But a female who likes to fight, who wants to fight, who carries both concealed weaponry and a sword I would love to see her swing in anger is my sort of female.
“Then I guess I will take my chances.” I gently brush the witch to one side and make my way down the stairs, followingmy nose into the main tavern area, where I would hope I could get what I want.
The tavern is filled with Reivers, all taking advantage of the warmth and ale this place provides. The noise level barely reduces as I enter, but there is a distinct dip. Out of respect and fear, I expect.
Alongside the deep, delicious scent which will forever haunt me, there is also the smell of food, and my stomach rumbles. There is a punnet of apples on the bar, and with a level of self-restraint, I only snag two of them before throwing myself onto the settle at an empty table and getting comfortable.
“Get your muddy boots off my furniture,” a pretty voice growls as I finish the second apple in two bites.
A tankard is plonked in front of me, slopping onto the table. A strong smell of apples comes from it.
“The special is meat and veg. I guessed you’d prefer cider to ale,” Lady Ryle says, slamming her hip into my leg and dislodging my boot.
“What if I don’t want meat and veg?” I query, drinking in her scent as if it is the cider she has so kindly provided.
“Then you get bread and spit,” she snarls.
“I’ll have the meat and veg.” I smile.
She huffs at me and turns on her heel, her dress hissing its distaste as she walks away, her hips swinging. I’m not usually one to hold back, and it takes everything I have not to follow her.
I expect if I do, I’ll be run through with that sword of hers, which will be annoying if nothing else. And hardly likely to endear me to her, especially when I’d like to be able to…
“Brag.” A hulking great Reiver thumps down on the other side of the table, his tankard coming down next to mine and adding to the alcoholic slop on the surface. “What are you doing in these parts?”
His eyes flare blue-green. As I’d like to stay at this tavern and not cause a fight, for the time being, I decide to humour him.
“I am returning from assisting the Barghest and the Bluecap in the fight against the Faerie.” I lean into him, despite his stench. “We dealt with Tam Lin. He will not cause any further problems.”
The Reiver roars his approval, raising his tankard to me, causing me to oblige him with my own.
“To the end of Tam Lin!”
“The end of Tam Lin!”
Ale is drunk and tankards refilled. The Reiver claps me on the shoulder and retreats.
It would appear no one will have to die this evening.
The kitchen door swings, and Lady Ryle exits carrying a platter filled with dishes. A tankard is launched into the air from one side of the tavern to the other. I watch its arc as it heads towards her, expecting to hear a clatter as it hits.
It’s a clatter which never comes. Instead she has the tray in one hand and the sword in the other, the tankard in two clean halves on the floor. The remnants of ale splash up her dress.
“Who…” I rise to my feet, shifting into my partial Brag form, “did this to our host?” I glare at the Reivers. “Whoever did it is about to die.”
HAZEL
“No one,” I growl, “is going to die.” I glare first at the Brag, who has returned to his centaur form and is having to stoop to not knock his head on the beams above him, and then at the rest of the Reivers who have gone very quiet. “Yet.”
All their eyes are focussed on the sword. All except those of the monster.
“And as for you, Brag. You will be on your best behaviour, or you will wish you’d died.”
The creature hangs one arm over a ceiling beam and gazes down at me. I do not sheathe my sword.
“As you wish, Lady Ryle.” He rumbles my name, or what has become my name, in such a way it’s as if he’s tasting it.
As if he’s tasting me.
