Page 29 of Highland Lords of War & Thunder: The Prequel

He liked their stories, their foolishness, their laughter, and especially their ability to turn an ordinary night into one worth remembering.

There had been enough nights in Creagan's life when men screamed instead of laughed, when blood flowed more freely than ale, and dawn revealed bodies rather than men sleeping off too much drink.

He preferred this.

A sudden crash near the door brought several conversations to an abrupt halt.

One of the men who had been arguing about the hounds stumbled backward into a table, sending cups and tankards crashing to the floor. His companion advanced on him, a thickset man with a scar running from the corner of his mouth into a beard several shades darker than his hair.

The tavern keeper, Gus, hurried from behind the trestle. “Take it outside, Fergus.”

Fergus did not have to shove Gus hard to send him stumbling, his bulk did it for him.

Creagan saw Fergus reach for the knife in the sheath at his waist. The tavern keeper was just regaining his balance and didn’t see it.

Creagan quickly lifted the woman off his lap and got to his feet.

“You've had enough, Fergus. Go home,” Gus ordered as he approached him.

Fergus raised his arm, bringing the knife down at the startled Gus.

Creagan grabbed Fergus’s wrist and the man cried out and dropped the knife.

Creagan grinned and slapped the man on the back, keeping hold of his wrist. “You’ll thank me in the morning. It’s never good to harm the man who pours your ale.”

Fergus’s eyes popped wide. “I didn’t hurt Gus, did I?”

“Nay,” Gus said from behind Creagan. “But you told me you had no knives on you. And you know it’s for your own good I ask since too much ale has you drawing them too fast.”

“Sorry, Gus,” Fergus said. “Can I have another ale?”

Gus had the fallen knife in his hand. “Do you have any more knives on you?”

With how drunk the man was, Creagan did not take a chance. He ran his hands along Fergus’s sides and found another knife tucked beneath his belt. He pulled it free and handed it to Gus.

Fergus frowned. “Forgot about that one.”

“I’m sure you did,” Gus said.

Creagan gave Fergus another friendly slap on the shoulder. “Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow you can come back and apologize properly.”

Fergus looked toward the overturned table and the broken tankards scattered across the floor. “Suppose I’ll have to pay for those.”

“You suppose correctly,” Gus said. “And no more ale tonight.”

“Not even one for the road?” Fergus asked.

“That road just might rise up to meet you if you have another ale,” Creagan said with a laugh.

Fergus didn’t find it funny, but others did. He grumbled something beneath his breath but headed for the door without further argument.

Creagan watched until it closed behind him, then turned to Gus. “Now that I've saved you from being stabbed, I believe you owe me an ale.”

Gus stared at him. “Saved me? You were already drinking my ale.”

“Which made me uniquely qualified to save the man pouring it.”

Laughter broke out around them.