, and she would counter with an absurdly high one. They would go back and forth, Laurel collecting the gowns and pretending to leave, and finally the man would relent to the price Laurel always wanted.
“I don’t think I shall buy any more from you.”
Laurel slowly raised her eyes to meet the man’s face, completely unprepared for this turn of events. She swallowed as she reined in her temper. Taller than the average woman, Laurel stood nose-to-nose with this merchant, unlike the one she’d towered over that morning. The veil obscured her expression, but her tone was quite clear. “You shall regret that. My sister is a maid to a fine lady at court. I shall tell Mary aboot this, and she shall tell her lady, and her lady will tell everyone. You shall be out of business before the sun sets.”
“No, I won’t,” the man sniffed. “I don’t believe you have a sister who is a maid. If you did, then why aren’t you employed in the castle as well? Why not be a seamstress for one of those high-and-mighty ladies you boast aboot?”
“Because I don’t need to wait on anyone else. I sew and sell as I please. And right now, it pleases me to leave and take my gowns with me.” Laurel folded the kirtles and moved to place them in her satchel before she paused. “By the by, my sister’s employer is Lady Laurel Ross. Are you familiar with her?”
“The Shrew of Stirling?” The merchant took a step back as he alternated nodding and shaking his head. Laurel stifled her grimace, hating the moniker. She knew she’d earned it, but she’d dulled her sniping and criticizing over the past five years, and she wished she could redeem herself enough that no one continued to call her the Shrew of Stirling. But she wouldn’t hold her breath.
“Aye, that be the one,” Laurel nodded. If she had to live with the infamy, she would use it to her advantage.
“You wished for sixty pounds.” The shop owner nodded several times before pulling forth a chest that rattled with coins inside. “You shall rob me blind, but it’s better than Lady Laurel showing up on my stoop or ruining my business.”
“That it is, mercer. And it’s hardly a plight to cry aboot when you ken you’ll make twice, if not thrice, that when you sell them. It is I who should bemoan being swindled. In fact, I think this shall be the last time we do business. I prefer Duncan four shops down. He barely speaks and pays without question. Aye, that is who I shall take my gowns to henceforth.”
“Nay!” The man’s already-ruddy face turned scarlet, and Laurel knew she was now in the sole position of power to negotiate. No merchant who traded with her could afford to lose her business; all realized that she never tossed out empty threats. “I—I—will give you eighty pounds for the gowns, if you will return.”
“One hundred, and I will consider it,” Laurel closed the satchel, then crossed her arms. It was an obscene amount for a seamstress, but Laurel knew from experience that the man would sell her gowns for forty pounds apiece. She frequented the stores dressed befitting her status to keep an eye on the patrons and the prices the salesmen requested. This would leave the shop owner with a profit, but it was far less than he desired. But one hundred pounds would ensure Laurel wouldn’t have to sew quite so much or quite so