Page 65 of Sweet Mead for Lady Martine

“Who wants Mountain Magic?” asked David, holding up the bottle and trying to distract the men. “No charge tonight for the nobles.”

“David, no,” Martine whispered, since the whisky would bring in good money. That is, money that David needed to pay off his debts.

“Free Mountain Magic? How can we say no to that?” asked the Lord Warden, holding out his cup. “Fill it up, David.”

The distraction worked, but not for long. As soon as they had their drinks, Cinnamon strolled over to the table, running her hand along the backs of the nobles who were all married.

“I’m available for any or all of you,” said the whore. “I have an empty room up the stairs right now. How about you, handsome man? Do you want to experience my pleasures?”

Martine almost screamed out when she saw the whore going after her father.

“These men are not interested, Cinnamon,” said David, pulling the girl away from Madoc, even though Madoc wasn’t interested or responding to her at all.

“Of course, they are,” said Cinnamon, setting her sights on Lord Corbett next. “Any man away at battle for so long has got to have a little longing for the flesh of a supple woman.”

“This is going badly.” Martine closed the door and walked back into the kitchen, pacing back and forth. “I’ve got to do something quickly. I’ve got to help out poor David.”

“Give me that!” screamed Farley. The sound of his cleaver smashing into the table and the dog’s paws slipping on the floor took Martine’s attention. She looked over to see Patch running away from Farley with a sausage hanging out of his mouth.

“Don’t you dare hurt Patch!” She hunkered down and the dog ran up to her with the sausage still sticking out of his mouth.

“That’s meat for the nobles,” yelled Farley. “Give it back to me.” He yanked his cleaver out of the wooden table and stormed across the room toward the dog.

“Farley, leave the poor dog be,” commanded Martine, standing in front of the hound with her arms out to the sides. “He’s hungry. Just let him eat the sausage.”

“Then your precious nobles will have pottage made from only vegetables, my lady,” snarled Farley.

“Then so be it.” She pet Patch on the head again as the dog devoured the stolen sausage.

“Where is Matilda? The bread is burning and I need to get it off the fire and this food is getting cold,” complained Greta.

“I’ll take the tray, Mother.” Cecelia threw down the rag and took a step but stopped and rubbed her belly.

“Nay. We don’t need another early birth,” said Martine. Without a second thought, she snatched up the tray of food, balancing it with her shoulder. “Open the door for me, Greta.”

“My lady, what are you doing?” gasped the woman, running to get the door.

“If I’m going to be the wife of an innkeeper, then I need to do whatever is expected of me.”

Martine entered the tavern feeling so nervous that she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t end up swooning once again.

David had a hard time pulling Cinnamon away from the nobles, because she didn’t want to go. He still held the bottle of whisky in one hand, but grabbed the whore’s wrist with his other hand.

“Get upstairs and stay there,” he ground out, so only she could hear.

“I’m not going to make a penny tonight with these nobles here,” spat Cinnamon. “I need money to live on. You can’t take away my business like this, David.”

“Go!” he ordered, and Cinnamon slinked off to the drink board instead of heading up the stairs. He saw Ava standing nearby and glared at her, sending her sprinting up the stairs to her room. Her brother, Oldrich, still manned the door with David’s blind uncle.

David was about to try befriending the nobles once again when the kitchen door opened and Patch ran out, followed by Martine dressed like a commoner and carrying a tray of food.

“Oh, hell, no,” he groaned, not knowing how to stop her. This was going to be disastrous. Why hadn’t she stayed in the kitchen like he’d told her to do?

“Oh, good. Here comes our food,” said Rook, looking up and making a face when he saw Martine.

“What’s the matter?” asked Robin, taking a drink. His gaze followed Rook’s and he spat a stream of whisky across the table, hitting Gar on the chest.

“What the hell,” mumbled Gar. “I’ve got my own Mountain Magic, Robin, but thank you for sharing yours just the same.”