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seed in the wind, suspended between earth and sky
for a few breathless moments. It was as though she weighed nothing
at all. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady herself
though, if the truth be known, she did not fear Braedon would let
her fall; she just wanted to feel his solid shoulders beneath her
fingers.
    She could not interpret the expression in his
eyes. Meeting Braedon's gaze was like watching the night sky and
penetrating deeper and deeper into unexplainable mystery. When he
set her on the ground and took his hands away she sighed and told
herself she was being remarkably foolish. She scarcely knew Braedon
and had no reason to think he was a trustworthy man. Resolving to
learn as much as she could from him, while at the same time
guarding her person and her heart from his seductive charms, she
led the way to the rows of booths.
    Royce had decreed a holiday for the first day
of the fair. Added to the next day, which was the Sabbath, the
villagers could enjoy two days of freedom from any but the most
necessary chores and they seemed to be making the most of their
time. Catherine knew all of the villagers whom she saw. Scattered
among the tents and wagons and carts displaying goods brought for
sale from towns as far away as Chester and Shrewsbury, and even
from Nottingham, were booths that had been set up by local people.
Wortham cheese was justly famous and the head cheesemaker and his
wife were selling the large wheels whole, while their young son
dispensed samples which he cut from a fresh wedge. Catherine
noticed two of her father's noble guests discussing the price of a
wheel of the cheese.
    At the booth next to the cheesemaker's, the
village weaver was spreading out bolts of wool on a specially made
rack.
    “Good morning, Lady Catherine,” he called.
“As you can see, that new batch of dye produced a beautiful shade
of green. I am vastly pleased with it.”
    “And rightly so.” Catherine stopped to look
at the wool. The fabric was soft and smooth to the touch. “Send a
bolt of this shade to the castle. I'll sew a new tunic for my
father.”
    “As always, I am honored to supply you, my
lady. The townspeople are delighted that Lord Royce has brought so
many new customers to the fair this year. The Whitsuntide festival
and the tournament are both good for business.” The weaver turned
to Braedon. “What of you, my lord? Do you fancy a length of this
dark blue wool? Or perhaps a heavier fabric to make a cloak?”
    Catherine watched Braedon fingering the wool.
His large hands were surprisingly deft as he scrunched the fabric
together, then stretched it to test its strength.
    “I can speak for its quality,” Catherine
said.
    “Of course you can, since it was made by your
own people.” Braedon shot her an amused glance, then nodded his
approval of the blue wool. “I'll take enough of this to make a
tunic. Send it to the castle along with Lord Royce's material.” He
drew some coins from the purse at his belt to pay the weaver.
    They moved on to the next booth, which was
owned by a trader who loudly proclaimed that he had come all the
way from London for the fair. Whether his claim was true or not,
the man’s merchandise was mostly cheap trinkets of false gold set
with bits of glass or colored pebbles. The townsfolk were clustered
about the booth, though the nobles from the castle ignored it.
    “I see nothing of interest there.” With a
dismissive shrug Braedon took Catherine's arm and led her farther
down the row. The fair was becoming more crowded. All of the guests
from the castle were present, along with most of their
retinues.
    “From what I can see,” Catherine said,
looking about her with pleasure, “the villagers are going to make
good profits. My father will be happy.”
    Braedon looked surprised at her remark, as if
he could not believe Royce of Wortham would trouble himself with a
minor fair, even if it was held on his own land.
    “Oh, Catherine,” Aldis cried in