[littlemanpoet]

Eodwine began to smile. His smile widened. Saeryn looked at him both in anger and puzzlement, and the faintest twinge of mirth pulled up at her lips as she stared at him angrily.

"What do you find humorous in this?" she asked.

"Welcome back, Saeryn, the Saeryn I came to love in the first place."

A riot of emotions passed over her countenance, of pleasure, confusion, but still mostly anger. "Do not try to flatter me, my lord."

"I do not. You must understand that any bone you have to pick, is with me, and not Rowenna. She is not of your station and is not trained to nobility. She is a farm girl. Her life these last two years has been hard-"

"So you just make excuses for her!"

"No. I know what she is trying to do, and I have made it clear how hard it will be to become what I must have in a wife, yet she persists. That is a good thing in her, persisting. It has helped her survive. But it does you nor her nor me no good to judge her with such harsh names. Speak no such words again, of her or anyone, without clear proof.

"One thing I will ask for now, though. Will you dance with me tonight?"

Rowenna

She could hear most of what was being said. Why had he not told her that he already had someone he wished to marry? How humiliating!

Harlotry!

Rowenna's hands shook with rage. She kept silence and listened carefully to every last word Eodwine spoke. From it, she could tell where his heart lay; she had never had a chance with him once this Saeryn had come back, and maybe not before. Then there was the last straw: he asked her to dance with him. She came out from her stall and stood before them both before Saeryn had a chance to answer his question.

Her voice was low, controlled, yet shook with rage. "How dare you call me a harlot! You have been cared for and pampered all your life and not been ravaged by thieves and murderers!"

She turned to Eodwine. "Why did you not tell me about her?"

"Because I did not know if she would ever come again."

So there it was. This other woman, Saeryn, may have left his land, but she had never left his heart; it was so clear now. "Then I am nothing more than a farm girl to you."

"Rowenna," Eodwine said, "listen to me. You have been embittered by your two years of slavery. You need to put it to rest, in whatever way you may. Until you do, you will not be free."

What was he talking about? What had her slavery to brigands to do with anything that was happening today? She shook her head. "You're just trying to turn all the blame on me. I refuse it. Ride your own horse. Run the three legged race with her."

She walked stiffly between them and away from the preparing horse race. She headed back to the baker. There was Nydfara. Suddenly her wrath kindled hotter than it had been. She walked up to him and slapped him in the face as hard as she could, then turned from him to leave Scarburg. I am done here, she said to herself.