“Do not be mad that I am saving you when you did not have the sense to save yourself,” I bite out, my tone edged with frustration.
If I expected her to shrink away from my cutting words and imposing stance, I would be sorely disappointed. Instead, her full lips spread into a wide grin, showing off her straight, white teeth. One of her canines has a tiny chip on the corner, and I have an acute urge to glide my tongue along the edge to feel the sharpness.
“Mad? Please.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m not the one having trouble with definitions. A rescue, by the way, usually involves someone in danger who actually wants help.”
“Ah, so you were simply there for the ambiance, the fine company?”
“Absolutely. Nothing like iron cuffs and unwanted chivalry to spice up an evening,” she shoots back, the corners of her mouth quirking up. “Now, let me go free, and I’ll happily let you get on with not saving the next girl.”
We stare at each other for a long moment, neither of us willing to back down.
Fucking hell.This woman will drive me mad yet. I need to set her free sooner rather than later. “I intend to release you, momentarily.”
“Good, because I’m beginning to suspect you enjoy this whole savior routine a little too much,” she quips.
Clenching my jaw, I take a steadying breath. “And I’m beginning to suspect you could use a bit more gratitude.”
We resume our trek, and I am both relieved and annoyed that she remains silent until we reach the Gilded Coin. Reminding myself that I have no time for a woman’s company, I retrieve the iron key from my pocket to free her.
The moment she sees it, she holds up her hands and sighs. “Finally. These things are starting to chafe.”
I take hold of one of the metal cuffs and fit the key into the lock.
“You know,” she says as she watches me work, “I usually resent men when they deign to insert themselves into my life. But you…”
My actions halt, the air trapped in my lungs as I wait for her to continue. Suddenly—and inexplicably—I’m invested in what this peculiar little nymph thinks of me.
Her gaze flits up to meet mine, and a shy curve softens her mouth. “I don’t mind you so much.” She offers a casual shrug.
After a beat, I force out a single gruff word. “Why?”
Twin pools of pale green flecked with amber search mine as though the reason can be found there. Or perhaps she’s trying to decide if she should give one to me at all. “I don’t have to second-guess your intentions because you don’t pretend to be what you’re not. It gives me the sense that you’re trustworthy, makes you feel more…realsomehow. Even if you aren’t.”
Something stirs against my ribs, a lone, hard thump before going still once more. Before I can think better of it, I slip the key back into my pocket and tighten my grip on the chain.
“Come with me,” I say, pushing open the Gilded Coin’s heavy wooden door.
“Hey, I thought you were letting me go! What are we doing?”
I pause just inside the doorway. A faint smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth as I take in her bewildered expression. “Getting a room.”
Chapter Three
Ronan
What am I doing? This woman is a distraction I can ill afford, yet here I am, standing in a dimly lit tavern, waiting for our room to be prepared. I’m trying to justify her presence a dozen different ways when the truth of the matter is simple: it has been an age, if ever, since a woman has intrigued me to this extent, and that fact is not easy to dismiss.
The innkeeper returns, wiping his hands on a stained apron. “Your room is being readied as requested, m’lord,” he says, handing me a tarnished brass key. “I shall let you know when it’s time to go up.” His gaze flicks to the woman at my side and the chains binding her hands. A subtle raise of his brow hints at questions he knows better than to ask.
I nod my thanks and glance around the crowded space. The Gilded Coin is a typical tavern on the main level, catering to townspeople and weary travelers alike. Patrons are packed around wooden tables, tankards sloshing as theyshare bawdy tales and raucous laughter. Barmaids call out orders while swatting away wandering hands. But above all the debauchery are rooms designed for a higher clientele who can afford finer amenities. Beds long enough to accommodate my six-foot-five frame and copper tubs spacious enough that my legs can almost fully extend. I am glad to pay handsomely for those features alone.
“We’ll wait here,” I tell her, guiding her to a spot near the massive stone fireplace.
Conversations falter, and a hush spreads like ripples in a pond. Rough men with unkempt beards and hard eyes take in her appearance—the fiery defiance in her gaze, the way her clothing clings to her curves. Leers stretch across their faces, whispers and snickers exchanged behind calloused hands.
A group elbows each other, and one lets out a low whistle. “Quite the catch you’ve got there.”
My muscles tighten. I position myself slightly in front of her, a silent warning to all. My hand rests on the hilt of my dagger, fingers flexing just enough to draw attention. Any who dare let their gaze linger too long are met with a glare that promises retribution. One by one, they turn back to their drinks, the clamor of the tavern gradually resuming.
