Page 20 of Blood & Claw

Climbing to her feet, and wincing as they pained her, she followed them. However, as she approached the low wattle door to the ale-hall, she pulled up the hood of her cloak. Best she was careful.

The musty odor of ale hit her as she ducked inside the dim hall. Cressets lined the wooden walls, their light sending long shadows across the rectangular-shaped interior. Rows of long tables stretched from one end to the other, where patrons—men mostly—drank from wooden cups. Some played knucklebones, while others challenged each other to Liar, a game played with two dice and a cup, whereby players had to guess if their opponents were bluffing or not when they told them how the dice had fallen.

It was a game she’d played many times with Kayla on long, cold winter’s nights by the fire. She remembered the last time they’d played, the clack of bone dice against wood and the twinkle in her mentor’s eye as she met her gaze. “Two sixes.”

“Liar.”

Kayla had cackled then before thrusting the cup at her. “Got you again!”

And there, indeed, at the bottom of the cup, were two sixes. Her mentor was a sly player of Liar, knowing that Ailsa always relied too much on her facial expression.

“A lie is easy enough to spot,” she’d told Ailsa then, still grinning. “If you listen to your gut … not your head.”

Her chest constricted, guilt warring with worry. Five long days had passed since she’d seen Kayla last.

Gods, how she missed her.

How she wished she hadn’t spent so many turns of the moon resenting her.

When she got her back, she wouldn’t chafe at not having enough freedom or complain that Kayla worked too hard and was no fun. She didn’t care about any of that now.

All that mattered was that things could go back to how they’d been.

Until Kayla’s abduction, Ailsa had never realized how much comfort there was in safety.

She’d never take it for granted again.

She slid onto the edge of a bench seat, next to where two elderly men clasped cups of ale, their fingers knotted and swollen with age and hard work. They barely acknowledged her, for they were deep in conversation. The ale-hall keeper approached then—a wiry man with a bitter face—and Ailsa ordered an ale. He poured her one, and she handed over half an iron penny. After that, she sat nursing her drink.

Three men seated at the table directly across from her had paused in their game of Liar. Roughly dressed, with coarse features and slack expressions, they eyed her.

Ailsa stared back until they lowered their gazes—a trick Kayla had taught her. Then, dismissing them, she surveyed the others seated at the long tables.

It was difficult to make out details, for the light was poor. However, somewhere in this hall might be the men she was hunting. Maybe they’d dragged Kayla in here too.

Her breathing grew shallow then as her gaze slid down the other tables, disappointment twisting under her ribs when she didn’t catch a glimpse of curly red hair.

However, when her attention drifted to the far end of the room, she spied the two warriors she’d followed in here. They’d joined some friends, it seemed, and sat apart from the other patrons, heads bowed in conversation.

Ailsa’s heart kicked hard. Had she found them?

Don’t jump to conclusions, she cautioned herself as she forced herself to take another sip of sharp, cool ale. This fort was likely full of rough-looking men. You need proof.

A moment later, she got it.

One of the warriors leaned back and barked a laugh.

Ailsa froze.

Long braided black hair. Craggy features.

The man who had come to Kayla’s shop.

As if feeling the weight of her stare, the warrior looked her way.

Her heart lurched, and she looked down at her half-finished ale. Cods. If he recognized her, she was in big trouble.

But if he was here … Kayla was close.