A table laden with dark, heavy breads, a variety of soft and hard cheeses, and flavorful meats soaking in their own juices sat just off the busy path. The area was crowded and he waited his turn.
“Have ye a leg to sell?” Lachlann asked, his head down as he searched through the few coins in his sack.
“If only I could breed an animal with more than four legs.” A short man with a large belly came from the fire behind the trestle, a platter of roasted meat still sizzling in his arms. “I do have some tasty pieces for ye to choose from, warrior.”
Lachlann paused at the term then placed a single coin on the table. Certainly his clothing had not given him away. Had his gaze been too direct? He helped himself to some hard cheese, still warm meat, and dark, heavy bread. It was a busy place, and a very good location from which to watch the goings on. With such a fine location, this man must get a look at nearly everyone here, if not all.
“Do ye know this area well?” Lachlann hoped not to sound overly curious, but the man’s hawk-like attention told him he’d failed.
Damn.He’d never been good at deception!
“Some.” A man of few words.
“Do ye know of the Holy Man?” Lachlann bit into the mutton.
The shake of the man’s head was barely perceptible, but he offered Lachlann a mug of mead from his own supply.
“My thanks,” Lachlann said, accepting his generosity.
The crowds around them were subsiding. Resting his hip against the table, the man took a sip of his own drink. “I was a warrior once, and I can spot a thief or a murderer while he’s still a stone’s throw away.”
Ah. The man recognized his own. And if the man wasn’t bragging, he had the best of a warrior’s traits. The ability to see through a man’s disguise. The mead was refreshing and cooled Lachlann’s parched throat. “Impressive. And how did ye know I was a warrior…once?”
“A warrior still, I’d venture. The stance. Though I can see ye’re trying to pass yerself off as a pilgrim.” He indicated the satchel Lachlann had slung across his chest. “But ye’ve no wear on it and ye fumble with it when searching within. That tells me ye’re new to such deception.”
Lachlann laughed and brushed his hands clean before accepting the newly filled drink. “Ye have me, then.”
“I’ve not seen ye afore. Ye’re new to these parts.” The round man extended an arm and said, “My name is Baker.”
“Baker? Not Cook?” Lachlann grabbed his wrist with a smile. “Lachlann.”
Lachlann could play the same guessing game. Narrowing his eyes, he perused the man’s attire and the staples he had lined up behind him. “And ye dinna bake. Ye get yer bread from the man across the way, the one with the brightly woven cloth.”
Baker’s face lit up. “Buggar me! Ye’re right! And ye’re near as good at this as I am.”
“Only near as good?”
“Well, I have my reputation to think of.”
The dark-haired child Cull had pointed out earlier ran toward Lachlann, only to stop right beside him, breathing heavily.
Baker slouched slightly to meet the boy at his own level. “And what can I get ye?”
The lad didn’t respond except to turn wide eyes on Lachlann. “Ye’re as big as a whale.”
“I am.” Lachlann didn’t mind the comparison…too much… and this was an opportunity to speak to a “pagan.” “And ye’re as small as a…”
“Sparling?” Baker offered, his heavy brow raised.
Lachlann smiled his thanks. Turning his attention back to the boy, he repeated, “A sparling.”
“Dinna eat me!” The boy feigned his fear then laughed, his little body heaving with the action.
“I dinna find little boys satisfying enough.”
He laughed even louder at that.
“Glad I am that ye find me so amusing.”
