As she spun about, the gray of the sky was brilliantly lit by a jagged streak of lightning. A peal of thunder followed so quickly, it sounded as if the heavens had split. And as if the sky had truly been torn asunder, rain began to fall in torrents.
Brianna stared desperately about herself once more, blinking against the rain. At the far end of the townhouses she could make out a sign. It creaked and swayed beneath the wind and rain, but she could make out the words. HAWK’S TAVERN. Knowing only that she could not stand awaiting capture in the pouring rain, she raced for the three rickety steps that led to the tavern’s door.
It was gray inside, almost as gray as it was outside. The air was heavy too; but heavy with odors that were pleasant to the senses. The delicious scent of fresh bread was in the air; the appetizing scent of braised and seasoned meat.
Brianna stood against the door for a second, wide blue eyes scanning the tavern. There were rough wood tables about the room, a fireplace against the far wall that offered a mellow, comforting heat. A number of the tables were filled with male customers—crusty old sea salts, from the looks of them. But, Brianna noticed, her heart giving a little leap of relief, there was another woman in the room. She was dressed in a rather startling low-cut gown of red, and she sat with one of the sailors. There were also females waiting upon the tables, two of them, both engaged at present in slamming down tankards of ale and hunks of mutton before boisterous customers.
Brianna prayed desperately that she had enough coins in her shoe to purchase a tankard of ale. If she could slip quietly into one of the shadowy corners of the gray room, she could bide a little time.
Her decision made, she moved quickly, keeping close to the wall to reach the secluded corner table. It was concealed by a broad structural beam as well as by the darkness. Nervously Brianna sidled around the beam in hopes of quickly sliding into a chair and avoiding notice by any of the tavern’s other patrons. All she wanted to do was disappear into the woodwork.
Instead, she found herself drawing in a sharp gasp, and then swallowing quickly so that she wouldn’t cry out.
The chair she had sought behind the beam was not empty, and she did not sit down upon cold wood. Through the wool of her dress and the linen of her chemise she could feel heat, and something as hard and firm and strong as wood; but unlike the wood, the form she came in contact with was alive and vital. She tried to rise again with her gasp, but found she could not—because a pair of arms as strong as steel were tightly around her. She twisted quickly to stare into a pair of arresting green eyes.
A high-arched black brow rose with amusement within the contours of a strongly chiseled and handsome face. Full, mobile lips curved into a dry smile. “I’ve been waiting for you. Welcome to the tavern.”
“What?” She gasped out.
He was frowning then, assessing her with annoyance. “Damn, but you’re a mess! I wasn’t expecting the latest fashions from Paris—but clean would have been appreciated.”
“I beg your pardon!” Brianna snapped, and then paused with the cold realization that the man had been expecting a whore—and that he was assuming she was the woman he had hired. She could think of nothing at first except escaping his iron hold and the strange tremors that swept through her as he held her.
“No—” she started to protest, but suddenly there was another man striding through the dimly lit tavern toward them. “Get on out of here, girl!” the man, a husky, ill-kempt fellow in an apron, told her grimly. “We do not cater to womenfolk here!”
The man had his hand upon her arm. Brianna was reminded that the streets crawled with the King’s men, searching her out.
“Leave her be, Liam,” the green-eyed stranger with the iron arms said quietly. “I’ve been expecting a—companion.”
He had spoken so softly, and yet his words carried such force that the harried Liam immediately paused and grinned a smile that was minus a front tooth.
“As ye wish, Captain, as ye wish.”
“Oh, Liam, will you see that the lady is brought some wine rather than ale, and some of the lamb stew and that bread you’ve just baked.” He spoke in English rather than in Gaelic with a slight accent that she could not place. That wasn’t strange, because English was quite common in Glasgow. But the accent…
“Right away, m’lord, right away.” Liam hurried off, wiping his broad hands upon his apron.
Reason began to cut through the haze of fear and numbness that had engulfed Brianna. She glanced quickly from the handsome and stalwart jade-eyed man to the woman in red she had seen upon entering the tavern.
Indignation rose within her as she quickly assessed the woman in red. Her gown was not only shamefully brilliant, but it was cut low over heaving breasts. The woman’s cheeks were also heavily powdered and rouged. And this man had grouped her along with the slut in red!
Anger swept over her and she clawed at the little vises of steel that were his fingers locked around her.
“Let me up!” she demanded.
“Let you up?” A single dark brow rose high again with amusement, then lowered as his eyes narrowed with a flash of cynicism. “As you wish.”
He stood and she found herself unceremoniously upon the floor, staring up at him. She was too stunned to speak for a moment, made so acutely aware of his height and the breadth of his shoulders. He must stand, she thought with a bit of awe, well over six feet. Fawn breeches clung tightly to well-muscled thighs, and his expertly tailored navy-blue greatcoat accentuated his powerful chest and a torso that tapered handsomely at the waist and lean hips. His calves, of which she was given a bird’s-eye view from her ignominious position, were encased in high black boots, and were as long and sinewed as his sturdy thighs.
Brianna suddenly realized that she was giving the stranger a commendable assessment while half seated, half sprawled, at his feet. She rose swiftly, barely aware that the top of her head was well below his chin when she planted her hands firmly upon her hips, arched back her throat, and snapped, “You bastard!”
He shrugged, thick dark lashes half hovering over his radiant eyes with disinterest. “I am not in the mood for games,” he told her, the lashes rising again.
That sea-jade stare could sizzle dangerously, Brianna noted, but she was too incensed to heed any danger signals. Her treatment at the hands of this apparent “lord” was simply unacceptable. She lifted her hand and slapped him fully across the face.
She gasped as his hand shot out to catch her wrist, constricting it painfully in his grip. Belatedly she realized that his eyes were indeed as dangerous as the square set of his determinedly formed jaw.
And belatedly she remembered why she had run into the tavern. He might be quite dangerous, but Matthews was the enemy, and this man might just well offer her escape. At the very least she could play for time.
