Page 80 of Torin and the Two Crowns

“Tae remind myself that ye deserve better and I hae failed ye.”

“Torin, it’s the year 1308, this might be the best inn in Alba.”

“Och, I hope not, that would be a disgrace.”

A man began to sing drunkenly.

“Tis our cue tae leave, as Max says, ‘If there is goin’ tae be any off-key singin’ it must be mine, I winna suffer another man’s sad song.’” Torin stood, slung his bag over his shoulder, took my hand, and led us back to the room.

He settled the lock bar into place, barricading the door with a dull sound that was almost comforting. That cacophony was shut outside. Mostly. At least now it was muffled.

Torin set the saddlebag down and sat at the edge of the bed. Then he bounced up and down on the boards making the bed creak. He grinned. “Dost ye want tae come sit on my lap, Princess, and get this medieval bed goin’ creaky?”

“Oh hell yeah, Albannach, let’s go.”

I began taking off my clothes for him.

Outside, the Dochart kept crashing over the rocks, covering the sounds of the drunken idiots, and likewise masking the sounds of our lovemaking, and making the room feel secluded and safe.

And later, completely satiated, I lay in his arms. His shirt was open at his chest, my fingers trailing across the planes of his stomach. “That was awesome, you’re feeling a lot better.”

“Aye, Princess.”

“You said you always have a reason for calling me a Princess, so what is your reasoning, my Albannach, for calling me a Princess now?”

He smiled. “Twas tae let ye ken that as yer faithful servant, Torin, I would storm yer ramparts and ram them verra well.”

I giggled. “Oh you did, that you did, ramming is your strong suit.”

“Aye, tis correct, Princess, I donned my shaft’s armor and shewed ye the glory of m’strong lance.”

“It was glorious.”

He yawned. “With my colors wavin’ and m’staff held high, I gave ye the royal heave and ho.”

“This is true.” I yawned.

He smacked his lips tiredly. “Good night, mo leannan.”