Chapter Four #2
Laurence continued to smile as he took a drink of his wine. “Well said,” he said quietly. “You have grown up since we last spoke on the subject of your brother.”
“That was almost six years ago, Bull.”
Laurence laughed softly. “True enough,” he said. “When you throw him in the vault, do you mind if he sees my face, too?”
Gage looked at him, cracking a rare grin. “Absolutely not,” he said. “We’ll both stand over him and smile. That should sufficiently demoralize and anger him.”
Laurence continued to chuckle at that idea before sobering. “And you still think that you should not find out if he is alive?”
Gage took a long drink. “Nay,” he said flatly. “I told you earlier than I don’t much care. It does not affect my life.”
“What if he has married?”
“Jesus, who would marry that bastard?”
Gage said it sharply, effectively ending Laurence’s attempts to convince him to do something he didn’t want to do.
Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t unpleasant.
Gage was considering retiring for the night when he noticed a woman who was now dancing over by the lute player.
At least, she was dancing in concept, but the execution was rather horrifying.
She had no sense of rhythm or grace, making jerky movements and waving her scarf around.
It was quite odd and also a little embarrassing.
The woman wasn’t even pretty, a pale lass with a plain face.
Disinterested, Gage returned his attention to his drink, thinking more heavily about seeking his bed.
They had traveled quite a distance that day, so he was understandably weary.
Just as he downed what was left in his cup, a man came out of the shadows and grabbed the dancing girl, pinching her arse.
Gage had seen the man and his comrades on the other side of the common room, four of them eating and conversing.
He was fairly certain they were knights, for mere soldiers wouldn’t have the means to pay for a place like this, but he kept his attention away from them. He didn’t want to stir up any trouble.
Predictably, the companion of the girl who was getting her bottom pinched took exception to what was going on.
She tried to pull her friend away from the man, but he was reluctant to relinquish his prize.
The girl’s companion tried to separate her friend from the rather amorous man again, who seemed quite intent on fondling the girl’s buttocks.
When the man shoved the companion away, the woman went over to the nearest table, picked up a pitcher that had wine in it, and promptly smashed it over the man’s head.
Wine went splashing everywhere and the girl who had started the entire escapade screamed when wine hit her in the face.
As she doubled over with stinging wine in her eyes, the man who had just been crowned with a pitcher staggered into her and pushed her right through a window that had only one shutter closed.
The girl cried out as she went hurling through the open window and into the mud outside as the man regained his balance and turned to the girl’s companion, who had armed herself with a chair.
Unfortunately, the chair didn’t give the man pause.
He charged the girl’s companion and she swung the chair with all her might, catching him in the head and shoulder.
The chair shattered and he staggered sideways with the blow, but she managed to retain a chair leg and proceeded to beat him over the head with it, repeatedly.
As the man went to his knees, his companions stood up, clearly intending to either defend him or save him. Gage didn’t think that was exactly fair – three big men against one lone woman – so he stood up, followed quickly by Laurence.
Everybody was on their feet.
The situation soon grew violent.
When the three men at the table started to move towards the woman, Gage and Laurence jumped in to stop them.
Thinking they were being attacked, the men unsheathed the swords at their sides and the entire tavern began to clear.
The structure had several windows, rather large windows that were covered with shutters, but they were big enough and wide enough for men to leap through to escape what would undoubtedly be a bloody fight.
Gage had only planned to use his fists, but when the weapons started coming forth, he had little choice but to respond.
His weapons came out, too.
The first weapon that came out was a dagger, rammed into the neck of the man nearest him.
As that man went down, he yanked the weapon from his neck about the same time he ducked a sword that came flying at his head.
As the sword flew over, he plowed the same dagger into the chest of the man who had swung it.
Two men down in as many seconds.
Laurence had the third man who, seeing his companions cut down with unnatural rapidity, backed away from Laurence, heading for the entry.
As he did so, he grabbed the man who had started the entire thing, who he was still on his knees with wine all over his head.
He dragged him out of the door as the two of them fled for their lives, leaving Gage and Laurence standing just inside the door, watching them go.
As quickly as it started, the fight was over. Gage and Laurence looked at each other and shrugged. A glance to the common room showed people dragging away the bleeding and injured men, leaving streaks of blood on the floor.
“My lords, although I thank you for your assistance, it was unnecessary.”
The words came from the girl’s companion.
They turned to see that she was standing behind them, the broken chair leg still in her hand.
Gage really hadn’t gotten a good look at her when she and her female friend had entered the inn but now that she was standing in front of him, he could see that she was absolutely exquisite.
Skin like cream, dark red hair that tumbled in curls past her waist, and amber eyes that were as alluring as they could possibly be.
For a moment, he was actually speechless as he was faced with such beauty, but as he looked more closely at her, something about her seemed terribly familiar. As if he’d seen her somewhere before.
Then, it occurred to him.
His eyes widened.
“De Thorington?” he said, incredulous. “Lady Wynter?”
The woman’s eyes flickered, perhaps with fear, and she took a step back. “I… I do not know you. Who are you?”
At first, Gage was surprised that she didn’t recognize him.
They used to be fairly chummy companions at one time and he thought that she would have known him anywhere.
However, given how much he’d changed over the years, he came to realize that he wasn’t surprised at all.
His long, dark hair had been cropped close to his scalp and he was sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, but that wasn’t all.
He’d put on a great deal of muscle since he last saw her.
Rough conditions and rigorous training had seen to that.
But he had something else that he didn’t have back when they were friends – body art called stigmata.
Varro had it. Beautiful designs and drawings that had been etched onto his arms and shoulders.
It was something that Gage had been fascinated with when he’d first come to serve with his uncle, but he also noticed that all of Varro’s mercenaries had one particular mark in common – a design on the top of their shoulder designating them as one of El Vibora’s men.
It was how they identified each other in battle and especially if they’d fallen in combat.
Varro never required Gage to be marked with the letters EVSL – the first letter in each word of Varro’s pledge – el víbora se levantará, or The Viper shall rise, but Gage had it etched into a shoulder, anyway.
He liked it so much that he had a viper etched across his massive shoulders, followed by swords and shields, crosses and stars, and even the de Reyne standard.
Both arms, back, and part of his chest and neck were covered with these drawings, painstakingly carved into his body by a tiny old man in Pamplona.
They made him feel powerful. But most of all, he had the flourish of a scroll on his chest that went from the top of his neck all the way down to his manhood.
A long, elegant scroll that was made to look like the wind when it blew the leaves away – swirls that were both big and small.
El Viento del Norte.
The North Wind made him feel most powerful of all.
But, clearly, Wynter knew none of that. He was unrecognizable with the changes he’d gone through over the years and even though his stigmata were covered by tunics and mail, some was still visible on his neck.
The Gage de Reyne she knew didn’t have drawings on his neck and Laurence, standing next to him, wasn’t much better.
He, too, had indulged in the art of the stigmata and his blond hair had long since turned to gray along with the heavy beard he was wearing. Nay, she didn’t recognize Bull, either.
Gage could see how baffled she was.
“It’s Gage, my lady,” he said after a moment. “Gage de Reyne. I know I do not look as you remember, but it really is me.”
Wynter stared at him a moment. He watched as the emotions rolled across her face – disbelief, suspicion, and finally shock.
She took a few steps towards him, broken chair leg still in her grip, and peered at him closely.
When he smiled, displaying big, white teeth and with big canines, she gasped as if startled.
It was the smile she finally recognized.
“Bloody Christ,” she said, her eyes flying open wide. “It is you!”
Gage laughed softly. “I see the light of recognition has sparked,” he said. “I realize you did not expect to see me, mayhap not ever again, but…”