Page 89 of Silverbow
Oryn only harrumphed and went back to scanning the room. To his growing irritation, Enya had no lack of partners. There were few enough women in inns on the road, but it was not only scarcity that drew them to her like moths drawn to a flame. Even with dark hair that didn’t suit her, and even if it didn’t meet her eye, she was striking when she smiled. And if that smile and those eyes were not enough, life on a farm had made her strong. Weeks on the road had tried to make he lean, but somehow, they only made her curves appear more pronounced. She looked like the gods damned sculptures of the goddesses in the galleries in Drozia.
Oryn scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to rid himself of that thought. Colm laughed as if he sensed the path Oryn’s mind tried to wander. The gods damned man probably did.
She suddenly reappeared at the table, red faced and breathless, with dark fly aways poking out from her tied up hair. Oryn glared as she reached for her wine cup. He slid it out of her reach.
“Give it back,” she pouted.
“I think you’ve had enough,” he said softly.
“And you’re going to stop me?”
“Yes.”
“Overprotective gargoyle.” Quick as lightning, she snatched not for the wine cup, but his own unguarded mug of ale. Stunned, he watched her throat bob as she chugged.Nimala help me.
She dropped the empty mug back to the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Colm was hiding a grin in his own cup as she leaned down between them, her words slurring at the edges. She looked up at Rosella, standing cross-armed at the bar, her brow furrowed. “I can see it now. Two peas in a surly pod.” Before he could object, she slipped back away to the dancing and the arms of a waiting guardsman.
Colm chuckled as Oryn ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “You know,” he said, shaking his head. “I think we should have left her in Trowbridge.”
Colm barked a laugh and Oryn was grateful the man didn’t call him on the lie.
When he finally helped a teetering Enya up the stairs by her elbow, she reeked of bad wine and the overcrowded common room. She was kicking off her boots before he’d even shut the door. With a flushed face and hair spilling wildly around her shoulders, she started wrestling with the buttons on her shirt.
“Ansel,” he growled, sweeping her boots to the side. “Leave your clothes on.” The last thing he needed was her undressed like those gods damned statues. He turned his back, crossing to the pitcher on the washstand to pour a cup of water. He held it out to her. “Drink.” She grabbed the cup, drained it like she had the ale, and thrust it back to him to resume fumbling with the buttons. He watched her continue to struggle, a smile creeping across his face as she cursed, the sound foreign coming from her mouth.
She abandoned the fight with the shirt long enough to drop her britches on the floor and sink onto the bed. Oryn, taken aback by the sudden abandonment of Estryian propriety, picked them up and folded them over the footboard to avoid looking at her. He filled the cup again and held it out. She turned her face up to look at him. The gold in her eyes danced in the candlelight.
“If you don’t, you’ll regret it tomorrow,” he said softly.
“Can’t you just heal me?”
“You want my healing now?”
She sank onto the edge of the bed and sighed as she took the cup.
Oryn cast around for his blanket roll and cursed, finding it missing.
“It’s fine, we can share,” she said, her words running together.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he sighed. She was looking cross-eyed at a button. “Go to bed, Ansel.”
“There’s room for both of us,” she protested, tapping the far side of the bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he repeated, but he found no extra blanket in the wardrobe. Asking one of the serving girls was sure to draw Rosella’s notice, notice Oryn would prefer to avoid.
She handed the glass back to him. “I win.”
Oryn sighed as he stripped to his small clothes and neatly folded his shirt and trousers. He climbed into the other side of the bed. Enya at least had given up on removing her shirt and settled back into the pillows. He stared at the ceiling a long time, listening to her mutter in her sleep. He’d forgotten how pronounced it was without Colm’s dream ward. She rarely formed full words, but when she did, it was that list she recited, and often the names on the bounty, Liam’s most of all.
She was still sleeping off her drink when Oryn disentangled himself from the sheets and slipped down to the common room. Colm sat at a table by the window, watching rain pelt the glass as he broke his fast. His eyebrows rose when Oryn slid into the chair across from him, but he knew better than to ask.
“I assume we stay,” Oryn said softly, glancing at the heavy blanket of gray that lay above Ested.
Colm shrugged. “Bade and Aiden are still abed and it doesn’t look to be letting up anytime soon.”
Rosella dropped a plate before him, rattling the silver. “M’lord,” was all she said before she stalked back to the kitchens.
Colm chuckled. “Don’t know that Rosella is going to forgive you.” Oryn didn’t acknowledge the statement as he spread butter on the warm bread. “Don’t suppose it matters.”
