Warden
By my horns, the lady of this establishment has a scent like she is the embodiment of long, fragrant summer days.
I’m more used to the stink of the Shadow Keep admittedly, but nothing has prepared me, even my long journey, for the way my nostrils were filled to the point I thought I might black out.
However, her eyes were filled with something even more dangerous than her scent. A distain for me which is going to be tough to crack.
I will enjoy the challenge. After all, time is on my side. I have all the time in the Yeavering and all the time in the Night Lands.
There is time to think on the buxom nature of my lady, her hair a tumble of rainbow curls and her rump…
“I trust this is to your liking, my Lord.”
The little witch who has shown me to the bare room upstairs seems reluctant to leave and addresses me in a silly high-pitched voice, which I know is not her usual voice as I heard her talking to the pigs while she was feeding them when I arrived.
I dump my saddle bags on the single chair in the room with a thump, and it groans, sagging further to the floor.
“I am not a lord. Do not address me as such,” I respond, not bothering to look in her direction as I take in the rest of the furniture.
The bed, at least, looks robust, and the linen on it clean, if threadbare. The shutters are in good order and keeping out most of the chill from the first snows of winter.
“Of course, sir,” the witch says from directly behind me.
I spin on my heel with a growl, but she doesn’t back up. Instead, she comes closer and trails a hand over my chest.
“And when I’m done with making your fire, perhaps I could warm your bed?” she says with what she obviously hopes is a winning smile.
I grab her hand and pull it away from my skin where it feels like it’s burning me.
“I do not require any such service,” I snarl. “I need a meal, some apples, and to be left alone.”
Far from being deterred by my actions, she puts one finger to her lips and twists her foot out in front of her.
“As you wish,” she says. “I will see if my mistress will entertain your requests.”
“Your mistress would refuse a weary traveller sustenance?”
The witch raises her eyes to my face. “My mistress has no truck with monsters, even one as easy on the eye as you. She finds it better to stab now and ask questions later.”
The frisson of excitement which rushes through my blood is hard to contain, but I do not wish the witch, or anyone, to know what I have scented in this establishment.
Nor can I be distracted from my current mission.
But a female who likes to fight, who wants to fight, who carries both concealed weaponry and a sword I would love to see her swing in anger is my sort of female.
“Then I guess I will take my chances.” I gently brush the witch to one side and make my way down the stairs, following my nose into the main tavern area, where I would hope I could get what I want.
The tavern is filled with Reivers, all taking advantage of the warmth and ale this place provides. The noise level barely reduces as I enter, but there is a distinct dip. Out of respect and fear, I expect.
Alongside the deep, delicious scent which will forever haunt me, there is also the smell of food, and my stomach rumbles.
There is a punnet of apples on the bar, and with a level of self-restraint, I only snag two of them before throwing myself onto the settle at an empty table and getting comfortable.
“Get your muddy boots off my furniture,” a pretty voice growls as I finish the second apple in two bites.
A tankard is plonked in front of me, slopping onto the table. A strong smell of apples comes from it.
“The special is meat and veg. I guessed you’d prefer cider to ale,” Lady Ryle says, slamming her hip into my leg and dislodging my boot.
“What if I don’t want meat and veg?” I query, drinking in her scent as if it is the cider she has so kindly provided.
“Then you get bread and spit,” she snarls.
“I’ll have the meat and veg.” I smile.
She huffs at me and turns on her heel, her dress hissing its distaste as she walks away, her hips swinging. I’m not usually one to hold back, and it takes everything I have not to follow her.
I expect if I do, I’ll be run through with that sword of hers, which will be annoying if nothing else. And hardly likely to endear me to her, especially when I’d like to be able to…
“Brag.” A hulking great Reiver thumps down on the other side of the table, his tankard coming down next to mine and adding to the alcoholic slop on the surface. “What are you doing in these parts?”
His eyes flare blue-green. As I’d like to stay at this tavern and not cause a fight, for the time being, I decide to humour him.
“I am returning from assisting the Barghest and the Bluecap in the fight against the Faerie.” I lean into him, despite his stench. “We dealt with Tam Lin. He will not cause any further problems.”
The Reiver roars his approval, raising his tankard to me, causing me to oblige him with my own.
“To the end of Tam Lin!”
“The end of Tam Lin!”
Ale is drunk and tankards refilled. The Reiver claps me on the shoulder and retreats.
It would appear no one will have to die this evening.
The kitchen door swings, and Lady Ryle exits carrying a platter filled with dishes. A tankard is launched into the air from one side of the tavern to the other. I watch its arc as it heads towards her, expecting to hear a clatter as it hits.
It’s a clatter which never comes. Instead she has the tray in one hand and the sword in the other, the tankard in two clean halves on the floor. The remnants of ale splash up her dress.
“Who…” I rise to my feet, shifting into my partial Brag form, “did this to our host?” I glare at the Reivers. “Whoever did it is about to die.”