Chapter 7 #2
They joined a group of William’s men and walked the short distance to the tavern. It was as the other had been, dank and dingy, the air thick with tallow smoke and the pungent, undeniable odor of unwashed bodies. There were a few patrons within, but their party filled the place.
The serving wenches immediately made their way to Sir William, fluttering their lashes and plumping their bosoms. It hadn’t bothered Kinsey before, but now she found every tittering giggle made the muscles along the back of her neck tighten.
William flashed his handsome smile but didn’t flirt. Rather, his gaze kept creeping toward Kinsey, though, of course, she didn’t let on that she noticed.
The ale at the tavern was different from what her mother made. Different even than what they’d had on the road. Stronger, with a sharp, nutty aftertaste. She didn’t usually consume very much, but now found herself moving onto her third as her head began to spin.
The more she drank, the looser the band of tension around her chest became. Her thoughts had continued to swing back toward death for the better part of their journey. They had been put there by Fib’s absence, by the decreased number of their army with the others they had lost.
And the men she had killed.
Mayhap it was cowardly of her, but she was glad the English guards had been at a distance. She didn’t know if she could kill someone up close.
At the moment when she’d shot them, they had been targets, an opportunity to save one of her own.
But on the trail when she’d had too much time to think, she couldn’t help but wonder at the children they might have had, the wives waiting for them to return when they wouldn’t, the mothers whose sons were now dead. And Kinsey had been the one to rob them of their loved ones.
How many had she killed?
She combed through her recollection of the night and tried to count them, but it was impossible. Yet not knowing made it even worse.
“Kinsey?” William asked. “Are ye well?”
She straightened. “Aye, of course.”
She was with men who had seen battle before, who had killed before. And among them, she was the only woman. She refused to say what was in her heart lest she be seen as weak.
Sir William’s eyes lingered on her for just long enough to indicate he didn’t believe her, but nor did he press the issue. Beside her, Alec had consumed more ales than Kinsey had bothered counting.
“Did ye see our archer in the attack?” Alec flung his arm over her shoulders. “No’ only is she bonny, but her aim is perfect.”
Kinsey’s muscles were relaxed from the ale, and she didn’t bother to push her fellow soldier off as he hugged her with brotherly affection, bringing with him the smell of stale sweat and ale. Sir William’s eyes narrowed.
“I wager she could be the one to beat Sir William at throwing daggers finally,” Alec boasted.
Kinsey lifted her brows at Sir William. “Are ye good with daggers, then?”
A smile lifted the corners of Reid’s lips. “The best.”
“I wouldn’t say the best,” Kinsey replied, thinking of her elder sister. For all her gentle kindness, Clara had the accuracy of an assassin when it came to her daggers. If she could set aside her tender heart, she would be Scotland’s most sought-after mercenary.
A low murmur of appreciation went around the table, and Kinsey realized belatedly they thought she had meant herself.
Sir William’s eyes gleamed. “A challenge then?”
Kenzie opened her mouth to protest that she’d meant her sister, not her. She had some skill with throwing daggers, aye, but nothing like Clara. A cheer erupted from the men as they chanted her name.
Who could say nay to such a vote of support?
After all, her aim was true enough.
“I accept,” she said with a boast of confidence.
Mugs of ale were lifted high, and men pounded on the table in approval. Alec’s arm released her shoulders, and she rose from the table with Sir William.
“Shall we make this interesting?” He asked as he led her outside along with the others.
An old tree stump sat several paces from the tavern, its core scarred with pits and gashes from the many blades thrown at it over the years. They were evidently not the first to have such a competition.
“Interesting?” Kinsey looked up at him coyly. Maybe even with a hint of flirtation. Her head was light and her blood hot, both due to the ale she’d consumed.
And she liked it.
“A wager.” He withdrew the dagger from his belt.
“Ah.” Kinsey eyed his blade. It was a quality weapon with a straight, shiny blade and a smattering of what appeared to be rubies glittering at the end of the hilt. “If I win, I get yer dagger.”
William glanced at his blade, contemplating. “Verra well. If I win—”
“A kiss,” one of the men shouted. The following jeers supported the suggestion.
“I wouldna say nay to a kiss from such a bonny lass.” Sir William winked at her. “Though I wouldna want ye to think I was only trying to make ye my leman,” he said in a low tone, meant only for her.
A furious blush blazed at her cheeks.
It was a bold request. And one of little concern. After all, she would win.
She nodded. “A wager it is, then.”