Married To The Mad Vampire Lord

Away from the palace, and hours ago, Rohan had not thought it would take him this much time and effort before he would get to Mrs. Bigger, for he had expected he would find the woman exactly where he had thought.

After he had left the Dawson residence, Rohan had made his way to the town market, the same one they had passed on the day they had arrived in Aragonia, when Belle had pointed the elder woman out to him through the carriage window.

Only, when he got there, the stall where fruits had been displayed that day was empty, with morning dew dripping from the canopy covering the space and landing on the hat he wore. He scowled at the damp emptiness, not expecting she wouldn't be there when the market opened earlier before the rise of the sun.

The other stalls had opened, and only hers remained empty, which meant he would either have to wait and see if she hadn't yet come, or ask someone about her and when she would open.

Both ideas were unpleasant to him as he thought them over. He had not planned to speak to any human but Claire when he came here. He had come prepared for his meeting with her and had taken the time to make sure nothing would give him away as the so-called vampire duke everyone here seemed to know. His description was no secret to the humans of this land.

Hence, Rohan had dressed in simple attire. He wore a hat over his head to conceal his blue hair and dressed casually in a shirtsleeve and plain trousers, with worn-out boots he had randomly found in the garden house of the Dawson residence. Everything he owned was something that would draw attention with how much it was worth and cost, so he had chosen carefully.

However, despite his efforts to appear common and ordinary, his build and presence still set him apart from the crowd. His aura was one that couldn't be ignored or brushed off as belonging to an ordinary man.

A tall, intimidating figure with a hat pulled low over his face, dressed all in black, was not something they saw every day in the market. No matter how faded the clothes looked, people could sense he wasn't just anybody.

When he stood at the empty stall, contemplating who among the humans he would have to question, many had begun to stare at him in curiosity, wondering who he was and what he wanted.

Not wanting to draw too much attention to himself, he walked to the next stall beside the empty one. Fresh vegetables were being sold there, and an elder woman, not as old as the one he was searching for, looked up from where she was sprinkling water over her greens. She peered at him questioningly as he towered over her stall, blocking it from the view of passersby.

"How may I help yah? What would you like to buy, sir?" she asked with a welcoming smile that made the side of her eyes wrinkle. "I got any kind of leaves yah want."

"Do you know where the woman next to—" Rohan began to ask, for he wasn't here to buy anything and wasn't going to waste time listening to what she sold.

But the woman's welcoming smile disappeared, and she cut him off before he could even finish.

"No. I ain't know nobody if yah ain't buying nothing from me. If yah may, please step aside so folks can see how fresh my vegetables are so they can buy. I ain't got all day to waste talking to strange men about some woman," she said in a sharp, scolding voice, glaring at him in displeasure.

Rohan narrowed his eyes beneath his hat as he looked at the old hag, a word of threat rising to his throat. He wanted to tell her he could squeeze her wrinkled neck with a snap of his hand. But he bit back the words and instead let his eyes fall on the pile of fresh, water-sprinkled greens that were not yet sold out, as no one had come to buy them yet.

He recalled his wife's words about people who sold things like this in markets, commoners, and how they did it to make ends meet and feed their families. They needed the money. She might be a poor woman, worn to her bones, her temper sharpened by hardship; her eyes glared at him as though she would strike him with the water pitcher if he did not step away.

Sighing in defeat, and not because he felt sorry for the old hag, but because he was trying to keep a low profile, Rohan nodded his head and took out few coins. He threw a few at her stall as he said, "Here. Now will you tell me what I want to—"

"I ain't no charity case nor no beggar, mister! Take away yah money if you ain't buying nothing." She threw the coins back at him, which he caught easily in his hand. He scowled at the woman, thinking again how easily he could squeeze her neck.

But noticing a few people watching, Rohan was forced to remain calm and instead looked down at the greens.

"How much can ten cents buy? Sell them to me. And while you sell, tell me where I can find Mrs. Bigger, your neighbor."

Rohan was surprised at how quickly the woman's face shifted from scorn to delight, her expression lighting up the instant she realized he was finally buying.

"Mrs. Bigger been sick lately, and ain't got the bones nor the strength to come out to the market no more. A relative's taking care of her at home. Poor woman's probably on her deathbed," the vegetable seller said with a look of pity as she handed the bundle of vegetables over to him.

To his displeasure, the bundle turned out heavier than expected, stuffed into several bags, so that he had to carry them with both hands. He was almost tempted to dump everything right back on her stall as he had no use for them.

"Where does she live?" he questioned flatly, his hands weighed down by the bags.

The woman, pleased with her sale, gave him the direction to where Mrs. Bigger lived. Much to his annoyance, he discovered it wasn't anywhere near the market but further into the small town, deeper than he had hoped it to be.