Gossip's Thorns, Grandmother's Shield

"Definitely not," Bloom said.

She hurried about her kitchen, stirring a pot that released a delicious perfume. Her hesitation was evident, even though she had let Julian into her house, and her attitude now indicated that she was just about to show him the door. Julian did not make a strong argument. He was unable to understand the source of the rage that burned over her features. He tossed the paper on the table and remarked, "Well, give it some thought," before leaving.

He had anticipated her refusal. Other than the fact that he would suddenly be without a confidant, he wasn't particularly bothered by it. They didn't even know each other well enough to ask Bloom to save him. "Well," he thought with a somber sigh, "it was worth a shot."

As he arrived at the main road, he changed out of the civilian clothes he had on that morning with the intention of going back to the village in disguise. He decided to return to town because he was already close. They jostled and pushed him as though he were one of them, and nobody knew that he was Lord Hartfield. The idea made him smile, and he enjoyed the anonymity.

Groups of young women walked by, their whispers and laughter resonating through the air. He heard bits and pieces of their conversation:

—gorgeous new gown, Yvette. Where—

That young, attractive man over there appears brand-new. Where, I wonder—

— discovered dangling upside down! Nobody is aware of who did it.

It was that witch, I'll wager! She even had the gall to visit my store yesterday and request a grape vine, do you know?

Julian followed the woman who had spoken because he was intrigued.

"Really? You would have assumed that we had explained it to her—

"Oh, no, the tramp, not her!" A big, pink-faced older woman interrupted. She doesn't pick up any knowledge. Her head was usually in the clouds when she was a girl, as I recall. And now she has a garden and lives alone! What a scandal!

"Yes, if I ever saw a witch, she was real!" A man in his forties stood quietly confidently next to a counter, and behind it a kind-faced old woman gave a scathing, sardonic remark. "Having a garden does not prove that you are a witch. Quit spreading such unsavory rumors about young women!

As they drifted away, the three of them disregarded her reprimand and carried on talking. "Jillian and I believed that her strange behaviors would change when she returned and that she would be more grounded, but it's worse now."

"Yes, sweetheart—"

Julian walked up to the counter and saw the old woman's red face, tense from trying not to yell. With caution, he said, "You know the woman they were talking about?"

A good foot shorter than him, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. "Yes, I am familiar with Bloom. And don't pay any attention to what those old hags have to say about her! Nothing they say will alter the fact that she is a kind and affectionate girl! Perhaps she changed while she was away, but they shouldn't be criticizing her because things happened that they are unaware of!

Julian made a conciliatory motion with his hands. "All right, all right. No matter what else Bloom may be, I know that she is incapable of murder.

She relaxed a little. "I understand. And you're...?

He held out his hand. "Julian."

She gave it a strong clasp. "Sarelle. I am the grandmother of Bloom. This is my son, her uncle Rory.

She pointed at the man next to her, who gave her a toothy smile. Julian was not as sharply struck by Rory. "Hello," he said to Rory.

"I assume you're new here. "I've never seen you before," Sarelle noted. Additionally, you don't seem to despise my granddaughter, which is something that all long-term residents do. May I inquire where you're from?

He grinned. "This is where I was born and raised until I was five years old. I only recently returned home after living away for a spell. He felt that she would figure out who he was if he gave an explanation for his absence.

She gave a nod. That reminds me of my Bloom. She also left for a while, but returned when— She recovered quickly, but her voice faltered for a moment. "But returned."

He concurred, saying, "It seems to be rather commonplace here, yes."

Sarelle looked at him, her eyes glimmering with speculation. "I see that you and Bloom must be about the same age. What is your age?

"Nineteen," he said cautiously.

Her smile became evasive. Yes, just like Bloom. If you two can already get along, then you must be alike. What is your occupation?

A recognizable voice interrupted Julian before he could get away from her questioning. "Rory, Grandmama!"

There was a tinge of malice in Sarelle's smile. "Bloom, my love, it's so good to see you!"

Bloom said, "Grandmama, you just saw me yesterday," as he approached the counter. She leaned in to plant a kiss on her grandmother's cheek, pushing back the hood of her cloak. "Stop behaving as though it's a surprise."

However, it is! After all those years apart, I still find it hard to believe you're here. I hope—

Bloom cut in abruptly, "I know what you wish, Grandmother, and it was only two."

Sarelle let out a deep sigh. You have an opportunity to make up for the loss, though. I recently met a really pleasant young man. He claims to know you.

Bloom whirled and saw Julian. Her cheeks were flushed. With a glance that made him feel insignificant, she raised an eyebrow and murmured, "Oh, hello." "Have you met my grandmother?"

Yes, and he's also a really good little child. He— Sarelle started.

Bloom abruptly interrupted, turning back to her grandma, "I brought you and Rory the scones I promised." "They remain warm."

Rory smiled and walked over. He grabbed two scones and said to Julian, "Bloom makes the best scones around," before going back to work.

"Do you want one?" Sarelle volunteered. "They are the best, really. If they could taste them, even aristocrats would concur, is I correct, Sweet?

Bloom shifted uneasily and Julian shook his head. "Thank you, but no. I should leave. It was a pleasure to meet you. Goodbye.

He waved and walked away, ignoring Sarelle's dismayed look.

He was struck by an old man halfway down the street. "I apologize, sir," Julian replied, supporting the shaky body. "That was really awkward of me."

The elderly guy, shaking with age, looked up. He croaked, "I saw you talking to her; they call her Bloom." If I were you, I would exercise caution. Witches are not someone you want to mess with. Then he vanished, stumbling into the mob.

After blinking at him, Julian went on to a plant stand. He asked the vendor, the same woman who had earlier voiced her displeasure with Bloom, how much the grape vine would cost.

"Twelve coppers."

Before continuing, he thanked her, took the leafy plant, and gave her the cash.

Beside him, a cloaked figure dropped into place. Bloom remarked, "It's sick."

He gave a shrug. "You can definitely fix it. It is a present for you.

Suspicion narrowed her purple eyes. "Why?"

"Is it not possible to give a gift without ties?" Weary, he asked.

Not a lord. Why?

He let out a sigh. It's an expression of gratitude for the blue-bellied whatsits. Since you are unable to purchase your own grape vine, I figured I would do it for you without any conditions.

Bloom's mouth twisted cynically under her hood. Did you hear about that? It's all over town, I guess. I wasn't giving it any thought. No one likes to sell to me, but I forgot that. The flora diverted my attention.

"No one permits you to purchase from them?" Astonished, he asked.

"Observe."