She chuckled at the prospect, drawing closer to the soldier. The coat was very large on her, but it clothed her in instant warmth, to which she was grateful. Beyond that, it bore his scent, which she found strangely to her liking. Her eyes drifted over to Charles, and did indeed notice how the white fabric hugged at his muscles.
"I don't know; I would assume not," Awen told him. "But the gesture is appreciated all the same. Just imagining the look on their faces..."
"Mayhaps you don't need to, senorita?"
Awen looked up, spying a man standing in the shop door, leaning on the frame. He was a chubby, trailor fellow with a thick beard around his chin, and bushy like eyebrows, each charcoal black. He rubbed his fuzzed chin, turning to look at the Marquis. "I accept royal credit, sir. At least let me get the lady a pair of shoes; no one should be bare-foot when going out and about, don't you think?"