Confrontation in the clothing store

The Deepest wounds burn the hottest

“Why are you so nice to me?” 

“Should I not be?”  Balgair asked, reaching up to brush her hair behind her ear. 

She had never been asked a question like that, which made her think.  “If you had asked me that yesterday, I might have said no.”  Heather leaned her head into his touch.  “My parents were the closest thing to nobility in this village.  I was a spoiled woman who treated people horribly.”  She whispered, closing her eyes.

“And you’ll be spoiled again, but as my bean-cheangail,” Balgair commented.  “No woman of mine will wear second-hand clothes.”  His grin was contagious, and Heather found herself relaxing under his touch.

Balgair nodded at the inn-keep and his soon-to-be-bond, who had been casually watching over them.  “Thank you,” he mouthed, receiving a nod from Brandyn and a smile from Lucy.  He waited until Heather wiped her eyes with her hands and then brushed her fingers through her hair. 

Looking into his eyes, she slowly realized he wouldn’t leave her.  I wonder what it will be like to have sisters.  She had been an only child.  Her eyes closed as she sank into the warmth of her bond with the mercenary.  Am I worthy of such love?  She wondered as she leaned into her maighstir and, for the first time, accepted the feelings that flowed through the bond. 

“Shall we?”  Balgair inquired as he sampled her feelings.  When Heather nodded, he gave her a nudge and watched as she slid off his lap and stood before him.  He smiled tenderly as he rose to his feet and took her left hand in his right.  Come mo tè àlainn, let’s go and find you some new clothes. 

Yes, Maighstir, she brought his hand up to her chest and held it against her heart. 

“Have fun!” Lucy called out as Heather and Balgair once again left the Tavern. 

Heather blinked at the brightness of the sun and glanced up, watching as Balgair shaded his eyes with his left hand.  It feels so unreal, but I’m not dreaming.  “Maighstir, the clothing store is on the corner, down that way,” she pointed westwards where they could barely see the corner of a building a block away. 

Balgair nodded and started down the street, walking near the road with Heather on his right, where he could protect her.  For some reason, Heather found herself lightly blushing.  He does care.  She felt a great warmth in her heart and couldn’t help but smile. 

Heather demurely watched as Balgair looked both ways at the corner, then helped her cross to the opposite side and stopped outside the store. 

“Would you mind going in without me?” Balgair drew in a slow, deep breath.  “I would like to enjoy the sun for a few mineaden.”

“Of course, Maighstir,” Heather acceded as she released his hand and entered the store.

“I’ll be with you in a few mineaden,” the clerk called out as Heather slipped into the store and started looking around.  It’s been, what, a month since I’ve been here?  She wondered as she started looking around. 

Within seconds, she was happily going through the shelves, looking for more dresses like what she had on.  She had just found one when the clerk finally paid enough attention to who was digging through her wares.

“What are you doing here?”  She seemed offended that Heather was in her shop.  “What makes you think I want to sell you anything?”  She drew her hand back to hit the surprised Heather.  “You can take your filthy, shameless body out of here.”

The beautiful bean cheangail was so shocked that she stood frozen just long enough for the clerk to yank the dress out of her hand and slap her across the right cheek.  “We don’t want your kind in here.”  The clerk hissed and then, “No man wants you, you rump-fed runion slut.”  The clerk drew her hand back again and sent Heather to the floor with a well-placed slap to the other cheek. 

Faced with such hatred directed at her, Heather sank to her knees and started weeping.  Little did the clerk know that she had played upon the bondswoman’s fears so well, but she didn’t let it bother her as she circled the crying woman and put a well-placed boot to her back, sending her onto her face.  “You are so pathetic that nobody wants you.”

What the bloody Ifrinn? Balgair wondered as Heather’s pain filtered through the link.  In truth, he was concerned about her mental health.  He wasn’t a healer, but he had seen two women so deep in pain that had it not been for him, they would have died of self-inflicted wounds.  With a shake of his head, he quietly stepped through the door, just in time to hear someone screaming at his bean-cheangail. 

“What man in his right mind would want a gala like you?  You are a sow-faced, useless waste of life.”  He heard flesh hitting flesh and hurried down the aisle until he came upon the clerk, who had just kicked Heather in the side.  “Your parents couldn’t wait to die and get away from you.”  The clerk hissed as she pulled her hand back, fist balled up, and swung at the sobbing woman at her feet. 

Before she could hit Heather, Balgair stepped up behind the clerk and caught her wrist, his fingers tightening enough to bring a yelp of pain.  Then, without thought, he used the barest of his strength and yanked the red-haired clerk backward, throwing her away from Heather. 

“Who do you think you are?” The clerk screamed as she regained her feet and leaped toward Balgair, only to fall to her knees as he turned and stared coldly at her.  Under the overwhelming spiritual pressure, she crumpled down, grunting in pain. 

“I am the man that will hurt you if you lay another hand on my bondswoman.” He iterated as he leaned down and grabbed the clerk, yanking her head back so that she could look him in the eyes. 

“Yes, Maighstir,” she whined as he dropped her.  Then, dismissing the clerk, Balgair turned back to Heather and pulled her against his chest. 

“It’s going to be okay, mo tè àlainn.”  He whispered as he rocked back and forth, attempting to comfort Heather.  Damn, just when I think she’s going to be okay, something happens. 

“;m sorry for being such trouble, Maighstir,” the fair bean-cheangail mumbled as she held him tight.  I wouldn’t blame you for leaving me.  She thought, sinking deeper into her despair. 

What happened, mo tè àlainn? Balgair asked as he cradled her close to his heart. 

I was looking for a new dress and had found one when I was hit from behind, and that woman was screaming at me.  Heather tried to explain.  I can’t blame her.  She’s right, I’m useless.  She wept, burying her head in her maighstir’s shirt.

Balgair bent all his concentration to tending to his bean-cheangail, even to the point of ignoring the clerk’s whimpers of pain and the sound of feet as the owner of the store made his way from the back storeroom to where the three were gathered on the floor.