“My name is Frank,” the first one said in a thick Teutonic accent.
“And mine is Fritz,” the other responded.
“Whatever.” Reinhold waved his hand dismissively. He scratched at his unshaven face and looked back at Orrick. “I need twenty silver marks to pay them.”
Orrick’s lips were tight as he perused his son. Though Orrick sat tall and proud in his chair with his spine stiff, she could see the obvious embarrassment on his face as he glared at Reinhold.
“Pay them for what?” Orrick asked.
Reinhold snorted. “Not killing me for one thing.”
“He owes debts to our master.” Frank crossed his beefy arms over his chest and narrowed a vicious glare at Orrick. “Tam the Scot wants to be paid in full or else we’re to make sure your son doesn’t renege on any more debts.”
“Tam the Stewholder?” Orrick stared at Reinhold in disbelief. “You swore to me that you’d never go there again.”
“Well, here’s a big surprise, old man, I lied. Now be a good boy and pay up.”
Orrick’s breaths came in short, sharp gulps. One vein pounded on his temple.
Christina reached out and touched his hand, but he shook her touch off.
He looked first to Fritz, then Frank and lastly his son. “I don’t have it.”
“You what?” Reinhold bellowed.
“You heard me, boy. I told you last time that I can’t keep this up. You promised me?—”
“Bullocks!” Reinhold slammed his hand down so hard on the table that it shook Emily’s bowl. “You keep up your whore without complaints and yet you can’t spare a copper for your own son?”
“Reinhold, please,” Orrick begged. “I have company.”
Reinhold looked at Emily and curled his lip. “You can afford to feed them, yet you have no money for me. Fine.” He turned to the mountains. “What say the two of you take my step-whore to work off my debt in the stew?”
Christina gasped as Orrick reached an arm out protectively.
The two men actually looked at one another as if considering the terms.
“All right,” Frank said. “She should bring in enough in six months or so.”
“Nay!” Orrick shouted, coming to his feet.
Fritz pulled a knife from his belt and angled it at Reinhold’s throat. “Your choice, my lord,” he sneered. “Your wife or your son.”
Suddenly, Fritz’s eyes bulged.
“You forgot the third choice.”
Emily breathed in relief as Draven stepped around Fritz and it was only then she saw the sword he held to the giant’s back. “Your life or the knife.”
The giant dropped the knife.
Draven kicked the knife across the floor, then sheathed his sword.
Fritz took one look at Draven’s surcoat, then crossed himself.
“My Lord Earl of Ravenswood.” Frank gulped audibly. “We have no quarrel with you.”
The look on Draven’s face bore all the promise of hell wrath and brimstone.
