Eamon and Tadhg snapped to attention as a group of young women approached them. They were led by a girl with shining red-gold hair who sauntered boldly up to the two men.

Eamon expected the girl to open her mouth and spew flirtatious comments, but she surprised him by speaking in a dignified manner. "I'd like to see your best shawl," she stated, addressing Eamon directly.

Eamon nodded and sorted through the pile of shawls, glancing up at the girl. He chose one of Catriona's finest-woven shawls and handed it to the girl. "This is my aunt's finest work," he said, arching one eyebrow at the girl.

She rubbed the grayish-pink wool between her fingers, then stared Eamon in the eyes with her brown eyes. "If you're about to tell me a sad story, don't bother. I don't need any persuasion to buy this."

Eamon opened his mouth and closed it again. "I...was about to tell you the shawl compliments the color of your hair."

Several of the other girls giggled. One side of the girl's mouth twitched. "It compliments my hair, does it?" She put her fingertips to her mouth in feigned shock. "Then I suppose I must buy it."

"Must you?" Tadhg interrupted, widening his eyes innocently. Eamon shot him a glare.

The red-gold girl put her hands on her hips. "No! Just because a man pays me a compliment does not mean I'm going to buy his shawls!"

"It does look well with your hair, Orla," another girl whispered.

Eamon favored the speaker with a smile and watched the face of the red-gold girl. So her name is Orla. She pursed her lips, staring down at the shawl. "What is there to consider?" Eamon prodded gently. "It's a fine shawl and it would look well on you...Orla." He let her name roll of his tongue slowly.

She raised her head and stared at him. "How much do you want?"

Eamon glanced at the material and style of Orla's dress, eyes drawn to the small bag she carried on her wrist. "Nine pence," he answered quickly, ignoring Tadhg's intake of breath.

Orla let out her breath through her nose. "Nine!" She thrust the shawl away irritably. "You must think I was born yesterday."

"Hardly." Eamon tried to cover his irritation as he spoke smoothly. "I think you're a good enough judge of quality work that you can realize why a shawl like this is worth ni-"

"You'll not get more than three from me," Orla interrupted him. She reached into her purse and pulled out three coins.

Eamon eyed the bag - surely there were more than three coins in the purse. He pulled the shawl away and draped it over one arm. "Then you'll not get the shawl from me."

Eamon heard a tapping sound and looked down at the ground. Orla's foot was moving up and down rapidly. Eamon tried to hide a grin as he looked up again. Orla said quickly, "Five! I'll give you five!"

Eamon played with the ends of the shawl. "Five? That's better, but not enough. My aunt has to buy more wool and put food on the table."

"And shouldn't that be your job? Putting food on the table?" Orla was reaching for the drawstring of her purse.

Eamon felt his cheeks redden at the implied slur, but he focused his eyes on Orla's fingers. "That's why I'm here today," he muttered. "Putting food on the table."

Orla breathed in through her nose, nostrils flaring slightly. "Six. My final offer."

Eamon extended the shawl and held out his hand. "I'll take six."

Orla pulled out three more coins and placed them in Eamon's outstretched palm. Her hands were so small that if she placed her hands in his, Eamon's would cover hers completely. As her short fingers brushed against his palm, he instinctively curled his fingers upwards and around the money.

"Thank you," Orla said briskly, taking the shawl from Eamon's arm. She stepped back and the other girls pushed forward, looking at Tadhg's baskets and Eamon's other shawls.

Tadhg sold several baskets and Eamon sold a few more shawls. Eamon took his time haggling with the girls, selling each shawl for as much as he could get.

When the girls began to walk away, Tadhg turned to Eamon, a shocked look on his face. "You made that girl pay six pence for that shawl?"

"She had the money," Eamon grunted, watching the red-gold girl - Orla, he corrected himself - walk away. "I wanted to see how far I could go."

"If I'm recognizing the look on your face - and I think I am - you'd have gone a lot further with her," Tadhg laughed. "All the way to her-"

Eamon punched him. "Shut up! It was just business."

"Ow!" Tadhg rubbed his shoulder. "You're being wondrously touchy for it just to have been 'business.'"

"Tadhg, I've never seen the girl before!" Eamon protested. "How could it be more than business?"

"Oh, it could be," Tadhg grinned. "You had a look on your face like you'd just seen a saint. Like this." Tadhg let his hands fall by his sides, widened his eyes, and opened his mouth, staring across the street as though he was in a daze.

"I did not look like that," Eamon scoffed. "For all you know, she could be a saint." He made a mental note to control his facial expressions better in the future.

"Saint Orla," Tadhg murmured, folding his hands and gazing heavenward. "Please buy my shawl and say a prayer for my parents!"

Eamon frowned. "Not funny."

Tadhg's face fell. "Sorry," he muttered. "I wasn't thinking."

Eamon shrugged, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "You did look rather angelic."

Tadhg brightened. "Perhaps I should be a saint!" He suggested, adopting a pious expression and holding up his hand in imitation of a priest.

"If it's a saint you're wanting to be, you've a lot of work to be doing," Eamon grinned. "You're not saintly enough by half."

Tadhg rose, stretching his arms. "It's too much work to be a saint. I'm hungry. You?"

"Very." Eamon squinted up at the sky. "Shall we find a pub?"

"Not so fast," Tadhg cautioned. "We have to count our money first, remember?"

Eamon started walking. "You said at the end of the day, Tadhg. It's just now noon." He glanced back at Tadhg, who was frowning.

"I said that? Blast." Tadhg hurried to catch up with Eamon. "I was hoping you'd forget."

Eamon laughed. "Not a chance. I'm not buying you a drink unless I have to." They entered a pub, their senses immediately assailed by the smell of pipe smoke and whiskey. Eamon breathed in deeply.

Tadhg made his way immediately to the counter, pushing a coin at the brewer. "I'm feeling generous, Eamon. Since you'll be buying me a drink later, I'll buy you one now."

Eamon chuckled. "I'll take the drink, but I don't think I'll be the one who's buying later." He and Tadhg found a table and sat with their mugs of whiskey. Eamon muttered, "Have you noticed all the soldiers?"

Tadhg nodded. "Aye. Makes me nervous, it does." He gestured discreetly to two soldiers in red coats sitting across the room. "But you know as long as we don't get into any trouble, we'll be fine."

Eamon grunted skeptically. "It's staying out of trouble that's the trouble for us."

Tadhg grinned, taking a long drink of his whiskey. "For you, maybe. But not for Saint Tadhg!"

Eamon raised his index finger, waving it disapprovingly at Tadhg. "You're the one who gets us into trouble with your jokes."

"But you're the one who makes the trouble. You and your pride and that bloody impulsive fist of yours. That's what gets us into fights."

Eamon swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. "Bloody? What a naughty word, Saint Tadhg. Saints aren't supposed to swear."

"Who said I was swearing? I could have been describing the state of your knuckles after a fight. And who got us into that mess with Master Newell the first time we came here?"

Eamon frowned. "Don't bring that up. It was your fault."

"My fault!" Tadhg echoed incredulously. "You're the one who tried to fight his servants!"

"You're the one who made a joke about him, which made him angry at us. What was it you said?" Eamon started to grin.

"Ah...er...something about his horse." Tadhg's grin had turned sheepish.

"No, it was about him. I think you said, 'It's not every day you see a donkey riding a horse.'" Eamon smirked at Tadhg over the rim of his cup.

"Oh, was that what I said?" Tadhg grinned impishly. "You've got to admit that was funny."

"Funny? You try being horsewhipped and see if it's funny. I've still got the scars on my back."

"It's not my fault you couldn't keep up with me," Tadhg replied, rolling the mug between his palms and staring guiltily at the table.

"I don't know if you've ever tried to run while three men are holding you, but let me tell you it's difficult." Eamon sipped from his mug and attempted a smile. "But that was a year ago. Today we're only here for the market."

"And the pub!"

"And the pub," Eamon agreed. He and Tadhg raised their cups, hitting the edges together before lifting the cups to their lips.

"Sláinte," both men murmured. Tadhg grinned. "Here's to a good business for the rest of the day!"