“Thank you, Lady Ryle. Your hospitality is legendary,” he says as he enters through the rear door. The stairs creaking as he ascends.
“We have a party of Reivers coming?” Edgar queries from behind me. “I didn’t know.”
“There are no Reivers staying tonight. I didn’t want the Brag staying here,” I say in exasperation, my hands balling into fists as I turn to face my not particularly effective security staff. “Damn Hilda and her libido.”
“But he is staying,” Edgar says, looking from me to the door, his brow drawn low in confusion. “He has taken a room.”
I march over to the small warlock, a head shorter than me, even if he’s twice as wide, ready to bawl him out before I remember myself.
“Next time a monster comes looking for a room,” I say through gritted teeth, “make sure you inform me of his exact nature, specifically if he can change into human form.”
I stomp past Edgar and into the tavern, where I can still hear the creaking of wood upstairs followed by the occasional breathy laugh from Hilda.
My blood pumps in my veins at every sound. I turn a blind eye to what Hilda gets up to with the patrons, providing it doesn’t impact her work. I know my wages are not as legendary as my apparent hospitality, but it should be enough, along with their bed and board, to mean there’s no need to supplement their income.
On this occasion, however, her proclivities are not welcome. I can’t help feeling the Brag is bad news, and whatever he thinks, he is not staying here tonight, no matter who he shares his bed with or not.
WARDEN
By my horns, the lady of this establishment has a scent like she is the embodiment of long, fragrant summer days. I’m more used to the stink of the Shadow Keep admittedly, but nothing has prepared me, even my long journey, for the way my nostrils were filled to the point I thought I might black out.
However, her eyes were filled with something even more dangerous than her scent. A distain for me which is going to be tough to crack.
I will enjoy the challenge. After all, time is on my side. I have all the time in the Yeavering and all the time in the Night Lands.
There is time to think on the buxom nature of my lady, her hair a tumble of rainbow curls and her rump…
“I trust this is to your liking, my Lord.”
The little witch who has shown me to the bare room upstairs seems reluctant to leave and addresses me in a silly high-pitched voice, which I know is not her usual voice as I heard her talking to the pigs while she was feeding them when I arrived.
I dump my saddle bags on the single chair in the room with a thump, and it groans, sagging further to the floor.
“I am not a lord. Do not address me as such,” I respond, not bothering to look in her direction as I take in the rest of the furniture.
The bed, at least, looks robust, and the linen on it clean, if threadbare. The shutters are in good order and keeping out most of the chill from the first snows of winter.
“Of course, sir,” the witch says from directly behind me.
I spin on my heel with a growl, but she doesn’t back up. Instead, she comes closer and trails a hand over my chest.
“And when I’m done with making your fire, perhaps I could warm your bed?” she says with what she obviously hopes is a winning smile.
I grab her hand and pull it away from my skin where it feels like it’s burning me.
“I do not require any such service,” I snarl. “I need a meal, some apples, and to be left alone.”
Far from being deterred by my actions, she puts one finger to her lips and twists her foot out in front of her.
“As you wish,” she says. “I will see if my mistress will entertain your requests.”
“Your mistress would refuse a weary traveller sustenance?”
The witch raises her eyes to my face. “My mistress has no truck with monsters, even one as easy on the eye as you. She finds it better to stab now and ask questions later.”
The frisson of excitement which rushes through my blood is hard to contain, but I do not wish the witch, or anyone, to know what I have scented in this establishment.
Nor can I be distracted from my current mission.
