Page 103 of The Wolf in My Tavern

Callum growls, reminding all of us that he has a beast.

Gray narrows his eyes. “No point acting like a damn whelp. I don’t give a fuck if you fall off, but if Ada falls off with you, she could be hurt. The lass is safer with me, and you know as much.”

A tense impasse follows where nobody moves or speaks.

“Touch her more than you must, and I will break both your fucking arms,” Callum finally snarls—I fear the situation of sharing me with Gray has pushed a once sweet lad over an invisible edge. Radiating menace, he mounts his horse, looking awkward enough to make me glad Gray insisted I ride with him.

The rest of us mount up and ride through the beautiful walled city, which makes me wish circumstances were better so I might have time to explore the quaint cobbled streets with the narrow black-and-white buildings and cheerful citizens who make way for us with a wave and smile.

We ride on, following a pathway through fields until we come upon the forest; here, we take a wide track that meanders up and down hills.

This is a lot of new experiences for me. And coupled with the terrible news, I admit to being overwhelmed. As the journey progresses, I suffer a growing ache in my butt. I try to distract myself with the beauty of finally seeing trees up close and the magic of being beneath their canopy. It only helps so far.

My thigh hurts.

My knees hurt.

My ass goes numb.

Callum doesn’t fall off the horse, although this is surely a miracle when, at times, he randomly veers off the path into the undergrowth or suddenly charges ahead, all the while spewing curses and grappling with the reins.

The rest of us wince and stifle laughter as he gains command and returns to us red of face.

It provides some light relief from the somber mood and reminds us all how laughter offers a balm even during terrible times.

As the light fades, we stop at a small village surrounded by farming land. It is the prettiest place I have ever seen, with quaint thatched cottages, rutted streets, and cheery glows coming from the houses.

We pull up outside a tavern named The Oak. It faces a village green, in the middle of which is a mighty tree with thick, sprawling branches that stretch out wide—an oak tree, Gray informs me as he lifts me down. He also takes my prized hat from me in a no-nonsense way and tucks it in one of the saddle bags.

Too tired to argue about his mistreatment of my hat, my eyes immediately go to Callum, who struggles to dismount his wayward horse that refuses to stand still. With a curse and a thud, he lands on his ass in the dirt.

“Poor Callum,” I say, about to hasten to soothe him when Gray’s poorly covered chuckle snags my attention. “I swear he got the most difficult horse.”

Gray’s face smooths out in a way that further draws my suspicions.

“Did you give him that horse on purpose?” I am torn between watching Gray for signs of mischief and checking Callum to ensure he is not hurt as he rises and dusts himself off.

Gray shrugs. “I have never ridden these horses before, lass. How could I possibly know their disposition?”

Eyes narrowed, I poke him in the chest.

Capturing my hand in his large one, he brings it to his lips. The move disarms my temper and makes me forget what we were talking about.

“The whelp is going to be a test enough. Figured it would go easier if the ride wore him out a bit.”

They are both as bad as each other!

I am distracted from chastising the big shifter when two young lads emerge from the back of the tavern. They take the coins that Gray passes them with a nod before they gather the horses to stable them.

As we enter the tavern, I am hit by a sense of nostalgia for The Green Man. It has only been a matter of days—just over a week since I left Bleakness, yet it feels like forever. In place of sailors, guardsmen, and skilled workers are locals who appear to be more farming folk. We draw their eyes—hardly surprising when our party mostly comprises large, imposing men.

They turn back to their drinks and food, and the portly, red-faced proprietor hastens over, ushering us with many dips of his head to take the large table in the corner. We sit. I find myself wedged into a long bench between Callum and Gray. They sit far too close. Their scent fills my nose, and the feel of them against me thus sends my tired body into a state of confused interest.

A round of ale arrives, and a large tankard is placed in front of me.

My eyes light up. I have only sipped a small cup of ale on occasion, but I liked the warm feeling. I have never been a patron, only a server, so this is a new experience for me. I draw the tankard closer, holding it in both hands to lift it to my lips.

The sensation of being watched has me choking on my first gulp.

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