“Every man in here noticed you were a woman when you walked in. You don’t disguise yourself well, and trouble has written itself on your forehead. Nobody wants a part of it.”
Why did everyone think I was trouble? I wouldn’t deny it because I was. But I couldn’t do this again. I needed this man to be my escort. Mainly because I didn’t see any brigands bothering him. I had to convince him.
I sighed. “Listen, I need to get to Undaley, and I will pay you handsomely.” I pulled out the pouch I had tied to my belt. Worry gnawed at me about showing it as he could have just grabbed it and left, but I didn’t have a choice. I dropped it on the table, but he didn’t even glance at it.
He stretched out, resting an arm on the chair next to him. “I’m not an escort, ma’am.”
I paused, and then my brows knitted in annoyance. He had led me on too long when he knew I needed an escort. It felt like the whole tavern was amused as I heard some chuckles from a few men at a nearby table. I snatched the pouch off the table. “Then why didn’t you say so when the first thing I said was ‘I need an escort?’” I snapped.
His gaze burned into mine. “Sometimes that’s what people say to be discreet. And then I escort them to somewhere private, and they tell me who they need to be killed.”
Oh, bloody hell.
I swallowed hard, now regretting shouting at him.
He was an assassin.
I had the urge to pull on the neck of my shirt because the room suddenly felt hot and cramped.
I looked around the tavern, no longer brave enough to keep eye contact with him. He might kill for money, but he still saved that child. He couldn’t be all that bad, could he? I’d shouted at him, and he hadn’t killed me. That had to count for something, right?
Maybe he was exactly what I needed in an escort. There was at least one inhuman rider after me, and if this man was skilled, surely I would fare better with him than alone.
The man was patient while I dealt with the news.
That’s another good quality . . .
I hesitated, but made a decision. Dragging my gaze back to his, I said, “I need an escort, and I don’t care if he’s an assassin.”
He watched me for a moment before taking a drink from his mug. I didn’t like the patience so much now that I had to wait for what he would say.
“It would take a month to get to Undaley in good conditions. I don’t have that kind of time. You’ll have to find someone else.”
I sighed in disappointment as I looked around the room. One man was reaching down to grab something before his chair tipped over and he laid sprawled out on the floor, intoxicated. The other men at the table threw back their heads and bellowed with laughter.
“I don’t think any of the other men here could find their way out of Cameron,” I muttered, looking back at the assassin. He appeared amused, but I couldn’t be sure; his face didn’t give much away.
An assassin trait, I was sure.
“Maybe not now, while they are in their cups. But try tomorrow morning.” He stood up and tossed some coins on the table. “You might find someone desperate enough,” he said while walking away.
I watched the other men step out of his way, and he easily exceeded them in height by a head. His leather jerkin was of the best quality, and fitted his toned body with precision. He obviously had money; he didn’t need to take on jobs like mine. I would just have to come back in the morning and find someone who would.
CHAPTER FOUR
ASSASSINS AND SONGS
I stripped down to my linen shirt and crawled into bed. The inn mattress was lumpy and more uncomfortable than my pallet in Alger, but I was so tired that I fell into a sound sleep.
Until a beautiful voice invaded my dreams.
It sent shivers down my spine and goose bumps up my arms. It sang a song of such perfect rhythm, it wrapped my body in a harmonious blanket. It was warm and soft against my skin as it spun me in its web. My eyes fluttered open of their own volition. A draft hit my bare legs, and the wooden floor was rough against my feet as the song pushed me out the door.
A tiny voice in the back of my head screamed at me, but I couldn’t listen to it. The song was too warm. Too perfect.
The rhythm carried me down the hallway and stairs. I ran into something hard and warm, but not as warm as the song. A deep voice interrupted the rhythm. I tried to walk around the obstacle. I didn’t want to hear anything else but the song. I couldn’t.
My chest tightened in fear that it would leave me, and when I was held back by strong arms, I shoved them away.