Red Rowan: Book 3: Return of the Reluctant Hero
Page 31
Rowan wasn’t worried for himself, but he knew the Crellian tailor would have been upset. He made the Guard officers’ dress uniforms and he was a pleasant, inoffensive little man.
“Aye, I can hear the mutterings,” he smiled at her again, “But ‘tisn’t as if I’m wearing my stable clothes.”
Suddenly his head came up at something that Bella hadn’t heard.
“And what the hell does this… this damned forester mean by insulting us all like this? Attire like that may be all very well in Godsforsaken places like Sian, but it is most certainly not appropriate for the Commandant of the Wirran Guard’s Mid Winter Ball!”
He wasn’t quite sure who’d said it, but he had a damned good idea, from what Bella had said. Yes, Telli was giving that pompous idiot of a mayor a very hard look indeed. Not Bella’s father, this fellow was a relative newcomer to the town.
“Be very careful what you say now, Sir,” Telli was saying, “If you insult that man, you insult all of us here and I would strongly advise you not to be so unwise.”
“Tell me truly, Bella… is this jacket really so disgraceful?” Rowan asked softly.
“No, Rowan love, it isn’t. But you know how narrow some folks minds are, and some of them have nothing else to concern themselves with,” she replied.
He nodded and muttered a word she didn’t know, but she thought she could take a guess at its meaning.
He saw Bella to her seat, kissed her hand and bowed.
She saw the glare the new mayor sent Rowan’s way and said quickly, “Be careful of that man, Rowan. He’s out to cause trouble.”
“Then ‘tis time he learned some manners.”
He turned to Telli.
“Thanks, Telli, but I’m a big lad now,” he said very softly.
He turned to the man who’d spoken and bowed again.
“A good evening to you, my lord,” he said courteously, “I’m so sorry if my jacket or Sergeant Bryn’s trousers have offended you. Which of them is the more reprehensible, do you think? Surely not the trousers, or you’d be offended by more than half of the men here, so… the jacket…” he looked puzzled for a moment and then he smiled happily. “The problem is easily fixed, my lord.” He slipped the jacket off and put it on the back of his chair.
“You can’t be in shirt sleeves at a Ball!” the man spluttered, outraged.
Rowan looked down at him in amazement. Fess had to look away before he disgraced himself by laughing aloud. He’d never known anyone who could manage to look as innocent and honestly bewildered as Rowan could. It was truly wonderful. The only thing that gave him away to those who knew him well was the sparkle of mischief in his eyes.
“Can I not, my lord?” as if you’re going to bloody stop me, Rowan thought. You’ll be lucky if I don’t throw you out naked into the snow. “I do beg your pardon, my lord. I’m astounded that you might find my shirt to be as offensive as my jacket, though I realise now that that is truly disgusting and I’ll be having words with those who made it. Well, now… it seems I must remove the shirt too, or go home to bed, and truly, I’m enjoying the Commandant’s hospitality so much tonight that I’d hate to do that, so…” he shrugged and began to undo his shirt buttons.
Telli and Fess rose to their feet as one and removed their jackets. All of the Guardsmen in the room hastily followed suit.
Rowan looked around in surprise.
“You know we’ve always got your back, laddie, especially with bloody rude buggers like that one. Now, for the Gods’ sakes, dance with Beatrice before she nags me again,” Telli said, with a very hard look at the flabbergasted mayor.
Rowan smiled happily as he bowed again.
“Might I have the honour of dancing with your lovely wife, Commandant?” he asked.
“Rowan, you bloody ratbag! Mind you, that horrible little man deserved it; he’s upset everyone here who’s not Wirran. Seems he doesn’t like their attire for some reason, the pompous idiot,” Beatrice said with a grin as they floated around the dance floor. She wasn’t a small woman, but she was as light on her feet as a young girl. “I don’t know who elected him as, um, the arbiter of good taste. Oh, and he’s still not happy with you, laddie.”
Rowan smiled at her. He didn’t care if the mayor tied himself in knots.
“Well, there wasn’t much else I could do. It wouldn’t do to flatten the ignorant bugger in the middle of the Ball. But my jacket offended him, so I took it off… and then my shirt was offensive too. What did he want me to do?”
Beatrice laughed at him and shook her head. She’d always had a soft spot for Rowan, ever since she’d first known him as a youngster at Den Sorl.
“I don’t know, laddie. If folk are offended by such a beautiful shirt, then they need to wake up to themselves.”
“Aye, that’s what I think too,” Rowan smiled again, “Rose, my sister, made this shirt. She’d be surprised to think it’s offensive.”
Beatrice looked at the offending shirt. It was creamy silk, beautifully made, loosely fitted and with long full sleeves gathered into a tight cuff. An embroidered band of leafy vines in soft greens and browns coiled around the low stand-up collar and down the front and around the cuffs. It wasn’t something a Wirran man would wear, but it looked superb.
“It’s a truly lovely shirt, Rowan. You tell Rose I said so,” she said.
**********
39. “… something simple, plain…”
“Dammit! I told her I'd go, didn't I?”
“Aye, laddie, you did,” it was Fess's turn to smile, “And she's going to see that you're, um..., correctly attired.”
Rowan said something truly reprehensible in Trollish.
“You must teach me that one day, Rowan. It sounds disgusting.” Fess laughed at him. He'd never mastered Trollish as Rowan had, but he did know a few useful words and phrases.
“Aye, ‘tis disgusting too. If I do teach you, you must promise never to say it somewhere a troll might hear you… unless you really want to find yourself flattened, of course. But what do you mean ‘correctly attired’? Can't I just...?” Rowan thought about his wardrobe and remembered the last Ball he’d gone to. No, dammit, he truly didn't have anything that might be considered suitable and he probably shouldn’t upset folk again, fun though it was. He sighed. “It was a damned sight easier when I only had to struggle with the bloody collar of the dress uniform,” he said unhappily.
“Well, I suppose you could always join up again...”
Rowan looked at him in surprise and shook his head.
“No, I couldn't. Hellfire and bloody damnation. What’s Bella doing today, Fess?”
“Domestics, I think. Washing or cleaning.”
“Then I might as well get it over with, I suppose. It won’t improve with keeping. Have fun at your inspection, Fess.”
“You must be joking, laddie! But it'll be more fun than... er... shopping...” Fess tried hard not to laugh but he didn't succeed.
Rowan looked at him sourly.
“You don't have to rub my bloody nose in it.” He left Scrap mousing in the stables and headed off for the Captain’s Cottage.
**********
Bella was pleased to see Rowan arrive on the doorstep, but she knew by his unhappy face that Fess must have told him why she wanted to see him.
“Come on, laddie. It won't be that bad!” she said cheerfully.
“No? I wouldn't count on it, Bella love. What are you going to do with the children? Take them with us?”
“No, no. The boys are off to school and I'll leave Zara and Lyriana with Violet.”
It was washing day, as Fess had foretold. The garrison laundry did most of it, but Bella didn’t trust them with less robust items. Rowan helped her to transfer the wet clothes from the copper into a big trough and then he turned the handle of the mangle for her; finally he helped her to hang out the washing. In a short time they had dropped the little girls off with Cade's wife and they headed down into the town.
“Where to, Bella? Have
you got anywhere special in mind?” Rowan asked, trying to dredge up some enthusiasm for the task but finding it difficult.
“Maybe... Let's just have a look in here first...” They went into a tailor's shop not far from the garrison. There were several of them just along here, and this was one of the very best.
“Hello, Captain. How are you this fine day? And Mrs. Fess too...” Master Tailor Talien, said. Rowan would always be Captain Rowan to the townsfolk of Den Siddon in the same way as he’d always be Red Rowan to its troopers, and he'd given up arguing about it.
They started looking at fabrics suitable for a gentleman's evening jacket. Or rather, as Bella said to Rowan’s horror, the Champion’s evening jacket. Regardless of the outcome of the upcoming tournament, Rowan would always be the dual Champion, whether he liked the fuss or not, and she was determined that everything should be just so. Rich velvets, brocades, and satins in all the colours of the rainbow beguiled their eyes, but the further he went, the more dubious Rowan looked.
The tailor showed them sketches of the newest styles, and he even had a couple of jackets made up that he could show them.
“Hmm... I doubt they'd fit you, Captain,” Talien said, looking at Rowan's broad shoulders, powerfully muscled chest and long strong arms with a discerning eye. Nobody but a forester could possibly consider Rowan was small. “Still, you can get an idea...”
The first jacket was a rich bright blue velvet, padded and quilted on the body and heavily puffed on the shoulders, with tightly fitted sleeves and a froth of lace at throat and cuffs.
“No, I don't think so,” Rowan thought the exaggerated shoulders looked ridiculous and he really couldn't picture himself wearing lace like that. Besides, it would get tangled in his braid and the sleeves would strangle him.
The second coat was a dusty maroon satin cut close to the body and the sleeves were... well, they wouldn't strangle him at least. They were very full, gathered into a tight cuff and they were slashed along most of their length, the slashes being lined with alternating panels of striped gold and green satin.
“Um…” Rowan thought it looked like Scrap had been exercising his claws, though Bella seemed quite taken with it. He thought it might be best to say as little as possible for the moment.
“Perhaps something like this, Captain?”
The third jacket was a sort of combination of the first two, Rowan thought. Longer and with less shape to it than the last one, it was golden coloured satin, quilted on the body, high collared and… yes, Scrap had been busy again on the sleeves. But this time the bright sleeves of an undershirt were pulled through the slashes in great puffs of fabric; the left was red and the right was a bilious shade of green.
“No, Talien. I'm sorry, but I'm not wearing that,” Rowan said, trying to be civil, and straining his excellent manners almost to the limit.
“But Rowan…” Bella began.
“I'm sorry, Bella love, but no. I'm not wearing a jacket with sleeves like that…” he indicated the very fashionable slashed sleeves, “… And I'm not wearing any of those colours either. I'd feel like a bloody clown.”
“But Rowan… It's the latest style,” Bella began.
“It wouldn't have to be quite so bright,” Talien said, “What about… um... let me see, now… dark blue, with lighter blue sleeves? Perhaps green?”
Rowan looked at the truly horrible shade of green in the sleeves of the jacket, raised an eyebrow at both of them and shook his head.
“No. I don't think so,” he looked around at the array of satins, brocades and velvets and sighed. “I'm truly sorry to waste your time, Talien. Thank you.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Rowan! Wait… You can't just…” Bella said, but Rowan had already gone. She rolled her eyes, mumbled an apology to the tailor and hurried after him. She found him nearby, leaning against a tree.
“I'm sorry, Bella. I didn't mean to embarrass you, but… Can you truly see me in a coat like that, with bloody rips in the sleeves? And the shoulders on that first one were ridiculous,” he shook his head, “No, I'm sorry, but no.”
“It wouldn't have to have... um... slashed sleeves, I suppose,” she said, thinking his shoulders were broad enough without extra padding.
“Would you expect Fess to wear a coat like that, Bella?” The idea was laughable. Fess was a bit more fashion conscious than Rowan, but that was like saying a sloth is faster than a snail.
“Well, he's got his uniform… but no. He'd say exactly the same as you. Dammit! Did Zara have this problem with you?”
He smiled sadly and shook his head. “No. We didn't have to worry about it… I had my dress uniform and that was it, but she always said… maybe that's it! I've got an idea, Bella.”
“And what idea might that be?” Probably something to do with heading down to the river for a bit of fishing, she thought.
“Come and see… I hope the old boy's not away…” he took Bella's hand and headed down a narrow side street.
They stopped at a little shop not far along. It had a single window holding a swathe of silk that glowed deep ruby-red in a patch of sunlight. Piret's.
“Here we are, Bella. Let's see if Marlon's here,” Rowan said with a smile.
Marlon Piret was there. Rowan's father-in-law looked up as the bell on the shop door tinkled. His face lit up and he hurried over and hugged Rowan tightly
“Rowan, it's so good to see you. How are you, laddie? Training going well? I heard you’d hurt your foot…”
“My foot’s all right now, Marlon. ‘Tis all going well,” Rowan smiled down at the little Thallassian and they exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes before Rowan forced himself back to the business in hand. “But Marlon, as good as it is to see you again, Bella and I’ve come on a mission,” he took a deep breath, “The Champion’s Ball, Marlon. It seems I’ll be thrown out if I wear my leather jacket again…”
“Ha! I’d like to see them try, Rowan.”
Marlon thought it’d be a wonderful spectacle and he wondered who would in fact be doing the throwing. It certainly wouldn’t be the troopers or any of the townsfolk, and it wouldn’t be that obnoxious little man who’d irritated everyone at the Mid Winter Ball either. He turned to Bella with a smile. “So, little Bella, what are you thinking of?”
“I don’t know, truly. We saw some fabrics and sketches at Talien’s, and a couple of jackets made up too, but…” she shook her head.
“But everything had ragged sleeves that looked like my cat had been stropping his claws on them, and the colours were…” Rowan sighed, “Besides, I truly don’t think I’d be comfortable in satin or velvet or bloody brocade… I thought you might have something more…” he shrugged hopelessly.
Marlon looked at the man who’d made his daughter so very happy, remembered for a moment the dreadful night he’d come to tell them that Zara and their little son had died. He’d been absolutely distraught, but he’d still been worried about how Zara’s parents would cope. Truly, he is a good man, he thought, but he couldn’t imagine him in satin, velvet or brocade either. He frowned thoughtfully.
“Hmm… I think I have just the thing… and I know who should make it up for you too. Master Tailor Darius.” He smiled happily.
“Darius!” Bella exclaimed. “But he makes the officers’ dress uniforms…”
“Yes, he does. And are they not beautifully tailored, beautifully made?”
“Well… yes, but… but Rowan doesn’t want a uniform!” she protested.
Marlon laughed.
“I’m sure he can make something other than uniforms. Just give me a moment while I find this fabric…” he shuffled bolts of silk in beautiful shimmering jewel colours, “No… it’s not here, dammit. Where the hell did I…?” he said a Thallassian word that made Rowan smile, looked guilty for a moment, then disappeared into another little room at the back of the shop. He emerged a few minutes later, triumphant. “It looks like nothing here,” he said, and indeed the bolt of dark fabric in his hands didn’t
look very inspiring, “But look at it in the light…”
The subtle dark green of the fabric seemed to glow in the lamplight. It was silk, of course, but a heavy silk of a type that Bella had never seen before. As she moved it in her hands it seemed as if deeper shadows rippled within the weave and then, when seen from a different angle, it shimmered with a subtle misty sheen and showed gleaming hints of russet and gold.
Rowan stared at it in astonishment.
“’Tis like the leaves of the deep forest, with the early morning sunlight coming through them…” he said softly, “You were right, Marlon. This is the one.”
“It’s amazing… I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bella said, fascinated by the play of light and shadow within the weave. It truly was remarkable.
“No, little Bella. There’s not much of this around… shadow silk, they call it. It comes from Astenar, from a little town called Azol. Beautiful, isn’t it?” Marlon smiled at his beloved daughter’s best friend, “Now, let’s see how it looks on him. Stand still please, Rowan, while I just…” he unravelled a length of silk from the bolt and draped it over Rowan’s shoulders and around his chest.
The fabric was heavy enough to drape perfectly and the colour brought out the green in Rowan’s eyes and complemented his silver braid and red and silver beard very well indeed.
Marlon nodded happily.
“I think this was made for you, Rowan my lad,” he said softly, “What do you think, Bella?”
She too nodded slowly. Rowan would probably look good in a hessian sack, but this was simply superb.
“It looks wonderful,” she said.
“And you, Rowan? What do you think of it?”
“’Tis perfect for a forester, Marlon. Perfect for me. But it must be a… a simple style,” he replied slowly.
“Yes. That’s why I think Darius is the man for you. Wait a moment while I close the shop and I shall come with you,” Marlon said.
They set off for the shop of Master Tailor Darius, with Bella and Marlon happily discussing styles on the way. Rowan had little to contribute, but while he didn’t know what he wanted, exactly, he certainly knew what he didn’t want: slashed sleeves or ridiculous shoulders or a high, uncomfortable collar like the Guard uniform. Surely Darius, Marlon and Bella could come up with something between them all.