“A rumor reached my ears. The Benefactor is a handsome one they say; savors the lassies who float about him same as flies onto pig shite.”
She dashed her hands onto the gritty table, leaning toward her battle companion. “The four Scots at the table there.” She flicked her skull discreetly toward the bench by the fire where a massive cauldron boiled the greasy pottage. “The sound signature is not a match for Hiss; however, the matters that they speak about is regarding a lack of coin for their efforts from one hailed as the Benefactor.”
“Benefactor thrust this task upon us; we led the charge, but I will not be goin’ to hell for burning clergy and an abbey for nae coin.”
“Callum,” she whispered frantically, “’tis them! The Benefactor is not present; he sent them a bottle of wine as they await his arrival. These are the raiders who were at the abbey.”
Callum’s cheek muscles flexed while he clenched his jaw before he spoke. “We may wait for this Benefactor to show. Yet” – his brows furrowed – “my instinct speaks this unseen leader shall remain invisible. Forthwith, I believe the resolute choice is to have a wee chat with those currently present.”
“Aye.”
“Nella.” He grasped her hand fiercely, which was resting upon the table. “You remain here a moment. If violence takes a turn, you dash for the doorway toward Sir Brayden. I shall not chance you, understood?”
Her eyes strayed toward his fingers in hers, and she gave a tug on them. Was it the same tug-like feeling as the one that happened in her heart at his concern? She nodded when words would not form.
Callum stood for an approach at the lot of them. They all wore expressions as dark as the rags upon their backs. The pair who had spoken guzzled the wine; the first had paunchy jowlsthat flowed into his shoulders with no neck. The other was as thin as the stem on his goblet resting on the table he lifted. “Raise your cups once more for a final toast.” The whole table of raiders drained their goblets, slamming them onto the table.
Callum left the bow on his shoulder. Instead, he quietly rested his hand on his sword’s hilt while he slowly approached the threat. Four against one; the odds were dire.
The gaunt one who faced Callum cussed. “Who the blazes is the massive warrior walking our direction with rich mail on his back? You think he is commanded by the Benefactor as a means to slay us?”Oh, no.
“Calm your arse. Malcom, over yonder, is our watcher of the common room. If deemed needed he shall attack the warrior unawares.” Malcom? Watcher? Her eyes dashed toward a lone patron they glanced at sitting in the dark corner. Malcom.Got you.Features shadowed by a wiry beard and mouth a snarling wolf would be happy to own.
Plan change.Nomore charging for the door if Callum was in danger.What to use as a weapon if this turned violent? The candlestick here; iron and thick and tall and perfect. Leaning forward, she snuffed the wick with a breath born from fear before she snatched the find secretly under her cloak. Standing, she fluffed her loose hair.
A shaky breath rattling her lungs, she walked the steps as if her legs had turned into the same wood as the wall beside her. What could she say to a frightening-looking stranger and garner his interest? Tavern lassie would know. Whereas her experience seducing a lad had been, well, rather lacking… Who was she kidding? Nonexistence more covered the grim truth at her skill.
Sway. Try swaying hips towards Malcom. Oh, look. He had turned his attention from the table her knight approached and eyed her instead; good. Now what? Flattery always worked on lassies; go with that.
She murmured in a low voice, “A Scotsman dashing as you should not sit alone.” Was the tone alluring?
A grin brown as the meat pottage before him showed. Ugh. “Lass, had a few too many cups, have we?” He looked intrigued.
“Wee bit.” She thumped her backside onto the bench beside him, while pulling the candlestick closer toward her hip under the table. “A lovely view here.” She spread her free arm wide toward the vista. Callum was almost at the enemy’s table.Keep Malcom’s attention.
The gaunt one hissed under his breath across the room to himself. “Malcom, take your eyes over here, you dimwit, and away from the bonny lass.” Oh good, it was working. Gaunt thought her bonny? Surprises all around!
A meaty hand snared her waist. “You are most bonny.”
Her free hand pressed his torso. “May I be so bold as to inquire what name you were bestowed?”
His breath, which was the stench of rotted flesh, brushed her cheek.Don’t breathe. She swallowed hard. “Malcom. Who may you be, bonny one?”
“I am…” The words died in her throat when a loud cluster by gagging and choking and coughing silenced the room like a devil had just stepped over the threshold.
The entire table Callum approached was… Brazen brimstone! They were being poisoned! Their faces turned a bright plum shade as they violently grappled at their throats and began falling same as stones off a cliff. The common room erupted into a chaos of cries.
“They are dying!”
“Poison!”
The door burst open with Sir Brayden charging inside, sword drawn after the other patrons began shouting in fright.
“What have you done, lassie?” Malcom roared at her.
She spun her head around when Malcom ripped her off the bench by the arm secured about her waist. She swung the candlestick at his brow, but the meaty Scot ducked toward the side. No! She missed! How could she miss?
Thump.The candlestick hit the floorboards after he batted it out from her fingers. “Nothing!” she cried when his free hand grabbed her throat. “I have done nothing!”
