Free Dark Destroyer by Kathryn Le Veque

making it a patchwork-type design but exceedingly becoming with the lace-up front and long, belled sleeves.
    There was a second woolen garment in a shade of lavender, simple in design with long sleeves and a snug bodice, and then there was heavy linen that hadn’t been dyed. It remained an off-white color but the old seamstress had sewn white rabbit fur around the neckline and at the wrists of the long sleeves. It had a lace-up bodice with no fastening, but the laces were on the sides of the bodice so one could make it as tight, or as loose, as one wanted. It was exquisite.
    As Gates examined the surcoats, the old woman pulled two pairs of hose out of the basket along with two big shawls, basically big blocks of material that the lady could wrap around her shoulders and drape over her head for modesty and warmth. She also pulled forth two pairs of slippers, both silk, and one that was lined with fur. Gates saw the shoes and picked one of them up, inspecting it, uncertain how big the lady’s foot was but assuming it wasn’t too large. He’d caught a glimpse of her feet as he’d hauled her out of the priory over his shoulder, and he didn’t think her feet were overly large.
    As he studied the quality of the slippers, the old woman removed the final items of the booty – a sewing kit in a small wooden box, two bars of lumpy white soap that smelled of rosemary, some kind of oil in a phial to ease rough skin, a comb made from a tortoise shell, and a small sack of iron hair pins.
    “There,” she said decisively, pointing to the entire cache. “Your lady will be well supplied for her journey, my lord. What else did you wish for her?”
    Gates looked at the goods; there was a lot of it and it was expensive, but he naturally assumed that Lord de Lara would want his daughter well clothed, as the offspring of an earl, so he didn’t barter with the woman about the price. He simply had her pack everything neatly back into the basket.
    “I left you several silver marks on your eating table,” he said, throwing his thumb in the direction they had come from. “Is that enough for all of this?”
    The old man quickly retreated back into the cottage, followed by his wife, to collect the coinage and count it. Hovered over the table where Gates had dropped the coins, with only a taper to light the darkness, he counted seventeen silver marks.
    “Aye,” he said, pleased at the profit they should make. “Are you sure there is nothing else for the lady?”
    Gates shook his head, handing the basket over to one of the soldiers that had accompanied him. “Nay,” he said. “But if the lady does decide she requires more, I will come and see you tomorrow before I leave.”
    “Excellent, my lord.”
    Gates headed for the door but paused before he quit the cottage entirely. “If she requires a different size in shoes, do you have something more she can see?”
    The old woman nodded. “I have a few more silk slippers for her to see, my lord,” she replied. “A woman in Hereford makes them for me and the Welsh women seem to like them a great deal, so I keep a few here at the shop.”
    “Readily made?”
    “Readily made.”
    Such a thing as readily-made shoes was almost unheard of and Gates was properly surprised. “Astonishing,” he said. Then he tried to think of anything else he needed when he suddenly remembered the red, raw chaffing that the rope had given Kathalin’s wrists. It prompted him to ask, “You wouldn’t happen to have any medicaments for skin that is raw and bleeding, would you?”
    The old woman cocked her head thoughtfully and scurried back into the shop. She emerged a few moments later with a small alabaster pot that was tightly wrapped up with twine made from hemp. She thrust it at Gates.
    “Calendula paste,” she said. “The petals of the flower are mashed in fat. It should help.”
    Gates was grateful. In fact, he was quite surprised at how helpful the couple had been, especially since he had threatened