Page 28 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

Torden looked back toward Ismera.

The man reached for her.

“Move,” Torden ordered the sailor ahead of him.

He had barely managed another few steps when Ismera moved. Her knee came up hard between the man’s legs.

Torden winced.

The man folded over with a strangled groan, both hands dropping protectively between his legs.

Ismera took off.

Within moments, she disappeared into the activity along the busy waterfront. Torden stared after her. The man remained bent over. Perhaps Ismera didn't require his assistance after all.

He finally got Sorcha onto the dock and glanced in the direction Ismera had vanished.

“Glad I’ll never have to see that pint-sized woman again.”

He took hold of the saddle and mounted, settling easily onto Sorcha’s back before turning her away from the harbor.

“A half day’s ride to the village, Sorcha. That’s where we’ll meet the other two.”

He looked toward the road stretching inland across Morra Mist.

“And hopefully, after this, things will be different.”

Chapter Nine

Creagan

The tavern was crowded, noisy, and exactly where Creagan wanted to be. A fiddler played near the hearth, though half the patrons sang loud enough to drown out the tune. Dice rolled across one table while coins changed hands at another. Two old men near the door had been arguing for the better part of an hour over whose hound was the better hunter, neither apparently troubled by the fact that neither man had brought a hound with him.

Creagan sat with his back against the tavern wall and laughed when the woman perched on his thigh slipped her hand beneath his half-open shirt.

“Careful, lass.”

She smiled at him. “Why”

His grin turned playful. “I might think you have wicked intentions.”

Her hand roamed lower along his naked chest. “I do.”

He nibbled at her neck. “That could prove delightful.”

The woman laughed as her hand dipped even lower.

“Don’t forget about me,” the woman on his other side said, running her fingers along his hard muscled forearm delighted he had shoved his shirtsleeves up not long after he sat down at the table.

Creagan winked at her. “I could never forget such a buxom lass.”

She smiled, pleased.

He took a drink of ale, his hazel eyes bright with amusement above the rim of his tankard. A short growth of beard shadowed his jaw, and his long dark hair was tucked behind his ears. Ears that heard more than most realized.

Creagan had been in the village less than a day and already knew the tavern keeper's name, Gus, which serving lass poured the fullest tankard, who cheated at dice, and which fellow would be sleeping in the stable if his wife discovered how much coin he'd lost tonight.

He liked people… most of the time.