A Man of Honor by Miranda Liasson

the warden’s mark here.”
    “What’s a warden’s mark?” Cat asked.
    “It’s a stamp that indicates it contains just the right amount of silver. Silversmiths had to add a certain amount of copper, because silver is too soft to mold into anything.”
    “That’s interesting,” Cat said.
    “He’s right,” the woman said. “Silver on its own is valuable, but it needs a bit of copper to really make something of itself.”
    “How much are they?” Cat asked.
    “Three hundred,” the woman said.
    “Thanks for showing them to us.” Preston steered Cat across the aisle. “We’ll think about it.”
    “You didn’t like them?” Cat asked. “Too expensive?”
    He laughed. “They were imitations.”
    “And that’s too much money to pay for imitations?”
    “No. What I’m saying is, why buy imitations when you can get the real thing?”
    “So are you planning a Louvre break-in anytime soon? Or are you just going to buy a pair for ten grand at Christie’s?”
    He flashed a smile. “Neither. Let’s just keep searching for more ideas.”
    “How did you know that stuff, anyway?”
    He shrugged. “History’s a hobby of mine,” he said, enjoying the feel of her arm as he led her across the way.
    “Oh, look at these,” Cat said, looking at a giant ceramic rooster with a multicolored plume of tail feathers surrounded by smaller roosters in different sizes and colors. “Beautiful.”
    “I’m getting the feeling you have a thing for roosters,” he said. “Don’t tell me. Quirky.”
    “You’re getting me. You’re really getting me,” she said with a grin.
    He picked up a shiny steel sword that was around four feet long, and held it straight up in the air. Looking from the blade to her, he asked, “You love roosters?”
    “Yes! The way they strut around showing off their feathers, like they don’t have a care in the world.” She moved down the line. “Look, a husband and wife.” She picked up a pair of salt and pepper shakers, a hen and a rooster, in vibrant greens, reds, and yellows. “I love these!”
    He put down the sword and picked up the shakers from her hands. “Hey! What are you doing with my chickens?”
    “I want to get these for you.”
    “Preston, no! I’m just fooling around. I don’t even have a place to put them. I’m living in my old bedroom, remember?”
    He examined the pair. “You need these chickens.” She giggled and tried to take them from him, but he held on tight. When she laughed, her sea green eyes danced and he’d have given his entire right leg right then just to kiss her. Not to mention all the other things he wanted to do to her. “Listen. You need to put these by your bed, and when you look at them, I want you to think of having your own place again and shaking them onto your eggs every morning to remind yourself to turn things upside down a bit. What is life if you don’t rock the boat a little?”
    She stopped laughing. The tug-of-war between them had ended, and now their hands were stock-still, fingers locked together around the ceramic chickens. “Don’t let anyone break your spirit, Cat. Or tell you that you should be a certain thing or a certain way. You’ll find yourself if you listen to what’s in here, not to the voices outside your own head.” He tapped on her upper chest. Her eyes grew big and wide as they stared into his. He’d never seen such a beautiful woman, both inside and out. So beautiful, his chest ached. His heart felt like a wrung-out rag, dried out and desperate from these months of continual wanting and not having.
    “May I help you?” an older woman wearing a checkered apron said.
    “Yes,” Cat said. “We’ll take these,” she said, handing over the shakers. “And this.” She bent to pick up the sword.
    “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, but she’d already laid it out on the counter. “Are you crazy?”
    “This is a replica of Excalibur,” the woman said. “Notice the medieval designs on the blade, and the