Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Torden
“Give me the coin and you might keep your life.”
The merchant stared at the sword pointed at his belly and sighed.
It had been a profitable journey until two fools stepped from the trees and decided to relieve him of his earnings.
“I haven't got all day,” the taller of the two snapped. “The coins.”
The merchant reluctantly reached for the pouch beneath his cloak.
Heavy footfalls sounded along the forest road, catching the two thieves’ attention.
The merchant looked as well, waiting for the man to get closer, hoping he knew him and he could help him avoid being robbed, possibly killed.
A lone warrior approached at an easy pace, seemingly unconcerned by the sight of two armed men blocking the road.
A smile broke out on the merchant's face. Surely, the gods were favoring him today.
“Torden! A fortunate meeting,” the merchant called out.
Torden continued toward them.
He was taller than the average man and powerfully built, his broad shoulders made more imposing by the massive claymore strapped across his back.
Dark hair fell past his broad shoulders, and strong features gave him a face worth a second glance, though there was nothing welcoming in his expression as his gaze moved from the merchant to the two men.
The shorter thief looked at his companion. “You know him?”
“Does it matter?” The taller man's interest shifted immediately to Torden. “There’s two of us and one of him.”
The merchant laughed.
Both thieves looked at him.
“You find something amusing?” the taller one demanded.
“Nay.” The merchant tucked his coin pouch safely back beneath his cloak and waited for the amusement to begin.
The man turned toward the warrior and demanded, “Your coins.”
Torden remained where he was.
“I said your coins,” the thief snarled as if it would make a difference.
It didn’t. Torden still didn’t move.
The merchant chuckled.
The thief swung around. “What's so damned funny?”
“You'll find out.”
The man's sword shifted back toward the warrior. “Hand over your coins or I’ll take them off your dead body.”
Torden’s eyes settled on the man with the mild annoyance one might give a fly that refused to be swatted away.
The thief held out his hand. “Your coins. Now.”
Torden ignored his demand.
The thief stepped closer. “Are you deaf?”
“Nay,” Torden said.
The thief barely had time to blink. One large hand shot out and caught him by the neck. His sword fell from suddenly useless fingers as his feet left the ground.
The merchant grinned.
The second thief stumbled backward, his eyes wide with fright.
For one suspended moment, the thief dangled helplessly from the warrior's grasp. Then, without warning, he tossed him. Not a shove, but a toss, and a powerful one.
The man sailed past his companion, struck the trunk of a tree with a solid thud and collapsed unconscious beneath it.
The remaining robber stared at his fallen companion. Then at the warrior. Then at the considerable distance between the two.
He dropped his sword…. and ran.
The merchant burst into laughter.
Torden watched the thief disappear into the trees before turning his gaze to the unconscious man sprawled beneath the oak.
“He'll wake.”
“A pity.” The merchant grinned and gave him a respectful nod. “My thanks, Torden. I knew I could count on you.”
Torden nodded and continued on his way. The village not far ahead had a decent inn, a tankard of ale, and a favorite dark corner where no one would bother him.
Though, he wasn't counting on it. There was always someone who needed something from him.
A dispute settled. A wrong righted. A sword wielded when words failed.
He had fought more men than he cared to remember and settled more quarrels than he cared to hear. Both had left him equally weary.
All he wanted was peace. Not the peace others summoned him to make for them… his own.
Torden spotted the first cottage through the trees and continued toward the village.
Hopefully, tonight he will find it. If only for a few hours.
The village came into view as Torden rounded a bend in the road, cottages scattered along either side and people going about their day. A cart loaded with sacks rattled past him, the driver sending him a wave.
Torden spotted the familiar inn near the center of the village and headed for it.
Noise greeted him the moment he opened the door. Laughter. Conversation. Tankards striking tables. Exactly what he expected.
He paused just inside, his gaze sweeping the room out of habit.
Two doors beside the one behind him. A narrow passage leading to the kitchen.
A staircase at the far end. A dozen or more men scattered among the tables, only a few armed.
No one paying him more attention than a stranger his size warranted.
No threat.
It might be a peaceful meal after all.
He made his way to an empty table in the far corner where the wall protected his back, and he had a clear view of the room. He removed the claymore and rested it within easy reach.
A serving lass appeared almost immediately. “What can I bring you, Torden?”
“Ale.”
“Anything to eat?” she asked with a smile and swing of her hips.
“Whatever is tasty.”
Her smile broadened and she lingered. “Passing on home or staying the night?”
“Going home.”
She leaned closer, bending just enough for him to take a gander at her breasts that were nearly falling out of her blouse. “Sure, I can't tempt you with anything else?”
Torden's gaze moved over her. Lori was pretty enough. bright eyes, pleasant smile. Skinny, but he didn’t mind, most women would do. Except the smelly ones. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Those he would not touch.
He shook his head. “Nay.”
Her smile disappeared and she straightened with a huff and walked away.
Torden didn’t mean to insult her, but he had no regret as he watched her go. Then he cast another glance around the room before settling in.
Lori returned with his ale, setting it down with considerably less enthusiasm than she'd shown before.
Torden slid an extra coin across the table.
Her good humor returned immediately.
He lifted the tankard and took a long swallow. The ale was good. He had a corner to himself. He knew no one, no one knew him, and no one needed anything from him.
Peace at last.
“I bought the last round!”
“Nay, you didn't!”
Torden was about to enjoy another swallow of ale but stopped with the tankard halfway to his mouth. His eyes closed briefly. It was no concern of his. He took a swallow and tried to ignore the raised voices.
“You bought the round before last.”
“And the last one.”
“You're too drunk to remember what you bought.”
A chair scraped across the floor.
Torden kept his attention on his ale.
“Call me drunk again and I'll knock you on your arse.”
“Drunk.”
Several men laughed.
Torden sighed. So much for peace.
He glanced toward the two men. They stood near the hearth, close enough to trade blows but neither looking particularly eager to throw the first one.
One was thick through the middle and red-faced from drink.
The other was younger and taller, his crooked grin doing nothing to improve his companion's temper.
Neither had reached for a weapon.
Torden dismissed them. Let them argue themselves hoarse.
Lori approached carrying a bowl of stew, and Torden's attention immediately returned to more important matters.
She placed it before him along with a generous chunk of dark bread. “Anything else?”
“Nay,” Torden said, his focus on the stew.
Her smile suggested she hoped his answer might change. But it didn't, so she left him to his meal.
Torden tore off a piece of bread and dipped it into the thick gravy. The smell of beef and onions reminded him how long it had been since he'd eaten.
He was bringing it to his mouth when the inn door flew open hard enough to strike the wall.
Everyone turned.
A petite woman stood in the doorway.
Torden smelled her from across the room.
“Gods’ teeth,” he muttered.
The odor swept through the inn with her, strong enough to have one man gagging and another hurriedly covering his nose with his sleeve.
“What the devil happened to you?” a fellow called out.
“Get outside!” yelled another.
“Close the bloody door behind you!” another chimed in, holding his nose.
The woman paid them no heed.
Mud streaked the hem of her skirt and splattered her boots, but the dark, wet stain covering one side of her from hip to ankle appeared responsible for the stench filling the room. She wasn’t familiar to him which meant she was not from around here.
Her eyes swept over the patrons and stopped on the younger of the two men who had been arguing.
His crooked grin vanished.
The woman pointed at him. “Niall!”
His companion immediately stepped away. “I had nothing to do with it.”
“But Niall knew exactly what he was doing,” she accused, shaking her fist at him.
Niall's grin returned, though less confidently this time. “You should have moved out of the way.”
“I was off the road.”
“Not far enough.”
Her cheeks heated with anger. “You deliberately drove your cart through that rut filled with horse piss.”
A few chuckles sounded.
The woman's head snapped toward them and the laughter died.
Niall wasn't as wise.
He laughed outright. “You should have seen yourself, Ismera.”
Torden shook his head. Horse piss. No wonder she stunk. He had no intention of going near her. Let the innkeeper do his job. He picked up his mug and sniffed to clear his nostrils of the odor before taking a swallow.
“I'll give you something to laugh about,” she warned.
She started toward Niall.
The innkeeper appeared with a broom. “Out, Ismera.”
It was about time the innkeeper stepped up and did his job, Torden thought, watching the exchange.
She sidestepped him without slowing.
He moved in front of her again. “Whatever quarrel you've got with Niall, take it outside. You're fouling the whole inn.”
“I'll leave when I'm finished.”
“You'll leave now.” He pressed the broom against her middle and tried to steer her toward the door.
Ismera slapped it away. “Stop poking me.”
“Then move.”
“I am moving.”
“The wrong way,” the innkeeper yelled and pointed at the door.
She darted around him.
The innkeeper caught up and blocked her again.
Ismera went left.
He followed.
She went right.
He thrust the broom in front of her.
Several patrons began laughing.
Torden continued watching despite his determination not to become involved. The lass was quick and furious. Not a good combination.
She tried once more to get around the innkeeper, only to have him block her path.
Her gaze searched for another route to Niall, and she spotted one.
Unfortunately, it led directly toward Torden.
Ismera hurried across the room, weaving between tables, keeping a good distance from the innkeeper’s broom until she reached him.
Torden looked at her. Up close, the smell was considerably worse, and her bold blue eyes blazed with enough fury to warn a sensible man to stay clear of her.
She put one foot on the bench opposite him.
His eyes narrowed.
The other foot followed.
Then Ismera's gaze dropped to the bowl.
He saw exactly what she intended and warned, “Don’t dare—"
Torden’s hand shot out as she reached for the bowl.
Ismera was faster.
“My stew,” he said, a rumble in his chest.
“Not anymore.”
His hand snapped out but she was quick, twisting away and jumping to the nearby table.
Torden's tankard rocked from the force of her departure, and he caught it before it tumbled over.
A man shouted as Ismera landed beside his plate.
Another scrambled out of her way when she jumped to the next table.
The innkeeper charged after her, waving his broom. “Ismera!”
She ignored him.
Niall no longer looked amused. “Don't do anything foolish, Ismera.”
She jumped onto a table directly in front of him and without a word spoke brought the bowl came down over his head.