by Jayne Castel
Dain put down his cloth and approached him.
“Good eve.”
The man acknowledged him with a nod and shucked off his snow-dusted cloak. Underneath he wore dark hunting leathers. His mud-splattered boots, which reached mid-calf, were expensively made.
“Do you have any rooms free?”
“Aye—two bronze talents will get you lodging and meals.”
The newcomer hung up his cloak along the wall to the left of the door, next to the others and handed Dain a battered leather pack.
“Take this to my chamber. I’ll have a jug of ale when you’re done.”
Dain took the pack, his hackles rising. His father was down in the cellar, organizing the stores or he’d usually deal with guests. This man was around Dain’s age, but he had the air of a lord. Dain didn’t like being treated like a servant.
Grinding his jaw, he took the pack to the guest’s room, giving him the coldest, dampest chamber he could find at the end of the guest annex. Usually, his mother would light the lump of peat in the hearth so that the guest would retire to a warm room—Dain made a point of forgetting to do so. He returned to the common room to see his father had resurfaced. The dark-haired man now sat with a group of dicers, a jug of ale at his elbow. He was laughing and chatting with them as they took bets for their first game.
Dain’s irritation rose further. This guest had a smile and manners for others; just not for those waiting on him.
Lilia picked up a tray of steaming pies and carried them out of the kitchen. With Neasa in bed with a headache, she would need to help Dain serve the tide of customers that had descended upon The Grey Anchor for supper. The snow had given locals an appetite for hot food and lots of ale to wash it down.
The raucous sound of male laughter hit her when she stepped into the common room. The dicers in the corner were making more noise than usual. There was a large group of them huddled around a long table. At one end sat a tall, striking dark-haired man with a pile of bronze and silver talents next to him.
Lilia approached the table, carefully balancing the heavy tray. She was a couple of yards away when the man she’d noticed glanced up. Her breath caught; he was devastatingly handsome with long-lashed almond-shaped eyes the color of peat, chiseled features and a cleft chin. Raven hair flowed over his shoulders.
His gaze tracked her as she moved, and Lilia suddenly felt self-conscious and flustered.
I should have asked Dain to serve this table.
She glanced around, spying Dain on the other side of the room. He was serving a couple that Lilia had seen in here often, laughing over something the woman had said.
“Your pies.” Lilia sat the heavy tray down and handed out the food on small wooden plates. “Be careful, they’re hot.”
The men all fell upon their meals, ignoring her warning. Only the dark-haired stranger didn’t move; he was still watching her, naked interest on his face.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low and lightly accented.
Lilia fought a blush. “You’re welcome.”
She picked up the empty tray and turned to leave, but the man’s voice halted her. “What’s your name?”
Blushing furiously now and cursing herself for it, Lilia turned back to him. The man was smiling, but it was not the light, flirtatious expression Dain used on her. The heat in this stranger’s eyes was devouring, and set the base of her belly alight.
“Lilia,” she replied huskily, “And yours?”
“Saul.”
It was an exotic, sensual name—so different to male names on Orin. Lilia stepped back from him, anxious to distance herself and hide her flaming face in the kitchen. She was sure the whole room was staring at her.
“I hope you enjoy the pie,” she said, her voice slightly breathless. It was an inane thing to say, but it was the only sentence her flustered brain could manage.
His mouth slanted into a smile. “Did you bake it?”
“I did.”
Lilia pivoted on her heel then, before he had time to reply, and hurried away. She was aware that Dain had halted his conversation with the couple. He was now watching her, his brow furrowed.
At that moment, the door leading from the accommodation annex swung open and Ryana breezed in. She carried a harp under her arm and was dressed in her usual attire of leggings, tunic and sleeveless leather gloves.
“Evening, Lilia,” the scop sang out.
Lilia mumbled a greeting while Ryana crossed to the small wooden podium in the corner opposite the dicers. Inside the kitchen, Lilia raised her hands to her burning cheeks. She didn’t want to show her face in the common room again that evening, but there were still more meals to serve.
Ryana plucked a tune on her harp and began to sing. It was a jaunty drinking song—about two friends travelling the seas together, wenching, gambling and fighting at every port. The common room erupted with mirth and approval at the end of each verse.
Glad of the distraction, Lilia loaded up her tray with more pies and ventured out into the common room again. This time she kept her gaze away from the dicing table, from the dark stranger with the melting eyes—yet she was aware of his gaze searing her as she moved around the room.
Dain followed her back into the kitchen. He grabbed a loaf of bread and started hacking it into chunks with a large knife while Lilia removed another batch of pies from the oven.
“Was that man bothering you, Lily?” he asked, raising his voice slightly to be heard over Ryana’s strident singing and the cheers now coming from behind him.
Lilia shook her head.
“Are you sure? You’re flushed.”
Lilia flashed him an irritated look. “I’m fine.”
She emptied the steaming pies onto a tray, ignoring him. Stiff backed, she picked up the tray and marched back out into the common room, where Ryana finished her song to thunderous applause. Folk leaped up and tossed bronze talents into the wooden bowl the scop had placed at her feet.
Ryana bowed, scooped the bowl up and took a seat at a nearby table. Lilia placed a pie before her. “These are going fast—I thought you’d be hungry.”
Ryana smiled. “My thanks—I’ll miss your cooking.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Aye, tomorrow at dawn. I’ll spend the next few weeks at Eastwatch I think.”
Lilia felt a stab of disappointment. She enjoyed having Ryana stay at the inn. “When will you be back?”
The scop shrugged. “When the mood takes me.”
Envy followed disappointment. Lilia wished she had Ryana’s freedom. Some days she felt chained to her kitchen. How wonderful it would be to simply follow your instincts.
“I wish I was more like you,” she murmured.
Ryana’s smile faded and she cocked her head. “Why would you wish that?”
“I live such a small life—sometimes I think that’s all I can ever hope for.”
Ryana watched her steadily for a few moments before she shook her head. “We set our own limits,” she said gently. “But don’t think my life is charmed either. Each of us must wrestle our own demons.”
Lilia gave her a quizzical look and was about to question her when Ryana’s gaze flicked to the other side of the room.
“Someone’s been paying close attention to you,” she observed, a smile tugging at her mouth.
Heat crept back up Lilia’s neck. She’d been so focused on her conversation with Ryana that she’d forgotten Saul. She turned to find him watching her. As soon as their gazes met, he beckoned to her.
“I think he wants to speak to you.” There was laughter in Ryana’s voice—she was enjoying this.
“I wish he’d leave me alone,” Lilia replied, although the weakness of her tone betrayed her.
“Doesn’t look like he’s going to.”
Lilia cast Ryana a pleading look before reluctantly crossing to the dicers. The mood at the table had changed since her last visit. An enormous pile of silver and bronze talents, a few glimmers of gold amongst th
em, now sat on the table before Saul. His opponents had abandoned playing. A couple of them stared glumly into their tankards, while the others muttered amongst themselves.
Lilia stopped before him, her gaze shifting to his pile of winnings. “You’re good at dice,” she observed.
Saul gave her a slow smile. “I’m done for the evening—will you join me for an ale, Lilia?”
The way he said her name caused her breathing to constrict. However, she managed to force down a blush this time. “I can’t, I’m working.”
“How about later then?”
“It’s a busy night … I’ve got a lot to do.”
“But you’ll finish eventually?”
“Yes, but it’ll be late.”
“I can wait.”
Lilia inhaled deeply. She felt out of her depth. It was not her way to drink with men she’d only just met—especially men like Saul. She’d managed to avoid Dain’s attentions, but Saul was much more forceful. She could see he’d keep persisting until she said yes.
Lilia let out a long breath. “Very well.”
Saul raised his tankard to her. “I look forward to it.”
Across the room, Dain slammed down the cup of wine in front of Ryana with such force that it sloshed over the rim.
“Careful,” the scop warned him. “Red wine stains. This is my best tunic.”
Dain scowled, casting a glare over at the dicing table where Lilia was still talking to that dark-haired stranger. He couldn’t believe she’d just agreed to have a drink with him.
“I don’t understand women,” he growled. He glanced back at Ryana to find her watching him with thinly veiled mirth.
“Finally, you admit it,” she replied, lifting her cup of wine to her lips and taking a sip.
Dain ignored her jibe. “Shadows, what does she see in him?”
“He’s exotic, charming and exciting—few women are immune to such things.”
Dain’s scowl deepened. “You’re not helping.”
Ryana snorted. “If you like Lilia, why haven’t you asked her out?”
“You’ve seen us together,” he replied. “She ignores me.” Dain glanced back over his shoulder at where Lilia was now crossing the floor toward the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Saul watched her go under veiled lids.
Jealousy lanced through Dain with a violence that surprised him.
Enough.
He stepped past Ryana and reached for his fur mantle which hung by the fire.
Ryana’s flippant manner faded. “Where are you going?”
“Out,” he replied curtly. He cast a look over at the bar where Ailin was deep in conversation with two regulars. “Tell Da, he’ll have to lock up on his own tonight.”
6
Sharing an Ale
Lilia took off her apron and smoothed her skirts. She had tidied up and even scrubbed down the kitchen—but could delay no longer. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty.
Why did I agree to this?
She usually had no difficulty rebuffing men, yet Saul had been impossible to deny. Even now the thought of his dark, brooding looks and limpid stare made her stomach flutter.
Stop it—this is a bad idea.
What if he’d merely been mocking her? What if she went out into the common room to find him gone? Dain and Ryana had seen Saul ask her to join him later—they’d both make fun of her for being such a goose.
Sick with nerves, Lilia poured two ales and left the kitchen.
Her heart leaped in her chest when she saw that Saul was still there. He had shifted position, taking up one of the smaller tables near the hearth; a solitary figure for all the other customers had departed. Even Ailin, Dain and Ryana were nowhere in sight.
A fresh log burned in the fireplace next to Saul, sending hungry golden flames roaring up the chimney. He watched her approach, his gaze tracking her across the floor. “You came.” His voice was a low rumble that sent a thrill through her.
Lilia managed a tight smile. “I said I would.”
She set down the tankards of ale upon the table and pulled up a chair. As it had earlier, her pulse quickened when he looked upon her. The intensity of it made her feel excited and flustered all at once. Saul did not look, dress or behave like any man she had ever met.
“I’m glad.” He smiled, raised his tankard to her, and Lilia followed suit. They both took a sip of ale. It was warm by the fire, and the popping of embers and the crackling of burning wood were the only sounds in the deserted common room.
“It was a long night,” he said, leaning back in his chair and observing her frankly. “They work you too hard.”
Lilia shrugged. “It’s a busy inn—the most popular in town.”
Saul’s smile widened. “That’s what the man on the docks told me when I arrived. Said a pretty red-haired wench made the best pies on the island, and that the steep climb would be worth it.”
A smile tugged at Lilia’s mouth. He was an outrageous flirt. “The man lied—my mother makes the best pies.”
Saul’s mouth quirked. “He didn’t lie about you though.”
“So the walk was worth the effort?” Lilia couldn’t believe her own ears, she was actually flirting with him.
Saul gave a soft laugh. “Most definitely.”
Suddenly shy, Lilia took another gulp of ale before breaking eye contact with him. “Where are you from?” she asked, steering the conversation into safer waters. She wasn’t used to flirting and felt that if things continued she was likely to embarrass herself.
“From Anthor.”
Lilia glanced up, her shyness suddenly forgotten. As a child she had spent evenings with her father poring over his maps of The Four Kingdoms of Serran. “My Da used to read me stories about Anthor … of its cruel king.”
Saul grinned. “Really?”
“Aye,” Lilia replied. “He described it as a land with long, hot summers, edged by a glittering sea. That the king lives in a great citadel of stone upon a cliff looking south. I remember that much, at least …”
Saul gave her a speculative look. “You have a good memory then.”
“And is the king cruel, as the tales tell?”
Saul shrugged. “No more so than other rulers.”
Lilia felt her face grow hot. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That was a foolish question.”
“No it wasn’t,” he replied. “You’re just curious. Have you ever visited the mainland?”
Lilia shook her head.
“Would you like to cross The Wash and discover the rest of the world?”
Lilia sighed. “Dearly.”
He smiled, clearly amused by her candor. “Why haven’t you then? There’s much to see beyond this little rainy isle.”
Lilia looked down at her tankard. “You make it sound so easy,” she said. “Maybe it is for someone like you.” She looked up then, emboldened by ale. “Why did you ask me to join you tonight?”
Saul inclined his head, his expression turning serious. “When I saw you earlier, I thought you could do with some attention. Was I wrong?”
Lilia looked away and inhaled deeply, willing herself not to blush. Was the truth so obvious? Was she such a sorry case?
“No,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m weary from travel and you’re a comely girl—does a man need any other reason?”
Lilia’s cheeks burned as she kept her gaze averted. “I suppose not.”
She took a sip from her tankard and glanced up to find Saul still watching her. “So, Saul of Anthor.” His name sounded exotic on her tongue. Yet she was desperate to turn the conversation away from herself again. “What brings you to the Isle of Orin. We get few southern folk here.”
“I’m travelling north,” he replied, “and thought I would rest a few days here before continuing my journey.”
“North?” Lilia frowned as she thought back to her father’s maps. She could remember little of the northern territories of Serran, except f
or tracts of wilderness, great lakes and long mountain chains. She could not remember the names of any cities. Still, she recalled her father saying that the northern reaches of the mainland was a desolate spot. “Why are you going there?”
“King’s business. I serve Reoul, the King of Anthor.”
Lilia’s gaze widened. She looked upon Saul with fresh eyes, taking in the expensive cloth and exquisite cut of his travel-stained clothing. Of course, no wonder she had never seen a man like him. She had never heard of royal emissaries visiting Orin. The isle was one of the world’s forgotten places.
“So, are you a warrior?”
His gaze gleamed. “Of a kind …”
Lilia met his gaze and felt excitement curl at the base of her belly. There was an aura of danger, of contained power in this man. Her instincts warned her to be wary of him, but her senses drank him in. He awoke something nameless, and thrilling, within her.
When she looked into his eyes, she forgot her fears.
It was much later when Lilia barred the door and banked the fire. Her eyes stung with fatigue, but she felt wide-awake. Acutely aware of the tall man, clad in dark leather who followed her, she led the way out of the common room and down the narrow hallway towards the bed chambers. She carried a lantern aloft, its warm light reflecting off the pitted stone walls.
They had not gone far when Lilia paused in front of a door. She turned, craning her neck up to meet Saul’s gaze. His eyes were almost black in the soft lantern glow.
“This is my room. Where’s yours?”
“At the end of this corridor, I think,” he replied.
Their gazes held for a moment and Lilia became aware of how close they were standing. He reached out then, his fingers entwining around a lock of fiery hair that had come loose from her braid.
“You have stunning hair,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen such color.”
Lilia’s throat closed. He was standing too close. His nearness—the scent of leather and wood smoke—overwhelmed her.
His hand left her hair and stroked her cheek. Lilia trembled under his touch.
“And your skin … it’s like milk.”
