“I am joking, of course,” Archer said quickly, his cheeks going red. “Nat might tear me limb from limb. I wouldn’t do that to the lad.”
“Sure you wouldn’t.”
“I happen to be a gentleman.”
Briar folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow, imitating Archer’s typical expression. “A gentleman in the stocks in the middle of Mud Market. Never thought I’d see the day.”
Despite her breezy tone, Briar felt wrong-footed. She was supposed to be the one with the power. What did he mean about not doing that to Nat? And why did the statement leave her with a vague feeling of disappointment?
Archer cleared his throat and jiggled his hands. “Are you going to let me out or not?” His wrists were raw and bleeding from the rough wooden stocks, and his neck looked almost as bad, even without the smudges of rotten tomato and carrot marring his skin.
Briar took pity on him. “I’ll need some paints.” She tapped a finger on her lips, considering the stocks and the whittling guard. The longer Archer stayed there, the higher the chances that one of them would be recognized. “And I’d better get my purple before the market closes. Don’t move until I get back.”
Archer bared his teeth, and she grinned sweetly at him before walking away.
The paint seller was a diminutive man called Gideon with sun-browned skin and dark, bristly hair. A wide grin split his face nearly in two when she waddled toward him, holding her belly.
“Miss Briar, what a treat this is! Come, sit. You must rest.”
“I’m all right. I just need to—”
“Please, take this stool. I’ve been sitting all day.”
Gideon ushered her onto the three-legged wooden stool behind his stall and proceeded to fuss over her while she tried to order the necessary paint supplies as quickly as possible. The stall consisted of a table covered in jars of pigment—some mixed with oil and some still in their dry forms—and larger containers stacked on the ground for those who purchased their pigments in bulk. Racks nailed to either side of the table held string-wrapped bundles of paintbrushes ranging in size and shape, from fat brushes for painting walls all the way down to little slivers of horsehair for inscribing minute details on porcelain cups.
“Do tell me all about your happy news,” Gideon insisted, only half paying attention as Briar pointed out the colors she needed. “You must not have been showing last time you were here. I apologize for not congratulating you sooner! Babies are such a delight.”
Briar was surprised at how happy Gideon was about her pregnant belly, and she had to invent a whole origin story for it as she selected her paints. She chose some that were premixed with linseed oil in case she didn’t have time to make her own on the road. To her relief, he had the marine snail purple in stock.
“You and your new man must dine at my home,” Gideon announced as he weighed the jar of costly purple paint. “My wife and I have three children, and my darling will surely have some good advice for you.”
“That’s very kind, but—”
“It’s nothing! A young mother needs support. Your own parents aren’t around, are they?”
“I … no, they died years ago.”
Gideon clapped a hand over his heart. “Then you must join us!”
Briar didn’t want to offend him, but Archer was waiting on her, and she couldn’t explain his current condition without inviting awkward questions. Besides, she didn’t want to introduce him as her “new man.” She pleaded swollen feet and illness and finally got Gideon to pack up the paints and brushes in a burlap bag.
“That’s the last of it. Be careful with the purple, now,” Gideon said as he handed her the heavy bundle. “It gets harder to find all the time.”
“I’ll only use it for special projects.”
He nodded approvingly. “And watch out for yourself on the road. There’s bandits and thieves about.”
“I’ve heard.”
Gideon kept a hand on the burlap bag, as if he didn’t want to let her go. “Sometimes the authorities are as bad as the bandits.”
Briar frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We Mud Marketers like to think of this as neutral territory, but both Barden and Larke’s men think they’re in charge lately. You don’t want to be caught in the middle, especially with a baby on the way.” He hesitated. “And you may want to consider taking a break from your profession for a while.”
“Oh, I—”
“You don’t need to confirm or deny anything, Miss Briar.” His gaze flitted around the emptying market. “You should know Sheriff Flynn is expected in town tonight, though.”
Briar’s fingers curled around one of her new paintbrushes. “When?”
“He was supposed to be here before dark.” Gideon glanced meaningfully at a gap in the market canopy, where the last hint of daylight was disappearing from the sky. “I should discuss it with my wife, but if you need somewhere to stay until your child is born, we can offer you refuge.”
Briar stared at him in surprise. She’d never expected such kindness from a mere acquaintance. The Sparrow Village blacksmith’s betrayal still stung, and she knew Archer and the others had only taken her in because they needed something from her.
Her heart swelled, a lump knotting in her throat. She hadn’t thought she had a friend in the world, but Gideon was opening his home to her despite knowing about her illegal vocation. He might help her with more than just a place to stay if she asked. He could lend her paint supplies until she started earning money again, giving her a chance to start anew.
Briar looked toward the stocks, where Archer was waiting for her—and for the sheriff he didn’t know was coming. Could she abandon him and their scheme now that she had another option?
No, she had struck a bargain, pure and simple. When the job was finished, she could walk away. She didn’t want to be beholden to Gideon or anyone else. Besides, Archer needed her.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Gideon,”
