It doesn’t take long for them to speak of their objective. I’ve positioned myself in such a way that they’re all seated behind me. My view is of the innkeeper and his attendants, plus all manner of patrons, but I need not see the Southerners to hear them clearly.
“Will we stay?”
“His instructions were clear. We don’t return without him.”
Him. Kipp.
“Where do you think Vanni has gone?” the first man asked.
“Getting the townspeople to adore him, most likely.”
That was said with reverence, not malice. So people like this commander? And his men respect him?
“Will it matter if we cannot gain access to the man?”
A grunt greets his question. “It did surprise me to learn he’s so infrequently home.”
The remoteness of Kipp’s manor and infrequency of his visits ashore are well-known here but apparently less so to the men who would persuade him to return to his birthplace.
His instructions were clear. We don’t return without him.
Why has the king sent for him after all these years? Especially since Kipp made it very clear the last time they came he would never, ever return south.
“There he is.”
I spin around without thinking and then turn back in my seat quickly. Of course they’re talking of their commander and not of Kipp.
Did he notice me?
“Have you learned anything?” one of his men ask.
I can hear a shuffling sound as Lord d’Abella takes a seat, blissfully unaware of my presence. Thank the heavens.
“Only that the women of Murwood End are curious indeed.”
I’d not planned on drinking the ale, having merely ordered it to avoid suspicion. But I take a long sip, shaken by his presence. By his words.
“Curious how?”
“Does it matter? We’re here to find . . .”
One of the men, the commander maybe, clears his throat.
“They are much too forward for my liking,” d’Abella continues. An odd silence descends over the group, broken by him. “I met one in particular, the blacksmith’s daughter, who seems to have strange notions about the role women should play. As if they are equal to us men.”
The group laughs, and although it’s exactly the kind of remark that would normally move me to anger, I’m disappointed instead. Despite the look he gave the ship captain, I’d hoped he would not be one of those men who see women as nothing more than property. Even here, in Murwood, there are those who are still influenced by Southern ideas. After all, Murwood End was originally founded by former Southerners.
“Mayhap she believes such things because she is not comely.”
I nearly choke on my ale.
“Nay,” the coxcomb says, “she is quite comely. More comely, in fact, than any woman I’ve met before.”
Stupid heart, that it would beat so erratically for a man such as this. If I thought his arrogance was bad, his thoughts on women are even worse.
“’Tis a fact?”
Again, silence. He does not answer. I resist the urge to spin in my seat, knowing Lord d’Abella is facing me. But I look forward to telling Kipp, when he does return, to sail back out at once and never speak to the king’s men, who want only to use him, I’m sure, for their own nefarious purposes.
“Aye, ’tis very much a fact.”
I do look up then, for the words are whispered into my ear. I did not even hear him approaching. My shoulders rise and fall in . . . anger? Nay. Excitement. I’m disgusted by the knowledge, but there’s no denying it.
“How long have you known I was here?”
The commander sits across the table from me, ale in hand. Did he say those things for my benefit? Knowing I was here? Or do I only wish it to be so?
“Since the moment I came inside.”
His gaze is much too intense.
“Because you are trained to notice threats to you and your men?”
He takes a swig of ale, slow to answer.
“Nay. Because a woman such as you could not escape my notice, even with a hood covering her head.”
I hate that his words affect me so.
Taking down the hood, I sip my ale to afford myself a moment to think.
“Strange notions indeed,” I mutter.
I am wholly unprepared for Lord d’Abella’s smile. Faint lines form around his amused eyes, and I know for certain he did say those words for my benefit.
I repeat his man’s words. “Mayhap she believes such things because she is not comely.”
“I informed my men we had a companion,” he says with a smile. “And they caught on quickly.”
So it was all a ruse.
“Do you enjoy sporting with women so, Lord d’Abella?”
In answer, he leans back, crossing his legs in front of him.
“As I said Aedre, ’tis not our way to insult strangers, and I cannot answer that question without causing offense to you.”
He could say my name over and over and over again, and I’d not tire of hearing it.
“So ’tis true,” I say. “You are a cruel man, indeed.”
His smile remains.
“I do enjoy sporting with women. As they enjoy sporting with me. But surely you would not decry finding pleasure in the act. As a Garra.”
He drinks, clearly pleased with himself. His men are likely listening to every word we speak, so I do not indulge him. My thoughts on the pleasure between a man and a woman are mine alone.
Although I do have thoughts, and plenty of them, on the matter.
“I did not mean sporting of a sexual nature, as you well know.”
“My apologies, my lady. I am a sexual creature and find such thoughts too often occupy me. Perhaps you can help me find a cure?”
While I could offer such help, and have done so before as a Garra, I do not for one moment believe he is doing anything other than . . .
Sporting?
Teasing?
Oh dear. Truly it does not matter. I did not come here to flirt with the man but to learn more of his intentions toward
