Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
I tried to pretend they weren't there. Truly I did.
I carried mugs, cleared plates, even managed a smile or two at some of the patrons on the floor.
But every time I turned, I caught them staring at me.
Leighton's steady eyes tracked me while Magnus's hard jaw tightened with some thought I couldn't read.
They stayed seated, silent, yet their presence weighed on me heavier than the tray in my hands, laden with beer.
And maybe that's why I slipped and tripped.
More than once.
Before they'd shown up, I was just starting to get a handle on things, but it was as if it was the beginning of the night all over again.
Most of the girls shot me sympathetic looks, even while Marta scowled and Tom watched me with a leery eye as if he was already regretting putting me out on the main floor instead of hiding me away in the kitchen.
It all came to a head when I tried to deliver a pint to a table of dockhands. One of them, a broad-shouldered man with a strong Afrikaans accent with sun-rough skin, let his hand wander far lower than it had any right to.
I froze. Shock rooted me to the spot as his fingers squeezed.
I knew what I had to do. All I had to do was look up, catch Tom's attention and let him sort it out. But somehow I lost all control of my limbs and stood there as this man felt up my rear end.
"Sweet little thing," he slurred, grinning when I stumbled back. "Pretty enough for more than a serving of ale, right?"
I opened my mouth—to protest, or call out for Tom's help—but the next thing I knew, Magnus was there. His large shape in my space as his fist collided with the man's jaw so hard the crack rang over the din of the tavern.
Chairs scraped back. The dockhand's friends leapt to their feet, fists raised, and the room thickened with anger.
"Keep your hands off of what's mine," Magnus warned in a low menacing voice.
"He's a fucking Brit!" one of the men shouted.
The tension caught like a spark of dry tinder.
Tom and Bess's tavern was, as I'd come to understand, a neutral space. The British might have won the war, but that didn't mean there weren’t still tensions, especially in a big port city like Cape Town.
But even if the tavern was neutral, that didn't mean that things couldn't change at the drop of a hat. Especially if alcohol and hurt prides were involved.
Luckily, tonight was not the night.
"Enough!" Tom's roar silenced half the room. He shoved his way between Magnus and the dockhand clutching his jaw. "You two want to fight, take it to the street. Not under my roof!"
He turned on me next, his eyes sharp, his jaw clenched. "What happened?"
My throat felt tight. Was this going to be the thing that forced him to get rid of me and send me on my way? I needed this job, now more than ever, now that Leighton and Magnus had found me. I needed the money to prove my independence.
But something in Tom's gaze forced me to answer. "He... he touched me," I admitted, nodding to the dockhand. "He," that time I indicated toward a glowering Magnus who looked ready to commit murder, "stopped him."
Tom's face darkened. He pivoted on his heel, pointing toward the group of dockhands. "Out. All of you. I won't have scum like you laying hands on my girls."
The men protested, voices raised, but one look at Magnus and Tom's murderous glares, and they were shuffled out into the street, cursing all the way.
When the door slammed shut, the tavern seemed to exhale as one, but Tom wasn't done. He grabbed my elbow, steering me away from the floor. "Kitchen. Now."
Bess was waiting there, arms crossed, her expression fierce with worry.
Tom pointed at me. "Who the fuck are those British bastards staring at you, and why do they act like they've a claim on you?"
Before I could shape a word, a low, deliberate throat-clear cut through the air.
Magnus filled the doorway, broad shoulders blotting out the light behind him. Leighton was a step behind, composed as ever, though his eyes flicked toward me with a softness that only made my stomach twist harder.
"Because we do," Magnus said, his voice even, but sharp enough to slice through bone. "She was to wed my friend here." He inclined his head toward Leighton. "And opted to run away from us a few weeks ago."
The words hit the room like a musket shot.
Bess's brows rose to her hairline. Tom's mouth opened, then snapped shut, his face unreadable. My cheeks burned hotter than the oven fire at my back, and shame wrestled with fury until I could barely breathe.
"That true, girl?" Tom demanded, his tone less sharp than Magnus's but every bit as pressing.
My lips parted, but the weight of Magnus's presence stole my words so I nodded instead.
"Why did you run, lovely?" Bess asked, concern laced through her tone.
I couldn't look at her. At them.
How could I tell Bess why I ran without outing their secret? No matter their station or money, if something like that got out, they would be ruined.
And I might have been beyond mad at them for keeping all the secrets from me, but I certainly didn't want them to have any trouble because of me.
That's when Leighton stepped forward. "Because we lied to her," he said, his voice soft, careful, more controlled than I've ever heard him be. "We lied, and kept secrets and didn't trust her."
My gaze jumped up from the scuffed floor to him, to find him staring at me, almost imploringly.
"What's all this 'we' business?" Tom grumbled.
At his question, my heart leapt in fear.
I should have known better.
"My friend spoke the truth," Leighton started. "The lovely Lisa here was set to wed me at the end of the month; however, she was to belong to both of us."
Silence thickened the air. Even the noise from the tavern floor seemed to die away.
Bess blinked once, then leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. "Well then," she said finally, her tone more practical than scandalized.
My heart raced and my palms felt sweaty. "Bess..."
She waved me off. "Hush, girl. Do you think you're the first woman we've seen shared between two men? You'd be shocked what passes behind closed doors in this town."
Tom grunted his agreement. "I don't care what arrangements folk make, long as everyone's safe and willing. That's the only law I keep under my roof." He shot a stern glance at Magnus and Leighton. "You hear, now? Safe and willing."
Leighton inclined his head. "Agreed."
Magnus's gaze never left mine, dark and unyielding. But he nodded in agreement.
Me? I couldn't breathe. My chest ached, torn between disbelief, shame, and the smallest amount of hope.
Bess pushed off the counter and reached for my hand. "The only question that matters, lovely, is what you want. Don't let them buggers bully you into something you don't choose for yourself."
Her words burned hot.
"Now, how about you take the rest of the night off, so you can figure out what you want to do, hey?"
Well, wasn't that the conundrum.
What did I want to do?
I didn't think I was ready to answer.