Chapter 7 #2
A silent stable-boy stepped out from behind the corner of the building and held out both grubby hands. Evander put the reins in one hand and a coin in the other.
“Hers, too,” he added, jerking his head toward Skye.
She handed the reins to the boy and scuttled after Evander.
The setting sun had set everything on fire. Trees and greenery glowed golden, long shadows cutting sharply across the pathways. She had to squint even to look up from her own feet.
The Gristle-Pig was silhouetted, a dark, blocky shape against the sky. In half an hour, or perhaps even less, it would be an ugly blotch in the shadows, unpleasant except for its butter-yellow windows, candlelight, and firelight streaming out into the night.
Evander strode toward the place as if he could not wait to get in, and Skye scuttled along in his wake.
A short porch surrounded the door, the floorboards groaning miserably under their weight as they climbed the steps.
“Now, I daenae ken if ye have much experience with inns,” Evander stated, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “Have ye?”
“Nay, of course nae,” Skye huffed. “Although who kens what I have been doing in the past year.”
She meant that as a half-joke, but Evander did not smile. Instead, he cast a quick, unreadable look at her, and she immediately wished she’d said something else.
“Of course nae,” she repeated, somewhat lamely.
He nodded. “Ye will get no trouble in a place like this unless ye go out looking for it, do ye understand? Keep yer head down but yer eyes open, aye? Speak when ye are spoken to, and be friendly enough, but daenae go out of yer way to make conversation. Try to go unnoticed. Stay sharp, aye?”
“Aye,” she echoed in a hushed whisper. “Evander, is this place dangerous?”
He paused, his eyes skimming over her face. Then a slow smile tugged at his lips.
To her horror, there was an answering tug in her chest, a tightness that she could not quite interpret.
Stop it! she scolded her treacherous heart. What are ye doing?
Thump. Thump. Thump, her heart responded.
“That depends,” Evander answered, tilting his head to the side.
“Depends on what?”
“On whether ye like danger, of course.”
Before she could respond, he turned the doorknob and pushed open the door, stepping inside.
There was really nothing to do but follow him.
A wave of heat and noise swept over them the second they entered. It took Skye a moment to sort through the overwhelming chaos and sensations.
She noticed the smells first, for some reason. A rich, heavy scent of pottage drifted through the air, mingled with good bread. Unfortunately, the less pleasant smell of unwashed bodies followed it.
The heat was intense, the prickly warmth of too many people crammed together, exacerbated by the ruddy fire crackling in the hearth. Her feet stuck to the gritty floor, sticky with spilled liquor.
The inn itself seemed to be comprised of a common room, large and square, packed with people. There were tables here and there, with chairs irregularly stacked around them. Women and men gathered, both holding slopping tankards of ale, talking and laughing at the tops of their voices.
It was all overwhelming, so much so that Skye slunk closer to Evander, pressing her shoulder against his. He glanced down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“Ye are going nowhere, lass,” he said pleasantly, not even bothering to raise his voice above the ruckus in the room. “Stick with me, and all will be well.”
I believe him, Skye thought with a rush of surprise.
That made no sense. Why should she believe him? Why did he make her feel safe?
There was no denying that she did feel safe.
As they pushed their way through the crowded room, people glanced at him, expressions chasing each other over their faces.
She saw envy and sparks of fear on the faces of men, their gazes following him as he pushed by. They got out of the way, watching him thoughtfully, clutching their tankards.
Women eyed him with vastly different emotions. Some gawked openly, their eyes running over his broad shoulders and muscled back, lingering on his corded forearms. Others shot him more subtle but no less lustful looks.
It was something of a shock, walking through a crowded room with a man whom just about every woman there wanted to bed.
The women all want him, and the men all want to be him. I imagine some of the men want to bed him, too.
A quick glance up at Evander showed that he was oblivious to the scrutiny he’d earned. Or at least he was acting oblivious.
Head high, shoulders squared, he pushed his way onwards toward a low, chipped counter at the end of the room, behind which a harried-looking innkeeper bustled. She was about thirty-five, with lank fair hair and a flushed pale face. She leveled slow, insightful looks at them both.
“It’s ye,” she said, eyeing Evander. “Back again, eh?”
To Skye’s horror, jealousy prickled through her. Who was this woman? Had Evander taken her as a lover?
He has a right to do so, retorted an annoyingly sensible voice at the back of her head, which she promptly ignored.
It’s nae that I am jealous. I simply want to ken, she told herself, then pushed forward.
“Ye come here often, then?” she heard herself say, her voice thin and demanding.
The innkeeper’s pale eyebrows shot up toward her hairline.
“He and his men stop here occasionally,” she responded, before Evander could speak. “I ken Laird Bryden by sight, nothing more. Daenae fret, lassie.”
Skye’s face burned.
Am I that obvious?
Apparently so.
Evander chuckled at her, shaking his head. “This is Janie, lass. Her parents own and run the inn. Janie, this is me wife.”
Janie straightened a little, eyeing Skye with more interest. “It’s nae every day that we have a proper lady here,” she commented. “Do ye need a room? I’ll get ye the best one.”
“T-Thank ye,” Skye stammered, blinking, not sure what to do with Janie’s sudden change of tone. “And… And a bath, perhaps?”
Janie nodded. “Of course. Ye will eat while ye wait, then?”
“Oh, aye. We’re fair starved,” Evander snorted. “Is there a private room?”
“Aye, there is. Follow me.”