Before she could continue to think about all the ways everything could go wrong, Roan stirred with a groan. “Roan,” she exclaimed, leaning over him. Was he going to wake up?
Her hair fell over her shoulders and into his face, the blonde a strong contrast to his brown beard and short hair, and she immediately backed up—she hadn’t meant to be that close to him. His nose twitched as her hair tickled him, and he opened his eyes, confusion filling them. This close, the dark brown she’d always thought they were appeared more hazel. “What happened?” he asked, struggling to sit up.
Abigail scrambled to get away from being uncomfortably close to him before offering a hand to help him sit.
He waved her away, using Beastie to help himself up instead, his gaze unfocused as he stared at the door. “I almost had him,” he said suddenly, turning to her just as fast, wincing at the movement. ““Where did he go?”
“Where did who go?” Abigail asked. “I didn’t see what happened.”
“There was a troublemaker,” he said, growling again. Did he realize how scary his voice was when he did that? “Where did he go?”
“I didn’t see him,” Abigail responded patiently. He’d already asked that. Had he hit his head when he landed?
“I need to sit down,” Roan said, reaching out and putting his hand on her shoulder.
That was new. Abigail wasn’t sure if he had ever touched her before.
“You are sitting down,” she pointed out.
Roan looked down at his feet with a glare. “What did he do to me?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Abigail replied quietly, “but you’re not the only one.”
Roan’s head turned around so fast he might have given himself whiplash, and when he saw the tavern full of sleeping men, he swore under his breath.
“I’m going to find him and make him undo it,” he said, staggering to his feet with Beastie’s help.
“The thing is, I don’t know how you’ll find him,” Abigail said, getting up and reaching for his arm. He shook her off but then faltered, and when she reached for his arm again, he allowed her to take it and offer him support.
“I don’t like it,” he growled again.
“I don’t, either,” Abigail pointed out evenly, “but perhaps it would be best for you to sit down for a moment before we try to figure out where he went.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” Roan grumbled.
Abigail nearly rolled her eyes.
Of course, he didn’t want to sit down. He never wanted to sit down in the front room, but in this case, he didn’t have much choice.
She helped him to the closest empty booth, Beastie sticking to his side, ignoring all the men sleeping in the rest of the tavern.
This was certainly more than she had expected to deal with today, but her upbringing had prepared her for this.
Maybe.
She could help somehow…but how, she wasn’t sure.
She’d never really discovered where her talents lay, and without a dragon egg to draw power from, she didn’t know that she would be powerful enough to attempt to undo whatever spell this was—not that she knew how to do that, even if she did have a dragon egg.
She sighed and slumped onto the seat across from Roan, who was staring at the table, his eyes unfocused even as his hands ran through Beastie’s fur. Abigail turned her attention to him.
“Does your head hurt?” she asked quietly.
“Of course my head hurts,” he snapped. “I ran into something when I was trying to catch him.”
That didn’t sound good.
“You ran into the door?” Abigail asked.
