Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The tavern floor smelled of smoke, ale and the tang of roasted meat coming from the kitchen.
It wasn't unpleasant, exactly. Just loud, thick and far more alive than the hushed corridors of Eagle’s Rest or the peaceful farmhouse I'd grown up in.
My hands twisted in the folds of my new skirt, the deep green fabric softer and lighter than anything I owned before.
Erika had insisted on the color, calling it 'striking'.
By no means of stretch of the imagination was it scandalous, but it wasn't as demure as any of my other dresses.
"It suits you," she'd said with a grin when I'd tried it on. Now, as I stood at the threshold of the common room with Bess's steady hand on my shoulder, I wasn't so sure. Every glance of the patrons on me felt sharper, heavier, as though they could see right through me.
They could tell how inexperienced I was.
How much of an easier target I was.
"Head up, shoulders back," Bess murmured, her voice gruff but not unkind. "They'll smell fear quicker than spilled gin. And remember what I told you. If anyone lays a hand on you without leave, Tom will toss them out on their ears."
I swallowed hard, nodding. My pulse was so loud I thought surely everyone would hear it, even over the noise in the room, and the fiddler playing away in the corner.
"If you're not ready yet, honey, you can go on back to the kitchen. I sure could use the help in there."
I looked back at her, forcing a tremulous smile. "No, Bess. I appreciate it, but I need the extra money."
The room bustled, tankards clinking, dice clattering against tables, laughter rising in waves. The other girls weaved through it with practiced ease. I drew in a breath, squared my shoulders, and stepped into the storm.
Under Erika's careful tutelage, I got my first order and headed to the bar, telling Tom what I needed. The first tray I carried shook so badly I nearly sloshed the tankards over the rim. But the burly sailor who ordered them only laughed and called me a sweet lass, so I counted it a victory.
The second time, I forgot which table wanted the rabbit pie and which wanted the stew, and my cheeks burned as the men bellowed and teased.
Before I could stammer an apology, Erika swooped in, winking at me as she sent a cheeky smile to the men at the table.
"First day nerves," she announced as though it were something to be proud of, not an annoying burden.
With a bawdy joke, a full-chested laugh and another wink—this time directed at the men—she righted the order and sent me on my way to the next table to take their order.
On my way there she whispered to me. "You've got this.
Big smile now, remember a friendly word and a bright face goes a long way. "
And slowly, I began to believe her. It was busy, yes.
And I made some more mistakes, but the men in the tavern were all friendly, be it with ale or just because of the atmosphere.
Before long, I had enough extra coin in my apron to put a bit more pep in my step.
By no means was I a natural, or did I find it easy to interact with all the personalities, but it had started to feel kind of. .. enjoyable.
And then it happened.
The air shifted.
It was subtle at first, like a ripple beneath calm water. My skin prickled. The laughter seemed to fade to the edges, my ears straining for something my eyes hadn't seen. The hair at my nape lifted, and I knew, before I turned, that my past had walked straight through the tavern door.
I turned, tray pressed too tightly against my chest.
And there they were.
Oh, dear lord.
Leighton and Magnus. They looked so out of place in this smoky, bustling room, and yet commanding it with their very presence. The people around them seemed to stay out of their direct sphere, almost avoiding them.
My breath caught, my heart stuttering painfully against my ribs.
Our eyes collided across the crowded room, and everything inside me stilled. The laughter, the clatter of mugs, even Erika's encouraging grin... it all blurred into nothing.
There was only me. And them.
Leighton inclined his head the barest fraction, a gentleman's acknowledgment that still managed to pin me in place. Magnus didn't bother with subtlety. His gaze swept me head to toe, lingering on the choker still snug at my throat, his expression predatory and unmistakably furious.
I couldn't breathe.
What were they doing here?
Over the last couple of weeks I'd been so certain they had all but forgotten me, and moved onto their next willing victim. A woman willing to pretend with them.
But they were here.
Why?
And then... they chose a table. A quiet one, tucked in the corner, one of the few empty ones left.
My lungs stuttered back into working just in time to watch Marta sashay over, tray balanced on her hip, her smile sly and self-satisfied.
She leaned just a bit too close as she fiddled with her hair, clearly eager to lap up whatever coin or attention they might bestow.
My stomach plunged.
But neither man spared her more than a glance. Magnus lifted one hand, dismissing her with a flick of his fingers. Leighton added a strained smile, and then, together, they turned their heads toward me.
Not beautiful, willing Marta.
Not Erika bustling past with a full tray.
Me.
Their meaning was unmistakable.
I shook my head once. Tiny. Desperate.
Leighton's lips curved in the faintest suggestion of amusement. Magnus merely tipped his chin, the command silent but absolute.
And my feet betrayed me. Step by step, my body moved without my permission, weaving through the tavern's noise until I stood before them, tray clutched in white-knuckled hands, pulse thrumming so loud I swore the whole room must hear.
"Lisa." Leighton's voice wrapped around me like a warm blanket. His smile softened the harsh lines of his scar, but his eyes... his eyes held me captive. "I'm so glad we found you, love. Though I confess, I hadn't expected our reunion to be in quite this... spirited a setting."
I swallowed hard, shifting my tray to mask the tremor in my hands. "You shouldn't be here."
Magnus leaned back in his chair, but the tension rolling off him was palpable.
His jaw ticked, his gloved fingers drumming once against the table before stilling.
"Shouldn't be here? You vanished like a thief in the night.
Stole and sold one of our horses." His eyes burned into me, unrelenting.
"You're fortunate we haven't put the police on you. "
My throat closed, words struggling past the guilt that tried to take root. "Why didn't you?"
"You know why, love," Leighton said simply, as if it were answer enough.
My pulse hammered. I wanted to scream at them, to tell them both to leave and never return, but the words stuck in my throat. At last, I forced them out, brittle and desperate. "Go. Leave. You don't belong here."
Magnus gave a dark, humorless laugh. "Oh, we're not leaving, little filly." His gaze dropped, deliberate, to the thin band of silk snug against my neck. His smirk was vicious when my hand flew up to touch it instinctively. "That choker on your neck says you don't belong here."
Leighton tilted his head, studying me with infuriating gentleness. "You could have taken it off, love. Sold it. Left it behind." His smile curved, knowing. "But you didn't."
Heat flared through my chest, a wild mix of fury and shame and... desire.
I lifted my chin, refusing to let them see me crumble, even as I ached to climb into their laps and have them wrap me in their arms.