"My lady," Devlin said quietly, stepping closer as they moved into the market proper. "Our âhostâ should be near the trout stalls. He said heâd be inspecting the morningâs selection for the manorâs kitchens."
Jocelynn nodded, turning away from the scene of Owainâs men dragging a hapless fisherman away in order to search for the mysterious Master Jean.
Sheâd been trying to find a way to meet with him ever since the night heâd prepared a dinner for her that included both her favorite pudding and a version of Ashlynnâs favorite fish. The meal had been a message, but what it meant, sheâd never been able to learn as an endless stream of servants seemed to conspire to keep her too busy preparing for tomorrowâs Grand Ceremony to visit the kitchens.
Master Jean seemed to be just as frustrated with the situation as she was, and last night, when sheâd returned from Ashlynnâs memorial, there had been a message waiting for her with an invitation that sounded so reasonable, even Owain wouldnât question it. A bride should have a voice in her own wedding menu, after all, and Jean had given her the perfect excuse to leave Lothian Manor for their meeting while appearing to be nothing more than a cook currying favor with the future marchioness of the manor.
But Jocelynnâs father had taught her to read the meaning beneath a personâs words and deeds the way a fisherman reads the currents of the seas, and she would never have believed that Master Jean just wanted to win over a powerful patron. Not when he seemed to know her and Ashlynn better than anyone whoâd lived their entire life in Lothian March should.
"Devlin," Jocelynn said quietly as she and the former captain threaded their way through the crowds. "Do you think," she started hesitantly, prodding her mind to work through the haze of her hangover. "Do you think that this could be a trap?" Jocelynn asked as her eyes swept the marketplace, looking for signs of people who didnât seem to be there for the market.
Unfortunately, she didnât know what she was looking for. As much as sheâd grown up on stories of cutthroats and pirates, or smugglers who lurked in the shadows under the piers, as the privileged daughter of a count, sheâd never set foot in that world.
It was one thing to know that unwitting maidens could be lured into dangerous places where they were kidnapped for ransom or worse, but it was something else entirely to know how to recognize those men when they worked to blend in with the crowd.
"Any meeting away from prying eyes is dangerous, my lady," Devlin responded, easing the long, curved knife at his hip in its sheath. "But the market makes for a poor place to spring a trap," he said, nodding in the direction of a nearby pair of guards.
"One shriek will be enough to bring half a dozen men or more," he added quietly. "And if I add my voice to yours, every guard in the market will come to protect the next marchioness."
"Donât, donât do that," Jocelynn said, balling her hands up into fists as she thought about what would happen if Owainâs guards had to rescue her here. If Owain thought she was trying to slip his net, then he might not let down his guard enough, even on their wedding night, and if he was on his guard...
"Letâs just, letâs just find Master Jean," she said, firmly pushing down thoughts about what lay in wait for her after the wedding feast. The time would come too soon, whether she wanted it to or not. The important thing was to take care of her people first, before she did something that couldnât be forgiven and put everyone who followed her in danger.
A few minutes of wandering the market later, they found Master Jean near the eastern end of the market, standing before a long stone counter where a fishmonger was laying out the morningâs river trout on a bed of crushed ice. Jean was younger than sheâd expected, a man in his late twenties with a slender build and dark curly hair that he kept shorter than the current fashion.
He wore a simple cookâs tunic beneath a heavy leather apron, and his hands moved with quick, precise gestures as he pointed to specific fish, lifting gills and pressing flesh with the practiced efficiency of a man who had spent his life selecting the finest ingredients to prepare his best dishes for the most discerning of guests.
But there was a sharpness to him that didnât quite belong to a simple cook, one that reminded Jocelynn of Captain Albyn. His dark eyes swept the market with a restless awareness that went beyond a cookâs concern over the quality of the morning catch. He seemed to have an extra awareness of the pairs of guards roaming through the marketplace, adjusting his posture ever so slightly to keep his face angled away from them whenever they passed by.
Through the haze of her hangover, Jocelynn attributed the sharpness to ambition. Becoming a master of kitchens at his age required more than talent; it required the kind of relentless, calculating focus that would make a man notice everything in a room the moment he entered it. Perhaps that focus was what had the eye of the infamous Black Merchant whose restaurant Jean managed and whose reputation for obtaining rare, exotic, and occasionally forbidden treasures was spoken of in whispers even among the highborn ladies of Lothian Court.
"Lady Jocelynn," Jean said with a practiced bow. "Thank you for coming. I hope the early morning hour hasnât been too unkind to you," he said lightly. "Iâm afraid that circumstances have conspired to prevent me from meeting you any other time," he said, subtly acknowledging that his efforts to reach her had been thwarted just as much as her efforts to reach him had been.
"Iâll survive," Jocelynn said, nodding in understanding. "Itâs always best to find out what the nets have caught early in the morning anyway," she added carefully. "Before anything has had a chance to spoil. Why donât you show me what youâve found, and we can discuss the menu for tomorrowâs feast?"
"Of course, my lady," Jean said politely. "I think youâll find that I have some good options for you to consider..."