The laughter all but drowned out the last notes of the song, sung to the eyes of their original partners.
As more coinage showered into the hat, one among the crowd turned away with a smothered oath, and a look of hatred. He wore the purple and gold ribbons of a Guild Bard.
"Well, here, my children-" Talaysen bent to catch up the laden hat. "Share and share alike. Feed your bodies that your voices not suffer; buy fairings to call the eyes of an audience, or other things-"
He poured a generous measure of the coinage into each of their hands. "Now off with you! We'll meet as usual, just at sundown, at the tent for dinner."
Gwyna slipped the money into her belt-pouch, and dropped Talaysen a mock-curtsy. "As you say, Master mine. Elsewhere, Tree-man, Master Heron, I'm minded to sing solos for a bit." Daran grinned and took himself off as ordered.
Rune noticed that his eyes had been following Gwyna for some time, and she reflected that he would be no bad company for the cheerful Gypsy. Gwyna had confided a great deal to Rune over the past few weeks; they'd become very good friends. Gwyna had said that she tended to take up with either Bards or Gypsies, but that she hadn't had a lover from amongst the Free Bards in four years.
Maybe she was thinking about it now.
As Gwyna strolled away, it seemed her thoughts were tending in that direction, for she pulled her guitar around in front of her and began a love song. Rune exchanged a glance full of irony with Talaysen, and they began her elf-ballad.
Gwyna didn't mind too carefully where she was wandering, until she noted that her steps had taken her away from the well-traveled ways and into the rows reserved for the finer goods. Here she was distinctly out of place, and besides, there were fewer fairgoers, and less of a chance for an audience. She turned to retrace her steps, only to find her path blocked.
He who blocked it was a darkly handsome man, as looks are commonly judged-but his gray eyes had a cruel glint to them that Gwyna did not in the least like, the smile on his thin, hard lips was a prurient one, and he wore the robes of a Church Priest. But they were wine-dark, and she thought she could see odd symbols woven into the hem of the robe, symbols which she found even less to her liking than the glint in his eyes.
"Your pardon, m'lord-" She made as if to step around him, but he moved like quicksilver, getting in front of her again.
"Stay, bright songbird-" He spoke softly, his voice pitched soft and low so as to sound enticing. "A word in your ear, if I may."
"I cannot prevent you, m'lord," Gwyna replied, becoming more uneasy by the heartbeat.
"You have no patron, else you would not be singing to the crowd-and I think you have, at present, no-'friend'-either." His knowing look gave another meaning entirely to the word "friend"; a prurient, lascivious meaning. "I offer myself in both capacities. I think we understand each other."
Although Gwyna was long past innocence, the blood rose to her cheeks in response to his words, and the evil, lascivious leer that lay thinly veiled behind them. Just listening to him made her feel used; and that made her angry as well as a little frightened.
"That I think we do not, 'my lord,' " she retorted, putting a good sharp sting in her reply. "Firstly, you are a Priest of the Church, and sworn to celibacy. If you will take no care for your vows, then I will! Secondly, I am a Free Bard, and I earn my way by song-naught else. I go where I will, I earn my way by music, and I do not sell myself to such as you for your caging. So you may take your 'patronage' and offer it among the dealers in swine and sheep-for I'm sure that there you'll find bed-mates to your liking in plenty!"
She pushed rudely past him, her flesh shrinking from the touch of his robes, and stalked off with her head held high and proud. She prayed that he could not tell by her carriage how much she longed to take to her heels and run.
She prayed that he wouldn't follow her; it seemed her prayers were answered, for she lost sight of him immediately. And as soon as he was out of sight, she forgot him.
The Priest clenched his jaw in rage, and his saturnine face contorted with anger for one brief instant before settling into a mask of indifference. It was only a moment, but it was long enough for one other to see.
A plump, balding man, oily with good living, and wearing the gold and purple ribbons of a Guild Bard, stepped out from the shelter of a nearby awning and approached the dark-robed cleric.
"If you will forgive my impertinence, my lord," he began, "I cannot help but think we have an interest in common. . . ."
". . . so I told him to look for bedmates among the flocks," Gwyna finished, while Daran and Rune chuckled appreciatively. She took a hearty bite of her bread and cheese-no one among the brotherhood had had extraordinary good luck, so the fare was plain tonight-and grinned back at them. Neither Erdric nor Talaysen looked at all amused, however-Erdric was as sober as a stone, and Talaysen's green eyes were darkened with worry.
"That may not have been wise, Gypsy Robin," he said, sipping his well-watered wine. "It isn't wise to anger a Priest, and I would guess from your description that he is not among the lesser of his brethren. Granted, if you called him up before the justices this week, and you had witnesses, you could prove he meant to violate his vows-but even so, he is still powerful, and that is the worst sort of enemy to have made."
"So long as I stay within the Faire precincts, what can he do?" Gwyna countered, nettled at Talaysen's implied criticism of her behavior. "I do have witnesses if I care to call them, and if he dares to lay a hand on me-"
Her feral grin and a hand to the knife concealed in her skirts told the fate he could expect. Gwyna needed no man to guard her "honor"-such as it was.