Just another lord, she assured herself. It didn’t matter that he’d resisted her magic. Nothing else made him different from all those she’d played for before.
The man rapped his knuckles against the stained table, but its sound was lost amidst the hum of the room. Even in the midst of another tune, his presence persisted at the back of Trisha’s mind. She fought against it, yet, time after time, her attention slid to the northern lord drumming the darkened wood as steadily as the rain struck the roof.
When their eyes finally met, a spark of something—perhaps a mix of understanding or recognition—passed between them. Its weight tingled along her neck. His mouth curved as he dipped his chin.
Trisha yanked her face away, finger slipping on the strings.Curse the nameless gods!For the remaining time, she took care not to let her eyes wander again, but his gaze could still be felt. Seated on the simple stool, Trisha remained aware of every slip and every mistake. The man’s attention was like a brush of steel against her delicate nerves.
When she struck the final chord, the downpour had weakened into a shower. Smoke in the room lingered low, gray fumes spiraling below the dark rafters.
With softly murmured ‘thank yous’, Trisha accepted tokens of gratitude and wove her way toward the entrance. Away from the northern lord’s line of sight.
The innkeeper beamed, waving at her. The tension lifted her shoulders; she wouldn’t have to brave the night in the rain. Whether she slept on the floor by the fire or in the barn, she’d have a place for tonight.
That left her with an indulgence to savor: a moment of her own time. Food and drink seemed most pressing, but she should tend to Dapple first, ensuring that her horse was well cared for. But before Trisha could move, a faint cough echoed from behind her.
A man with a thick red-brown beard and patted gambeson made a clipped bow. “Bard, my lord would like a word.”
She crossed her arms. “Oh, he does now?”
The soldier’s mouth flattened. “To thank you for your performance.”
Out of the corner of her eye, his lord reclined in his seat, but the angle of his shoulders and the way he held his drink betrayed him. This wasn’t a courtesy call but an order masked as one.
“I’m grateful,” she said. A small, resentful part of her demanded she defy him. “But surely that’s unnecessary. You’vedelivered his recognition, and I’m confident your lord has better ways to pass his time.”
Red fire twinkled in the soldier’s tawny eyes. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and Trisha caught silver memories of scars on his skin and a whirling tattoo. He had the build to intimidate, but he gracefully chose diplomacy instead.
“I must insist, bard. His words were clear.” He paused, then added, “My lord isn’t easily denied.”
Trisha’s voice was cold. “Indeed?”
The northern lord turned his head, meeting her sight. The air between them taughtened, and a soft touch of… unknown skimmed across her mind. She shivered, unable to ward off the feeling of being exposed. The man raised his drink.
Go on.Refuse me now,the gesture said.But we’ll talk before the night is done.
Face heating, she tore her gaze away.
“Your lord is a gracious man,” she said tightly. “I’d be delighted.”
A quiet breath left the soldier. “Thank you, bard.”
Gritting her teeth, she banished the thoughts of escape.
She could face him. She could.She would.
Even when her nerves refused to trust the words, Trisha kept repeating them. With her shoulders pulled straight, she didn’t dodge or look away.
Beyond the crowded tables and the low-burning fires, those steel-gray eyes waited, ready to ensnare her the moment she stumbled.
The table waited half-hidden in shadows. A candlelit lantern sat at its center, too weak to drive away the darkness. At her approach, the men fell silent, though not out of shyness. Their attention needled, but Trisha refused to falter, following herescort. When they reached the table, the escort bowed, but she kept her back straight and her eyes locked with their lord’s. Brash perhaps, but she refused to be intimidated. More importantly, she was never his to command. And by his narrowed gaze, the man both understood and disliked the message.
The silence stretched until, at last, she swept into a bow. “My lord.”
A moment passed. And another, drawing out the wait. Still, she held a confident posture. He tapped the rim of his glass. A faint creak of wood followed as he moved in his seat.
“You may rise, bard.”
The rich, low voice skittered down the skin of her back. Trisha’s hands clenched as she fought against an unwanted shiver.
