Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Legion
The last of daylight was fading when Legion came upon the castle.
It was smaller than most he had encountered during his travels, built atop a low rise with a squat stone tower at its center and a wall enclosing the buildings around it.
The gate remained open, though two, armed guards stepped forward as he approached.
Legion stopped before them. “I seek a meal and a place to rest for the night.”
One guard looked him over, his attention settling briefly on Legion's sword. “You a warrior?”
“I've fought.”
The man's gaze returned to Legion's face. “Chieftain Shamus might have use for you.”
“I didn't come looking for work.”
“You want a bed beneath his roof, then you'll speak with him.”
Legion considered continuing on. He'd slept beneath trees and open skies more nights than he could count. One more would make little difference. But he'd been traveling since shortly after dawn with little to eat.
“Take me to him.”
The guard led him through the busy bailey and into the castle. Rather than taking him directly to the Great Hall, he brought Legion to a small chamber where an older man sat behind a table studying several pieces of parchment.
The guard went to the chieftain and leaned down to whisper in his ear. The chieftain looked up, his gaze lingering on Legion.
The guard stepped aside but waited not far from the chieftain.
“You've the look of a man who's seen his share of fighting,” the chieftain said.
“I have.”
More than his share but he would not admit that to the chieftain or to anyone.
Something in the answer appeared to interest the chieftain.
“I've a problem with one of my warriors.”
Legion shrugged. “Then deal with him.”
The chieftain leaned back in his chair. “I've tried.”
Legion waited, though it was easy to know what the chieftain was thinking.
“He's a good fighter. Strong. Fearless when there's a blade coming at him. I'd rather not lose him…”
Legion filled in the pause. “But?”
“He's decided being useful gives him leave to do whatever he pleases. He drinks too much, starts fights with the other men, frightens the servants, and challenges anyone who objects. He's large enough that most think twice before crossing him.”
“And you allow it?”
The chieftain's expression hardened. “Not anymore.”
Legion understood. “You want me to kill him?”
“Nay,” the chieftain said, shaking his head. ”I told you I’d rather not lose him. I want you to teach him something my men haven't managed to.”
“And what is that?” Legion asked, though he knew.
“That being the strongest man in the room doesn't give him the right to torment everyone else in it.”
An easy task for Legion, though he asked, “What do I get in exchange?”
“A good meal, as much ale as you want, and a bed for the night.”
“A private chamber,” Legion said, having no intention of spending the night surrounded by snoring warriors.
The chieftain's brow rose and he thought briefly before answering, “Done.”
The Great Hall was crowded when Legion entered with the chieftain. Men filled the tables, ale flowed freely, and servants moved quickly among them.
Legion didn't need the chieftain to point out his problem. The man was easy enough to find. He stood beside one of the tables, broad through the shoulders and thick with muscle, laughing while another warrior wiped blood from his mouth.
The injured man didn't appear amused. Neither did the men around him.
Legion took an empty place at a nearby table.
A servant lass approached carrying a pitcher.
She was plainly dressed, skirt, blouse, apron, her dark hair pulled away from her face, a pretty one, in a braid, and she moved with the practiced efficiency of someone accustomed to serving a crowded hall.
She filled Legion's cup. “Your meal will be brought shortly.”
Legion nodded. “My thanks.”
Her eyes lifted to his.
Only briefly. But long enough for Legion to catch the surprise there before she lowered them again. Perhaps men didn't often thank her.
“Senna!”
The lass cringed before turning and hurrying off.
Legion watched her approach the large warrior.
“More ale.”
She reached for his cup, and he quickly seized her wrist instead. She went still.
“You've been avoiding my table.”
“Nay,” she said hastily.
“Are you calling me a liar?” he snapped close to her face.
Her eyes dropped. “Nay.”
Legion saw the pain cross her face as his grip tightened. She didn’t protest or attempt to pull away. She didn't tell the bastard to release her. She simply endured it and the warrior’s grin told Legion he enjoyed that.
Legion picked up his ale and took a swallow, then another before he set his tankard down.
“Let her go,” Legion said, his voice raised and firm.
The warrior looked toward him. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Silence slowly fell over the hall.
The warrior released Senna and turned toward Legion. “Who the devil are you?”
“A man trying to eat his supper while having to listen to a man with more brawn than brain.”
A few men laughed.
The warrior turned an angry face on them and they quickly turned silent.
He then turned his attention back to Legion. “Eat and mind your own business.”
“I would. But you're loud mouth is making that difficult.”
More chuckles were heard, but this time the warrior ignored them and strode toward Legion.
Legion remained seated.
That seemed to irritate the warrior even more.
“You think you're amusing?” he asked, stopping in front of the table, his broad shoulders drawn back.
“Nay. Just being truthful.”
The warrior snorted. “You think because you've got a sword strapped to your side that I'm afraid of you?”
Legion glanced down at the weapon, then back at him. “We won't need swords.”
The warrior finally looked pleased. “Good.”
He looked about to step away when he swung.
Legion moved his head just enough for the fist to miss. Before the man could recover, Legion drove his fist hard into his ribs.
The warrior staggered and surprise flashed across his face.
Legion stood and the warrior came at him again.
This time Legion let him.
The warrior's fist connected with Legion's jaw. His head snapped sideways, then he slowly turned it back.
The warrior's satisfaction disappeared.
Legion’s fist swung just once.
The man stumbled backward into a table. He pushed himself upright with a roar and charged.
Legion caught him, turned with his momentum and sent him crashing to the floor. The man scrambled up. Legion waited, ready. He came again, throwing a wild punch. Legion put him down again. Much harder this time.
The warrior lay there for several breaths before forcing himself to his knees.
Legion walked over and stood above him. “Enough?”
The man spat blood onto the stone floor. “Go to hell.”
He lunged from his knees and Legion's fist caught him squarely in the jaw. The man hit the floor and this time he stayed there.
Legion looked down at him. “You're strong.”
The warrior groaned.
“But there's always someone stronger. Behave or I’ll be back and see you finished.”
Legion returned to his table and sat. His meal had arrived. He reached for his ale.
Across the hall, Senna was watching him.
The instant their eyes met, hers dropped. Then she went back to work.
Legion finished his meal without further incident. The warrior eventually regained his senses and was helped from the hall, considerably quieter than he'd been before Legion put him on the floor. The chieftain had sent him a nod of satisfaction and departed the hall.
By the time Legion emptied his third and last tankard of ale for the night, the hall had returned to its usual noise.
Senna approached his table. “I’m to show you to your chamber.”
Legion stood.
She turned immediately and headed toward the stairs, apparently assuming he would follow, and he did.
Senna said nothing as they climbed, and Legion found himself watching her. Not because she was beautiful, though she was pleasing enough to look upon. It was something else that caught his attention.
She showed no interest in him, whereas most women did.
Some were subtle about it. Others made their intentions obvious.
Senna had smiled pleasantly when she had approached him, but nothing in that smile invited anything more.
She hadn't lingered over him in the hall or found excuses to return to his table.
If anything, she seemed eager to complete her task and be done with him.
He found that strangely refreshing.
Senna stopped before a door and opened it. “Your chamber.”
Legion stepped inside. It was small but comfortable, with a bed, a chest and a narrow table holding a pitcher and basin. A fire burned low in the hearth.
“The chieftain said you were to have anything you required.”
“I require nothing.”
“Nothing?” she asked.
He heard the surprise in her voice, yet she looked relieved.
“I ate. I drank. There's a bed, and—” It struck him then. “I am tired and want to sleep.”
If she was told he was to have anything he required, she feared he might request she share his bed. He was only interested in willing women, not ones who were provided out of duty.
“If you are sure then—”
“I am sure,” he confirmed with a nod.
“Then I will tend the fire and leave you to rest,” she said and went to cross to the hearth.
“Leave it. I will see to it myself.”
Senna looked back at him aghast. “I cannot do that, sir. It is my duty to serve you. And if I don’t—” She shook her head and before he could argue any further, she added the log and adjusted it until the flame caught.
Legion watched her straighten and walk to the table and check the pitcher.
“There's fresh water. If you need more, one of the servants will bring it.”
“You?”
“If I'm told.”
The simple answer bothered him for reasons he couldn't explain.
“Have a peaceful night, sir,” she said and headed toward the door.
“Senna.”
She stopped and turned.
Legion wasn't certain why he'd called her back.
Her gaze met his, waiting patiently.
Then he noticed. “Your wrist.”
She glanced down at it. Red marks from the warrior's fingers were already darkening against her skin.
“It's fine.”
That she spoke as if it didn’t or shouldn’t matter, annoyed him. “It doesn't look fine.”
“It will be by morning,” she said without complaint, as though bruises were simply another inconvenience that came with her work.
Legion’s brow drew together in a frown.
Senna noticed. “He won't bother me again.”
There was no accusation in her voice. Only certainty.
“Thanks to you,” she said, her voice softer. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Senna.”
She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Legion stood staring at it for several moments. She hadn't flirted, hadn’t piled him with false praise. She hadn't attempted to remain in his chamber a moment longer than necessary. She had simply thanked him and actually meant it.
Legion found that to his liking, perhaps more than he should.