For The One(54)

Once I’ve gathered all my items, I make my rounds, finding my friends from RMRA at various booths where they’ve spread out their wares. Among others, there’s a spinner, a weaver, a seamstress, a woman who makes authentic woolen stockings and a silversmith who designs jewelry. Ann, an international student from Somalia, has ordered some new buckles for the leather belts she makes and sells. I’m still a beginner so it took me a few tries to get them right, but I’m pleased with the final results.

We’ve gotten permission from the city to spread our items out on tables in one corner of the park. The public wanders by to look at the booths, as do members of other RMRA clans in the area, who bring their own wares to sell or barter. I don’t sell my items, since I don’t need the money. I do it for the fun of learning how to craft things in an authentic manner. It makes my fellow clan members happy, and I don’t have many friends so I take this seriously. They are friends I don’t want to lose, so I try not to think about the possibility that if I lose this duel, I will lose them.

I see Doug in the distance. He’s using a whetstone to sharpen weapons and tools. Like me, he doesn’t need the money, but he charges anyway. He’s stated many times that people won’t value his work unless they pay him for it.

As I move from table to table, people ask me about the duel. Word has gotten around that I’ll be banished from the community if Doug wins. Many are upset with him for demanding such unusual terms. But I’ve accepted it, because if I lose again, I won’t count myself worthy to be among them anyway.

“Sir William!” says Thomas, our miller and baker, who has freshly baked artisan bread at his booth. He hands me a roll of sweet bread. “Break your fast with me.”

“Good morrow, Thomas. I don’t have time. Lots of deliveries today.”

He nods and looks at me for a long moment. “Is it true what they’re saying about the terms of the duel with Sir Douglas?”

I nod, unsurprised, as this is the third time I’ve been asked a variation of this question. “It is.”

He begins talking and his words start to hit like waves on the beach, because I’ve just spotted Jenna’s bright blond hair in a booth across the way. She’s speaking with Agnes, our master seamstress, and admiring the gowns hanging at her booth. There are many beautiful, bright fabrics, but the dress that seems to have caught her eye is various shades of blue. It’s the color of the sky at the top then gradually darkens into a deep cerulean, and eventually to midnight blue at the bottom. It has laces up the back and long, flowing sleeves in the style of a medieval lady’s gown. The wind catches the skirt in the breeze, and I watch as Jenna runs a hand reverently over the fabric.

I picture her wearing it. How the cornflower shade at the waist of the skirt would match the blue of her eyes. How the sky blue near the neckline would make her skin glow. She’s already beautiful, but in that gown she would look like an angel…or a fairy princess. I could paint her portrait as if she were wearing that gown, but it would be better to see her wearing it in real life.

She’s laughing along with Agnes before she turns to walk away. After I finish my conversation with the miller, I make my way over to the seamstress’s booth.

“Sir William! Well met,” she says, giving me the typical medieval-style greeting.

“Well met, goodwife.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have any requests for you today. Those hangers and hooks you made for me a few months ago are working quite well. I think your craftsmanship is getting so good, you’ll work yourself out of business soon.”

Her words surprise me. “I would never do less than my best.”

“Of course, of course. Now what can I do for you, Sir William? Are you looking for new garb? A doublet perhaps?”

I look at the exquisite dress that Jenna was just admiring. “I want to purchase this gown.”

“I don’t think it would fit you.” Agnes smiles.

“No, it’s not for me. I’d like you to tailor it so it fits Mistress Kovac.”

Her facial expression changes, but I have no idea how to read it. “I’d love to do that. Would you want it to be a surprise? I could find an excuse to get her measurements.”

I reflect on that for a moment. I don’t like surprises at all, but I know that many do. And it might be nice to see what effect this surprise would have on her. Perhaps it might convince her to stay. Because ever since last night and the long hours I spent awake remembering the feel of her against me, I know that this is what I need. For her to stay. For her to be mine.