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The voice came from a small girl she had noticed earlier, sitting in the back of the tavern with a man Greta assumed to be her father.
“Why, thank ye, sweetheart!”
Smiling, she bent down until she was at the girl’s eye level. She was a pretty little thing, with big brown eyes and long blonde hair, and she looked roughly the same age Jamie had been when he was taken. Maybe that was why Greta felt so drawn to her: or perhaps it had something to do with her handsome father, who lowered his eye bashfully when Greta turned and smiled at him, turning his head to the side in an attempt to hide the patch he wore over one of them.
So, he had something to hide too, like her. The idea that they might have something in common made her like him even more — as did the eye patch, for that matter — so, turning back to the girl, Greta lifted the pendant she wore over her head and held it out, the bright green stone dangling on its golden chain.
“Would ye like to play with it?” she asked, seeing the girl’s eyes spark in excitement. “Ye can look after it for me while I clear this table if ye like?”
“Look, Faither! Pretty!”
The child smiled in delight as she grasped hold of the chain, watching as the spinning gemstone caught the light of the nearby fire, seeming almost to glow from within.
“Careful wi’ that, Isobel. I daenae want ye to break it.”
The man’s voice was soft and surprisingly melodic; the voice of a gentleman, Greta surmised, although his muscular stature — not to mention the rather fierce look the eye patch gave him — might have caused her to guess otherwise and think him a fighting man, rather than a laird.
No reason he can’t be both, of course.
“Och, she’s fine,” she said, as the child looped the pendant around her neck, glancing up shyly at Greta for permission. “Me son would’ve wanted to play with it too.”
She bit her lower lip, worried she’d said too much, but the man’s attention was on his daughter, so she allowed herself to relax a little as she watched the two interact, charmed by his easy manner with the little girl. It was unusual to see a father, and not his wife, in charge of a child, but he seemed well suited to the task, smiling his gratitude as Greta placed a bowl of warm broth in front of his daughter.
“I thank ye for yer kindness,” he said. “Isobel here’s taken quite a shine to ye, it would seem — and to yer necklace.” He chuckled drily. “Ye must make sure ye take it back before she decides to keep it. It looks like it could be precious to ye.”
“Yer welcome. I’ve taken a shine to her, too,” Greta replied, “And the pendant is an old thing, in any case. I daenae even recall where I got it, if truth be told. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. It’s probably worth nothing, but yer right that I wouldnae want to lose it.”
He looked up at her curiously, and Greta felt her stomach give a sudden jolt as her eyes met his. Eye-patch aside, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this man’s appearance — a fact which left her struggling to explain the effect he seemed to be having on her. Her heart beat faster as she moved away from the table, feeling his gaze following her from across the room.
Greta was used to the attention of men — working in taverns made it hard not to be used to it — but this man was different, somehow; not just because he was handsome, but because, from the moment she’d approached him, she’d sensed some kind of connection between them that was impossible to ignore. Had he felt it too? And what would he do if he had?
She picked up a tankard of ale, then put it back down again, flustered. She was so painfully aware of his presence that it was as if she no longer knew what to do with her body, her limbs suddenly seeming to have a life of their own.
“Would ye care to join us?” he said when she drew close enough to hear him, carrying a jug of ale to a nearby table. “I think me daughter would enjoy yer company if ye have some time to spare?”
Greta blushed, caught off guard. She couldn’t work out whether it was his daughter or himself who would most enjoy her company, but she hated the way his voice made the hairs rise at the nape of her neck and her palms suddenly moisten.
Stop it, Greta. He’s just a man, and you know what men do. You know better than to trust them.
Frowning, she thought of her late husband, and how glad she’d been when she realized he was dead. He had never made her feel any of the things she was feeling after just a few short minutes in this man’s company. He had never made her feel anything, in fact, but dread and fear, and too much of both. She would never make the same mistake again.
“Thank ye,” she said firmly, keeping her eyes on the table in front of her, “but I daenae have time to stop. I must be getting on.”
She took her pendant from the child and started to move away, but his voice once again stopped her in her tracks.
“Ye could at least tell me yer name?”
He spoke confidently, but somehow Greta was struck with the sense that he was unused to striking up conversations with strange women like this. Did that mean he had felt the same strange sense of connection between them that she had, then? Was that why he was persisting in trying to talk to her, even though she had the distinct feeling that he was probably more used to having women attempt to strike up conversations with him instead. A man as handsome as he was must have no shortage of female attention, after all.
Greta hesitated, weighing up her options. As a rule, she tried not to get too close to the patrons of the taverns she worked in. It was too dangerous, and too much of a distraction. Then again, her name was something he could easily find out from any of the men at the bar, so, moistening her lips with her tongue, she turned to face him.
“Greta,” she said, allowing herself to look him in the eye this time. “Me name’s Greta.”
He smiled as if she’d granted him access to some powerful secret, and Greta pressed her lips tightly together to stop from beaming back at him like some love-struck young lass.
“Well, Greta, I’m very pleased to make yer acquaintance,” her new friend said, his voice sincere. “I’m Warren.”
“And I’m Isobel,” a small voice piped up from his side. “Can I see yer necklace again, please?”
