Page 10 of Sweet Mead for Lady Martine

Chapter 3

Martine was up early the next morning before the sun even rose. She found herself unable to sleep much at all. One of the reasons was that the baby woke up several times during the night crying. She’d volunteered to rock him and walk with the newborn after Sage had fed him since she knew what a hard time her good friend had birthing the baby. Sage needed her sleep. Besides, Martine liked babies and hoped to someday have children of her own.

“You are cuter than I thought you’d be,” she whispered, giving the baby a kiss on the forehead. His eyes closed and he made sucking motions with his mouth in his sleep. Martine gently laid the child down next to his mother and tiptoed to the door. She had changed last night into a fresh gown she’d had in her travel bag. Already dressed and up for the day, Martine decided to wander out into the tavern area since she was feeling parched and thirsty.

Last night she did something that she didn’t think she ever could. She’d helped Greta and together they managed to bring Sage’s baby into the world unharmed. Thankfully, even Sage had survived and would recover.

Softly opening the door, she hoped not to wake anyone. What she needed was time alone. While grateful to have a place to sleep, this room in the family’s living quarters was small and stuffy. Martine was used to the large rooms of a castle and really wanted to stretch her legs. Making her way through the kitchen, she saw the dying embers on the cooking hearth heating a cauldron that most likely contained hot water used by the commoners to wash up at night.

Through the darkness she spotted light from the tavern, over by the drink board. For as crowded as the place was last night, to her surprise, the tavern wasn’t in a huge upheaval. She’d seen some establishments so filthy and smelly that it sickened her even to enter. Here at the Cross Hare Inn it still smelled a little like urine and stale ale but mayhap that was because there were no rushes at all on the wooden floor. It actually looked as if the floor was swept daily. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the rafters, releasing spicy scents in the air.

It was a cozy establishment meant to help the commoners relax. Or at least that is what she thought. She continued moving forward toward the light. There were chains attached to the ceiling in several places, holding up round metal hoops that held half a dozen taper candles. The candles were long and slim and looked to be made of wax. Such an extravagance for commoners to have wax candles. Usually only the nobility or clergy had these. Commoners didn’t usually have anything but tallow candles made from animal fat. Mayhap David Stone was different from most innkeepers with his values. Or perhaps he just made silly decisions, paying for things not meant for simple people such as the ones who had been occupying this place last night.

She noticed a few men lying on the floor sleeping. The sound of snoring filled the air. Careful to step over them, she made her way to the drink board where the beverages would be stored beneath. Once there, she bent over and fumbled with the bottles, trying to find what she was looking for. She reached out and grabbed a bottle, trying to hold it up to see its contents.

“Is there something I can get you, my lady?” came a male voice from across the room.

In surprise, she spun around. The bottle crashed to the floor but thankfully didn’t break. A few groans filled the air from the men sleeping who complained of the noise.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her eyes settling on a man in the shadows sitting atop one of the wooden tables with his legs crossed. He wore a forest green sleeveless vest, like a surcoat over a long-sleeved tan tunic with baggy sleeves. His trews were dark and his soft leather boots went all the way up to his knees. It was the proprietor she’d met last night. The handsome man with the dark brown hair and the sculpted face that seemed much too comely for a man of his position. She remembered looking into his eyes and being drawn in for some reason. He appeared to be not much older than her twenty years. Still, his concerned eyes had seemed to hold worries that were usually only found on a more seasoned man. “Proprietor Stone? Is that you?” she called out in a soft voice, not wanting to wake the others still sleeping.

“Please,” he said, pushing a wavy lock of hair from his eyes and stifling a yawn. “Call me, David.” In one motion he’d uncrossed his legs and jumped from the table, padding over the floor toward her. “Are you perhaps looking for a drink, my lady?”

He slid behind the drink board and sidled up close behind her. It was a small area and mayhap that was the reason for his body nearly touching hers. Or was it? Being a lady, she should demand that he step away and stand on the other side of the drink board, but she didn’t. Being curious about this man named David Stone and his nature, she decided to say nothing and see what would transpire.

“Yes, I’m thirsty. My throat is parched and I didn’t want to wake anyone. In the dark, I just wasn’t sure of the contents of these bottles.” She bent down to pick up the one she dropped. He hunkered down next to her to get it. His hand reached out for the bottle at the same time, his fingers clasping around hers as they both tried to pick it up.

“Oh!” Martine felt the heat of his skin against hers and it immediately warmed her entire being. Frightened of this unfamiliar reaction she was having to a man, she quickly pulled her hand away. Still bent over, she turned her face to look at him. Now, their faces were so close that they were almost touching. The scant light from the candles hanging from the iron ceiling fixture encompassed his face in warm tones. His eyes reflected the fire which almost seemed to make them glow. He looked sensual, she decided. Like a man who wanted to take a woman to bed. Or was it just that he felt tired? Perhaps he missed his bed since Sage was still in it. Either way, she found herself intrigued by him and decided she needed to take this opportunity to learn more about the man.

“Allow me,” he told her, taking the bottle and standing up. His hand shot out and his long fingers clasped around her arm to assist her in standing.

Martine’s attention shot over to this commoner once again. He was touching her on her upper arm, quite close to her breasts. Was he doing that purposely to get a rise out of her or was it all innocent? She couldn’t be sure.

“David Stone, that is not necessary and neither is it appropriate,” she told him, only because she was a noble and she needed to remind him not to act so familiar around her.

“I assure you, my lady, it is quite necessary since I cannot be certain you won’t swoon in my arms again the way you did last night.”

“Swoon? I didn’t swoon,” she retorted, hearing him snort in response.

“Well, then what would you call it when your knees gave way and you fell into my arms like a willing lover?” He released her arm.

“Stop it,” she said softly, feeling rattled by his words. True, she had fainted but it was because of her harrowing experience helping to birth a baby. It had nothing at all to do with her being infatuated by him. She wrapped her arms around herself in a form of closing herself off to him, and looked the other way. Did he really have to say swoon? And lover? That made it even worse. It made her feel so vulnerable, helpless, and dirty. “You cannot speak to me the same way you do to your tavern whore,” she spoke her thoughts aloud.

“I assure you, I say no such things to Cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon?” Her eyes rose in question, wondering why he was talking about an exotic spice. When he didn’t answer, she realized that was the whore’s name. “Oh, Cinnamon,” she said, her gaze falling.

“Neither did I mean to show you anything but respect, my lady. I swear that is the truth.” He made a cross over his heart with his finger. It was a silly gesture but caused her to smile. It made him seem more approachable, she supposed. She didn’t know any other man who would promise he spoke the truth and follow up his words by making a cross over his heart. It was almost adorable in a way. She liked that.

“I believe you,” she told him, easing up with her accusations.

He reached under the drink board and grabbed a wooden cup, pouring her liquid from the bottle and handing the vessel to her. “Is this what you wanted?”

“I don’t know. What is it?” Her arms stayed wrapped around her waist while her gaze lowered to the cup in his hand.

“It’s whisky, my lady. It is most sought after by the men who drink here.”

“Whisky?” She contemplated taking a sip since her nerves were still severely shaken from the storm last night, as well as everything she’d been through with helping to birth the baby.