her to learn one or two.
She turned and started down the path to the village, hoping to get back quickly enough not to miss anything.
The village of Westhaven was set back from the road, because there wasn't enough flat land for more than the inn right up beside it. Those who had business in Westhaven itself-not many-took the path up the valley to find the village. Rune usually enjoyed the walk, although it was a bit long, and a little frightening after the sun went down. But today, halfway between the inn and the first buildings of the village itself, she stopped; the path was blocked by two of Westhaven's girls, Joyse and Amanda, gossiping in the middle of the path and making no effort to move out of the way.
They knew she was coming; they could hardly miss her. But they pretended not to notice her, clutching baskets of early flowers and keeping their heads close together. Joyse, as blond as Stara, but thin, was the baker's daughter; Amanda, as round and brown as Dumpling, but without the pony's easy-going nature, was the offspring of one of the local farmers. Joyse, with her hair neatly confined under a pretty red scarf that matched her brand new kirtle, was betrothed already to another farmer's son. Amanda, in a blue dress that looked almost as new, but was already straining at the seams around her middle, was one of the contenders to replace Rose. From the way it looked, one or the other had been up to the inn, possibly to spy on Rune, Stara, or both. Rune had the feeling that Amanda would do just about anything to become the innkeeper's new wife, except surrendering her virginity before taking wedding vows.
Both girls looked down their noses at Rune as she approached slowly.
'Well, I wish I had time to play games in the hay and flirt with boys,' Amanda said nastily. 'Of course, some people have lots of time. Some people have all the time they want, not just to play games, but to pretend they're minstrels.'
Joyse laughed shrilly, showing buckteeth, and looking uncannily like a skinny old mare whinnying.
'And some people are so lazy, they pretend to be working, when all they really do is stand around and make up stories because the truth is too dull,' Rune said aloud, to a squirrel in one of the trees beside her. It chattered, as if it was responding to her. 'And some people are so fat they block the path, so people with work to do can't travel it. And of course, some people are so bad-tempered that no one will have them for a wife, not even with a big dower.'
Amanda squealed with rage, turning to face her directly, and Rune pretended to notice her for the first time. 'Why Amanda, I didn't see you there. I thought it was a pony blocking the path.'
Amanda's round face turned bright red, and her hands balled into fists beside her skirt. 'You, little bastard- brat-were you talking about me?'
'Talking about you?' Rune shrugged, and pretended surprise. 'Why would I bother? There's nothing at all interesting about you. I'd put myself and that squirrel to sleep talking about you. Besides, you know what Father Jacob says about gossiping. He says that women who spend their time in idle gossip spend three hundred years in hell when they die, with their lips sewn shut.' She shuddered artistically. 'I'd never want to end up like that.'
'I'll show you how you'll end up,' Amanda hissed, taking a step forward.
But Joyse grabbed her shoulder, bent to her ear, and whispered something fiercely to her, stopping her. Rune had a fairly good idea what the general gist of the advice was, because the last time any of the Westhaven youngsters had tried to turn a confrontation with Rune into something physical, it had ended with the girl getting her hair rubbed full of mud while Rune sat on her back. Not even the boys wanted to risk a physical fight with her; she was taller and stronger than most of them, and knew some tricks of dirty fighting Tarn had taught both her and Jib (though Jib never kept his head long enough to use them) that they didn't.
Rune took one deliberate step forward, then a second. Joyse whispered something else, her eyes round with urgency, and Amanda backed up-then turned, and the two of them flounced their way up the path. Rune watched them go, seething inwardly, but refusing to show it.
She'd won-sort of. In most ways, though, it had been a draw. They could continue to pick on her verbally, and she could do nothing, and they all three knew it. Most of the time she couldn't even get her own hits in when it was a verbal confrontation. It wasn't fair.
She waited a few more minutes for them to get far enough ahead of her that she shouldn't have to encounter them again, then continued on her way. Slower, this time, trying to get her temper to cool by listening to the blackbirds singing their hearts out in the trees around her, trying to win themselves mates.
There was this much satisfaction; at least this time she'd been able to give as good as she got. And none of them would try to touch even Jib, these days, not even in a group. Everyone knew she was Jib's protector. She wasn't averse to using teeth and feet as well as fists when she was cornered, either. They had to keep their abuse verbal.
One of these days I'm going to write a song about them, she thought angrily. About Amanda, Joyse, all of them. All of them pretending to be so much better than me . . . but Amanda steals her mother's egg-money, and Joyse only got Thom because her father promised to help his father cheat on his taxes. And they don't know I know about it. That'd serve them right, to go to a Faire and hear some strange minstrel singing a song mocking them.
Not a one of them ever missed a chance to tell her that she was scum. It would be nice to watch their faces as someone told them exactly what they were. And why not? When Raven came, maybe she could get him to help her with that song. With his help, surely it would be picked up by other singers.
Savoring that sweet thought, she picked up her pace a little. The first stop was going to be the chandler's shop.
Maybe with luck she'd get through this without having any more little 'encounters.'
After the chandler, she left her message at the tannery and the baker's, wishing she could stay longer and savor the wonderful aromas there. The baker said nothing about her little encounter with his daughter; she hadn't really expected that he would. If he knew about it, he'd likely just chalk it up to the 'bastard-brat's' bad breeding. But since Rune had gotten the better of that exchange, and in fact had not said a single thing that-taken literally- could be called an insult, she doubted either girl would even mention it to a parent.
In fact, she thought, as she crossed the lane to the smithy, she'd handled it rather well. She'd simply said that some people were fat, were gossips, and couldn't get a husband because they had such terrible tempers. She'd only repeated what the Westhaven priest-shared with Beeford-had told all of them about the fate of gossiping women. She hadn't once said that either Amanda or Joyse were anything other than dull. And while that was an insult, it was hardly one that was anything other than laughable.
The smithy was full; Hob and his two older apprentices, hard at work on sharpening farm tools gone rusty after a winter's storage. They stopped work long enough to hear what she had to say; she spoke her piece quickly, for the forge was hot as a midsummer day, and plain took her breath away. All three men paid her little heed until they heard her news. Then they reacted with considerably more enthusiasm; it had been several weeks since the last real minstrel had been through, after all, and spring had brought with the new growth a predictable restlessness on everyone's part. Tonight's entertainment would give them a welcome outlet for some of that restlessness.
The next stop on Rune's mental list, as she passed behind the smithy and the blacksmith resumed his noisy work, was the carpenter-she'd take this shortcut behind the smithy, between it and its storage sheds, for the smithy and the carpenter's shop lay a little to one side of Westhaven proper, on the other side of the tiny village pond, out where their pounding wouldn't disturb anyone, and where, if the smithy caught fire, there'd be no danger of houses taking flame.
'Well, look what jest wandered inta town.' The blacksmith's son Jon stepped out from the side of the shop, blocking her path.
She stopped; he grinned, showing a mouth with half the teeth missing, and rubbed his nose on the back of his hand, sniffing noisily. His manners hadn't improved over the winter. 'You lookin' fer me, girl?' he drawled.
She didn't answer, and she didn't acknowledge him. Instead, she turned slowly, figuring that it would be better-much better-if she simply pretended to ignore him. He'd grown over the winter. Quite a bit, in fact. Suddenly, her feeling of superiority to the rest of the village youngsters began to evaporate.
As Hill and Warran, two of the farm boys, moved out from the other side of the blacksmith shop to block her escape, the last of her assumption of superiority vanished. They'd grown over the winter, too. All three of them were taller than she was, and Jon had huge muscles in his arms and shoulders that matched his father's. Becoming
