It was late the next morning when the walls of Grendel came into sight. As Donovan and Brandela walked the final league, they began to pass more and more travelers—most on foot, some with rough carts pulled by slow-moving beasts of burden. Except for the odd, curious look, none of the people questioned them or paid them any attention.
A sign, hung over the main gates, read Town of Grendel. As they entered the town and walked down its main street, Donovan thought that “City of Grendel” would have been a more accurate name for it, for it was bustling with people of all shapes and sizes. The town, sitting out there in the middle of nowhere, had been built for the purpose of trading goods of all kinds, and had street after street of venders and shops, livestock yards and auction sites, and all the goods they could possibly imagine.
As they rounded a corner, they came upon a small group of Slavers herding a forlorn looking cluster of men and women, all bound at the ankles and wrists. One woman raised her eyes, ever so briefly, to glance at Donovan, and in that moment, in that frightened, hopeless look, he was taken back to the day his mother was stolen and his entire village slain. He could see the terror in her eyes and hear the horrible, animal sound of her cries again. What had become of her, he wondered? A wave of sadness washed over him and for a moment he could only stare after the woman as though she could somehow give him the answer.
Brandela felt his anguish as a deep pain in her heart, and looked up at him in alarm.
“Are you all right?” she questioned, taking his hand in hers. “What has hurt you, Donovan?”
Donovan pulled himself back to the present and started walking again, gripping Brandela’s arm tightly. “Trust no one,” he ordered. “Do not remove your scarf or hood under any circumstances. If these men find out you are an Elf, they will likely attempt to kidnap you. We must not let our guard down for a minute.”
Brandela nodded. Donovan’s sudden intensity had made her nervous and she walked close to him, hardly daring to glance at the people they passed for fear of giving her identity away. She knew from conversations she had overheard while with her father that Elven slaves were highly valued in the free towns because they were so rare. Elven females were worth their weight in gold because of their beauty and long lifespans. It was part of the reason her father guarded the Wood Elven Forest as strictly as he did and hated humans with such ferocity. She and Donovan had come here to seek shelter and safety, but Brandela had rarely felt so vulnerable in her life.
Donovan led them up and down several streets, pausing now and then at the shops of weapon-makers and traders. He seemed to be seeking something, but said nothing to Brandela. Overwhelmed by the jostling crowds and the noise, she clung to his arm and asked no questions.
Finally, he made his way over to one of the merchants, who was selling crude, iron-bladed weapons and tools. The merchant held out his hand in greeting, and as Donovan shook the man’s hand, Brandela could feel a relaxation in her mind. Donovan had chosen to trust this man, she realized.
“Are you in the market for finely made weaponry, good sir?” Donovan asked.
The merchant laughed and waved a hand toward the coarse items he had on display. “A fine weapon would be of great interest,” he replied, “at the right price.”
Donovan drew his Elven-made dagger from beneath his cloak and placed it on the counter. He watched the merchant’s face light up as he picked up the blade and examined it carefully. The man spoke in a hushed voice when he said, “Elven-made! It is a very beautiful piece. Many people would pay a high price for such a fine dagger. What are you hoping to get for it?”
“A fair price,” answered Donovan simply. “I came to you because you seemed honest to me…, at least, more so than any of the others I met.”
The merchant smiled and replied, “I am a straightforward man, just trying to earn my way. To be honest, I’m not sure I can afford to give you what this dagger is truly worth. It is an exquisitely made weapon. You usually see weaponry like this as an ornamental piece in the houses of rich noblemen. Rarely does something this fine come across our counters.”
Donovan smiled. “I want to deal with you. How much can you offer me for this dagger?”
The merchant picked up the dagger again and turned it in his hands while he thought. “The best I can offer is fifty gold pieces and three hundred silver coins. You could get far more for it at one of the auctions.”
Donovan studied the man’s face for a moment and saw no deception in his eyes. He offered his hand and said, “You have a deal, friend.”
The merchant smiled broadly and shook Donovan’s hand vigorously. “You’ve made a good deal, sir. Allow me to assist you with anything else you may need. I can see that you’re new to the town— perhaps I can offer information on what shops and innkeepers are the best priced.”
“Thank you, that would be most helpful,” answered Donovan. “Do you, by chance, know of a reasonably priced dressmaker in town?”
The merchant stroked his chin and frowned. Finally, he answered, “Yes, I can recommend someone, but… why do you need female clothing, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“It is for my wife,” answered Donovan. Brandela, unable to understand the language Donovan spoke with the merchant, had been still and quiet beside him during the exchange, but now looked up at him, quizzically, as she felt a small thrill reverberating from his heart to her own.
What had thrilled him, she wondered, looking from his face to the merchant’s for a clue.
“Your wife?” queried the merchant, puzzled.
Donovan considered the older man carefully for a moment, then turned to Brandela. To her utter surprise, he lowered the hood of her cloak and turned her slightly to face the merchant. The man’s eyes widened with shock as he took in the woman before him. Although dressed in strange, oversized, men’s clothing and utterly dusty and unkempt, she was stunning. Here stood a prize that would fetch more than a dozen Elven-made daggers on the auction block. He understood, without asking any further questions, why her husband was keeping her so covered.
The merchant smiled at Brandela and was rewarded with a radiant smile in return. He reached out and raised her hood, gently, and looked at Donovan. “Keep her safe,” he warned.
Donovan nodded his understanding and waited while the man regarded Brandela, stroking his chin as he thought.
“I know a woman who can be trusted to help you,” he said, finally. “I’ll take you to her myself.”
Several minutes later they arrived at the dressmaker’s shop. After a brief, hushed conversation with the woman, the merchant left them. The woman closed her shop and locked the door, then returned to them with a gentle smile.
“Shall we get started?” she asked Brandela.
Brandela looked from the woman to Donovan, unsure of what was expected of her.
Donovan’s smile was gentle and adoring as he looked at his new wife, waiting for his direction with so must trust. “She doesn’t understand our language,” he explained to the woman.
The woman took Brandela’s arm and led her to a side room where reams of fabric were stacked, and dresses in various states of completion were hanging. The woman gestured to a row of finished dresses and held up one of them to Brandela as though to size it.
Brandela’s face flushed with excitement when she realized what they were doing, and she rushed back to Donovan and threw her arms around him. Donovan laughed and pushed her away, back toward the woman. Her smiles couldn’t have pleased him more!
Brandela picked out a dark-green walking dress that hung loosely on her slender frame when she tried it on. The dressmaker tucked and pinned, then set to work to make the necessary adjustments. When Brandela tried it on again, it fit her perfectly. Perhaps too perfectly, thought Donovan as he took in the contours of her figure beneath the lines of the dress. This is not going to make staying focused any easier.
Brandela changed back into her Ranger’s uniform and the dressmaker wrapped her dress for her. On the way to the inn that the merchant had suggested, Donovan stopped at several venders’ stalls and restocked their supplies. All Brandela wanted to do was get to a proper room with a bath and a bed and real food. Donovan was looking forward to the same, but wanted to be sure they were ready should the need arise to travel again quickly.
Donovan and Brandela feasted on thick, hot, hearty stew and fresh bread that night, and Brandela spent hours soaking and scrubbing in the rough, worn tub that came with their room. While she bathed, Donovan dozed on the thin mattress of their bed, thinking he’d never felt anything quite so comfortable. The room was certainly not fit for a princess, but Brandela had never felt so blessed and spoiled in her life.
The next morning, as they walked about town, taking in the sights and gathering the last of the supplies that Donovan wanted, Brandela bubbled over with joy. “Thank you so much! I love this dress. It is so much more comfortable than your deplorable attire.”
Donovan looked over at her and raised his eyebrows in the teasing expression Brandela had come to recognize and love. She wore his cloak and hood, still, over the new dress, but her radiant mood was shining through. “Well, now that you’re not making use of my clothing anymore, maybe I can actually wear them again. That is, if you haven’t managed to stretch them all out,” he joked.
Brandela laughed and replied, “I am far too happy for my mood to be ruined by your odious conduct. I’m sure you’re clothing will fit you a lot better than it ever did me.”
Donovan smiled at her bubbly mood. “We have all the supplies we need now,” he told her. “So, we can get moving toward the river tomorrow and start heading north. It’s going to take us about four more months before we reach the forest.”
Brandela’s smile faded as she thought about going home. Things had changed so much since that awful night in Eldergate. She had changed. What would it be like to return to her old life and all the old expectations? And how would Donovan fit into that life? She looked forward to returning to the safety of the forest and seeing her family but, for the moment, part of her wished they never had to return.
Donovan continued talking, explaining how they would cross the river once they arrived and…, He looked up to find Brandela with a faraway, sad expression on her face.
“What’s wrong, Princess? Are you missing home?”
She regarded him for a moment, surprised that he would assume this was the cause of her mood. Was he not feeling what she felt? Did the bonding only work for her? Maybe that’s why he had been so unclear about it the day before! And that would explain his playful response to the scantily dressed woman who had made advances on him outside the weapon dealer’s shop earlier. Brandela had been genuinely shocked by this because, as a bonded mate, she felt no attraction for anyone but her mate. Perhaps bonding didn’t work on humans. This sudden realization startled her…; she needed time to consider what it meant.
To distract him from her true feelings, she scowled at him and said, “I was just thinking about that woman that you seemed to like so much earlier.”
“What woman?” asked Donovan, completely puzzled by this turn of topic.
“The one giving you the vulgar view of her cow-like breasts. Have you forgotten her so soon?” The more she thought about it, the more she allowed jealousy to take hold. She could see the confusion on Donovan’s face and she could feel it within her, but she ignored it. They needed to straighten this out!
Suddenly, Donovan grinned as he remembered who Brandela was talking about. His smile only infuriated her more.
“Perhaps you like human women better!” she snapped.
“No, Brandela, what are you talking about? I didn’t like her. It’s just that…”
“It’s just that one woman won’t be enough for you? Is that it?”
“No, I just...”
“Just couldn’t keep your eyes off of her body!”
Donovan sighed, defeated by this strange new side of Brandela. He did not understand her mind at all and suspected that he still had a lot to learn about women, no matter which race.