Page 12 of Claimed
One of them grabbed a knife and went for a MacKinnon guard with it. However, the warrior—a young guard named Aidan—side-stepped him, grabbed him by the wrist, and hauled him close before head-butting him.
The man went down like a sack of barley, sprawling upon the sawdust.
Moments later it was over.
Breathing hard, Broderick pushed himself up off the table and hauled the now unconscious man with him by the scruff. Meanwhile, the rest of Drew’s escort had downed the other trouble-makers.
“Apologies for the brawl,” Broderick panted, meeting the inn-keeper’s eye. The man had gone red in the face and wore a frantic expression. “But as ye saw, we didn’t start it.” He made for the door, hauling the unconscious man across the sawdust behind him. “Everyone can go back to their ales … the lads and I will clear this up.”
Drew watched him and the rest of her escort gather up the band who’d attacked them, before they dragged them outside.
The shocked looks on the faces of the other patrons were almost comical—or they would have been if Drew could see the humorous side of all of this.
She couldn’t.
Heart pounding like a battle drum, she relaxed her death-grip on the knife.
She knew that her brother had been hated, but she hadn’t realized till this evening just how much ill-will some of the people of this land bore him—and her.
Just another reason why I have to leave Skye,she told herself.Craeg needs to make a fresh start, one without my presence tainting everything.As her attacker had so candidly pointed out, most folk associated her with Duncan MacKinnon, and they always would.
Gaze scanning the common room, Drew saw that the inn-keeper and a serving lass were righting tables and chairs, and scooping up broken tankards.
Drew met the inn-keeper’s eye. She could tell from his red face and pinched mouth that he was fuming, and likely blamed her for the brawl. “I really am sorry about this,” she said, her voice unnaturally loud in the now silent common room. Surveying the curious faces and probing stares, Drew offered them all a weak smile.
“Another round of ale for everyone, please,” she said, catching the inn-keeper’s eye once more as she dug into her purse and held up a silver penny. “And a jug of yer best wine at this table too when ye have a moment.”
“This wine’s got a kick like a pony,” Broderick said, setting his empty goblet down on the table. He then favored Drew with a lopsided smile. “I don’t suppose there’s any left?”
“I think so.” Drew picked up the jug and filled his goblet before topping up her own. “It’s bramble … delicious.”
Drew was aware then that she’d almost slurred that last word. The wine—dark and spicy—was indeed strong. Despite that she had a belly full of food, it had made her woozy. Her head spun, and her limbs felt weak and languorous. A warm glow lit her from within.
The evening hadn’t started well, admittedly. But now that the trouble-makers had been turfed out, and Broderick had returned to her booth, things had improved.
The common room had emptied as the evening wore on. Two of Broderick’s men were playing Ard-ri by the fire, moving carven pieces across a board, while the other guards had retired for the evening. The inn-keeper was washing tankards in sudsy water at the far end of the room, and the serving lass was now starting to wipe down tables—a signal that it was getting late.
However, Drew didn’t feel like vacating this booth just yet.
She was enjoying sitting in comfort, chatting to Broderick like he was an old friend.
When he’d returned from outdoors, he’d worn a formidable expression—one so severe that she’d thought the worst.
“Did ye kill him?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Broderick had shaken his head. “Why … did ye want me to?”
“No,” Drew had replied quickly. “It’s just that the look on yer face is murderous.”
“Iwantedto end him,” he’d answered, his voice soft yet with an underlying note of steel that had made her suppress a shudder. “If he’d harmed ye, I would have.”
The answer had been brutally direct, and for a moment, Drew had fallen silent, not sure how to respond.
Broderick’s protectiveness over her made her both feel flustered and flattered. Finally, instead of answering him, she’d gestured to the jug that sat at her right elbow. “Wine?”
Two jugs of wine later, Drew knew she was reaching her limits. If she drank much more, she’d likely sprawl on her face the moment she tried to get up from the booth. Not lady-like at all.
Broderick, however, seemed unaffected. Only the relaxed lines of his face, the slight gleam to his blue-grey eyes, betrayed him.
