He was elderly with a large straw hat. His wrinkled hand was wrapped around a mug.
“We don’t plan to,” Christian answered.
“Why’s that?” Willow asked.
“Don’t, Father,” the other man said firmly. He was a younger version of the older man, with a pinched mouth and suspicious eyes. He wore the same straw hat.
“They are fighters,” the elderly farmer said, waving his son off. “See their swords?” He turned to Christian. “When the innkeeper’s wife brought our ales, they took them. We had to order more.”
Willow’s gaze pinned the four males in the corner.
Christian didn’t like this. “Thank you for the warning,” he said to the elderly man and then leaned across the table toward Willow. “Wise advice. We just want to get supplies. We don’t want to get involved.”
Willow looked at him in disbelief. “There was a time when you wouldn’t allow injustice to pass. What happened to you?”
“As long as they don’t bother me,” he grasped her wrist across the table, “or you, it’s not my concern.”
Willow straightened and smiled, easing her hand from his. “What do you think I will do?” She shrugged. “We’re here for supplies.”
Christian closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. She was right. There was a time when he was with the Hawkes that he would not have let this go unpunished. But in the years that he had been on his own, he had learned to mind his own business.
An uproar came from the group, and Willow rose. “I’ll be right back,” she said.
“Willow,” Christian growled in a warning.
She was already halfway across the room, approaching the four men. Red light from the hearth flickered over her, giving red highlights to her golden hair.
The room quieted.
When the four men saw her approaching, they became silent and turned to her.
Christian’s leg bounced in unease. His gaze was focused like a hot poker on the men at the table. If they made one move toward her, he would answer with the edge of his blade. His hand dropped to the pommel of his weapon as Willow spoke quietly to them.
Two men grinned, and the other two glanced at each other.
Christian strained to hear her words but couldn’t make them out. Every muscle in his body clenched. He recognized their heated stares. Interest. Lust.
And then, as one, they laughed at something Willow said. She smiled and placed her hands on the table, leaning forward.
Christian’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword in displeasure. That was how she did it, he knew. She would pick the leader and focus on him. Once she won him over, the others followed. He understood that, and yet somehow the way men ogled her didn’t make it easier for him.
Finally, she straightened and shrugged. She turned away and walked back to the table.
Relief filled Christian, and he sat back in the chair with a small sigh.
Willow stopped between their table and the elderly man’s table. “They said that one of their men had ordered four ales before the rest arrived and…” She swung to the younger farmer. “You took two of their drinks. When the others arrived, they merely took them back.”
The younger man’s eyes widened.
The elderly farmer gaped at his son before swiping a hand across his head, sending the younger man’s straw hat to the floor. “You did it again! I told you—”
Willow sat down at their table as the elderly male berated his son. “It’s not always as it appears,” she said to Christian. “They are loud but innocent.”
Christian grunted, unconvinced.
“Willow!” one of the men called across the room. “Come. Join us!”
Willow grinned and lifted her eyebrows at Christian. She stood.
“We need supplies,” Christian advised.
“That’s what I’m doing,” she answered and crossed the room to join the noisy males.
Christian clenched his jaw and watched her. They happily welcomed her. Too happily, in Christian’s mind. He crossed his arms, glaring. The way she flipped her braid, the way she tilted her chin and focused her gaze on each one. The way she swiveled her hips. It was all too much for Christian.
She was manipulating those men, whether she knew it or not. She was so damned lovely that every one of them wanted to be the recipient of her attention. Every single man. Even him.
He realized he was clenching his jaw and forced himself to relax by expelling a small breath. She was using her skills. How could he fault her? How could he not when he wanted to receive the attention that she gave those men?
