No Greater Pleasure Read online

  “It’s Alyrian,” said the merchant, like that should make a difference. “Old Alyrian, not new. From before they broke the borders. This is rare, this is. You won’t find cloth like this anyplace else in the market. Or the city, for that matter.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” She stroked it. “I’ve never seen finer.”

  The merchant rolled one blue eye at her; the other was blind white. “And I doubt you ever will. Go on, hold up the linen, too. You’ll fall in love with it.”

  Quilla didn’t want to waste the merchant’s time, but a quick glance around showed her nobody waited to buy this particular cloth. The merchant knew that, too, and urged her to drape an additional length of the linen over her arm.

  “Banded with this fringe of gold, I can see it on you. A lovely gown. For a party, or for a wedding, perhaps?” The merchant grinned, showing gapped teeth, surprisingly white.

  “Even the flaxen is too dear for my pockets, I’m afraid.” Quilla put the cloth down with regret. “Though ’tis truly gorgeous. I haven’t any place to wear it, even if I could afford it.”

  The merchant’s good eye flickered over her unadorned gown. “Maybe a patron would be pleased to see you in’t?”

  Quilla quirked a grin at him. “You are trying to play upon my sense of duty, sir. How utterly unfair.”

  The merchant spread his fingers with a shrug, but looked un-apologetic despite the gesture. “Just speaking true.”

  “If ’twould please my patron to dress me in cloth this fine, then I shall leave it to him to buy it. He was most adequate with his coin, but not generous enough for me to buy this.” She let her hand linger once more on the silk. Softer than any cloth she’d ever felt, superb in design and craftsmanship, the liquid, flowing colors almost made her want to weep at their beauty.

  “ ’Twould look magnificent against your skin.”

  She turned at the sound of the voice, meaning to chastise the merchant for trying to tease her into the purchase again, but stopped herself. The man standing next to her was tall and fair-haired, with bright, laughing, blue-sky eyes and clothing of high quality. His vest, bright blue, made his eyes seem even bluer, and she got an immediate sense he’d chosen it for that exact reason. He looked back at the cloth.

  “It suits you.”

  Quilla took her hands away. “It doesn’t suit my purse, unfortunately.”

  The man nodded. “Alyrian fabric, especially Old Alyrian, is costly. Worth the price, but costly.”

  “See?” cried the merchant, clapping gnarled hands. “What did I tells you?”

  “Nevertheless, I can’t afford it.” Quilla replaced the bolt firmly. “Thank you. I will take three lengths of the dark blue flaxen, however.”

  The merchant nodded and plucked up the bolt, taking it to the measuring table to cut the piece for her. Quilla looked at the other offerings at the fabric booth, aware the fair-haired man had not moved away.

  “Wait,” he called out to the merchant, who’d lifted his pair of silver shears to cut the fabric. “She doesn’t really want that.”

  The merchant turned. “She don’t?”

  “I don’t?” Quilla wasn’t sure whether to laugh or frown at his presumptuousness. “How do you know?”

  “Because you don’t want another gown of dark color.” The man shook his head, his eyes twinkling with good humor she felt compelled to return, even though his assumption annoyed her.

  “No?”

  “No.”

  She looked down at the dress she had on. “And why not? It’s served me well enough before.”

  He shook his head again. “Perhaps in function, not necessarily in form. Dark colors are well enough if you want to be solely functional. But not if you want to bring beauty to that function.”

  Quilla pursed her mouth, taken aback. The merchant had begun to grumble, putting back the bolt of material she’d chosen.

  “Let me know when yer ready,” he said sourly, moving around the booth’s edge to help another customer.

  “And who are you to presume anything about me?” His unsubtle accusation that she was less than beautiful stung, not because she thought herself as such, but because she did not believe herself not to be.

  “What woman doesn’t wish to present herself in the most flattering way at all times?”

  Quilla crossed her arms, tilting her head to frown at him. “And you don’t find the gown I’m wearing flattering?”

  He gave her a sly, sideways grin, then a wink that made her press her lips together. “I think you’d be perfectly lovely in a burlap sack. But the dress is not flattering, no. The color does not bring out your eyes, which would benefit greatly from a color like this.”

  He reached for a bolt of vivid green fabric, not so bright as to be an unreasonable choice, but far more vibrant than she usually wore. The color of emeralds, the weave of it seemed to shimmer slightly, though the cloth itself was of fabric inexpensive enough not to overburden her purse.

  “And with your skin tone, against the black silk beauty of your hair, a gown of this material will make you glimmer and shimmer like a goddess herself.”

  Quilla had been touching the cloth, enjoying the smoothness of it, imagining how it would look sewn into a gown. At his words, she took her hand away and looked up.

  “I’m no goddess.”

  “Woman you begin and woman you shall end,” he quoted with a half bow, never taking his eyes from hers. “But do you not also know that every woman has a bit of goddess inside her, my lady?”

  His use of one of the Order’s principles did nothing to help his case. “I’m not a lady, yours or otherwise. I’ll take the dark blue.”

  The man put his hand over his heart, pouting as though wounded. “At least don’t deny yourself the pleasure of that fabric merely to spite me. It really would make a delightful gown for you. And,” he pointed out, “ ’tis less expensive than the blue. You could buy the green and another length, too, for the same expense.”

  “Know you the contents of my purse, as well?” she demanded, putting her hands on her hips. “You’re an arrogant swain, aren’t you?”

  “I am, indeed. And completely without shame.”

  Quilla regarded him for a moment, realizing something interesting. She liked this stranger, even with his blatant flirting. Much of the time, attention she garnered from men bordered on lewdness, if not outright rudeness. Or else men seemed afraid to approach her. Very few seemed able to speak to her normally, as a man to a woman, with all the verbal dancing that went along with it.

  “And if I buy the green, as you suggest, what other cloth should I buy as well?”

  “The crimson,” he said without hesitation, “though I can tell you right now, you won’t.”

  That set her back on her heels for a moment. “No? You are so certain? And why not?”

  “Because you’d only wear a color like that to entertain a lover,” he said simply, without a hint of lasciviousness, though nevertheless her cheeks burned. “And you are not a woman who takes lovers.”

  Most of the time, Quilla knew what to say or how to stay silent when she did not. Now, silence was a necessity, not an option, for though she opened her mouth to speak, nothing came out.

  “I’ve stunned you into speechlessness. I apologize.” The man gave another half bow, hand over his heart. “You asked me a question and I gave you an answer.”

  “You don’t even know me!”

  “Does the bee need to know the flower before it sups? A bird know the wind before it takes flight? The sea know the shore before it creeps upon it?” The man smiled. “Does a man need to know a woman before he loves her?”

  “Yes!” Quilla cried, angry now, an emotion in which she rarely indulged because too often it served no purpose in her life. “Yes, he does! And you don’t know me at all!”

  Quilla stalked away from the fabric booth without buying anything, her cheeks flushed and her heart pounding. Does a man need to know a woman before he loves her? What rubbish! What n