“Ale, hen!” a big, redheaded man with a florid face shouted to her from across the room. She nodded and began to pour the beer into clay goblets, trying to ignore them as well as she could. Then the inevitable happened.
The red-haired lout turned back to his five friends. “Nice bit o’ stuff, that, eh, lads?” he remarked, winking at them.
Immediately, they all swiveled their faces to leer at her, looking her up and down and nudging each other while making suggestive comments and gestures. When one of them stood up and began to thrust his hips at her suggestively, she momentarily wished that she was a man so that she could smash a big club of a fist into his nose. Since that was impossible, she tried to keep her face fixed in an expressionless mask of indifference.
When she had finished pouring the ale, she set the goblets on the counter and looked at the men, who were still sitting leering at her.
“Three shillings, please,” she announced. She looked confident, but inside she was terrified and ready to ring the bell she kept behind the bar to sound the alarm should she need help.
“Three shillins’?” a short fat man piped up. “Is it fine French brandy ye are sellin’, hen? We will give ye a shillin’.” He stood up and advanced toward the bar threateningly.
Calmly, Evanna removed four goblets of ale from the counter, her deep green eyes holding his muddy brown ones in a show of defiance. She had often found that showing no fear was one of the best ways of dealing with bullies since they were all cowards at heart.
“One shillin’s worth,” she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest and feeling her heartbeat speeding up as she glared at them. Even while she concentrated on the man in front of her, she managed to keep an eye on the others and was not surprised to see them all standing up at once and advancing toward the bar.
She rang the bell to summon help and then picked up the heavy shovel she kept behind the bar for just such an occasion. It weighed several pounds, and although it was a farm implement, it made an excellent weapon.
At once, her father and their housekeeper, Lexie, appeared through the door to the cellar and the kitchen behind the bar. Lexie was carrying a fork that she used in the vegetable garden, and the glower on her face was as fierce as any man’s. She might have been a woman, but she was as tall and strong as many men and could have challenged any one of them to a fistfight and won.
Now, she had no hesitation. She growled, fisted her big hand, and swiped the man once across the face with it, then watched as he fell sideways onto the ground, after which she stood over him to make sure he did not get to his feet again. She pressed the tines of her fork into his chest as she stood looking down at him, her dark grey eyes blazing with rage.
The big man was groaning and rubbing his head but otherwise seemed to be fine, so she hauled him to his feet before shoving him toward his friends’ table. Evanna’s father advanced a few steps, his eyes narrowed warningly. At the same time one of their tavern maids, Flora, came out to see what all the noise was about, then Bertie, who helped her father in the cellars and the stables.
“Now, either sit down an’ drink quietly or leave,” Bruce Mulholland invited. “Ye are welcome tae do either, but if ye make one move tae harm my ladies again, I will set her”—he pointed at Lexie—“on ye. Now pay up or be on yer way!”
The men all sat down without another murmur, then Bruce and Lexie gave them their ale and accepted full payment. They all kept their heads down and drank silently until they had finished, then left quietly.
“I am no’ sure about the wisdom of keepin’ ye workin’ in the tavern, lass,” Bruce said worriedly, frowning. “Some o’ these men are vile.”
Evanna shook her head and smiled at him, then put her arms around him and kissed him. “I am fine, Da.” Her voice was loving as she looked up at him. “Ye know me. I am as tough as old boots!”
He laughed and hugged her, then Lexie did the same. Lexie was the closest person Evanna had to a mother, and they adored each other. Evanna’s mother had died giving birth to her, and Bruce, her father, had been so distraught that he had been unable to cope for a while. Lexie had been their neighbor, a former nun who had been released from her vows, and she had stepped in to bring a little four-year-old girl up as though she was her own daughter.
All this was going through Evanna’s mind as she pulled berries from bushes and harvested mushrooms that were sprouting from the ground and the tree trunks, separating the edible ones from the poisonous. She had gathered a good harvest today and was looking forward to going home, eating her evening meal, and resting since she had the night off.
Thank God,she thought gratefully.No drunks, no lechers, nobody wanting tae pick a fight. Just a cozy bed and a cuddle with Rosie.
Rosie was her dearest companion, a soft grey female cat with enormous green eyes who slept in her bed every night and purred her to sleep.
However, Evanna was not to be so lucky. As she reached a bend in the path through the woods, she heard a deep groan and followed the sound to a figure lying untidily among the fallen leaves. She glanced around herself, suspecting a trap since this was the perfect site for an ambush.
Just in case, she took out the big knife she used to cut the occasional thick twig, then she dismounted from her old mare and cautiously approached the prone figure on the forest floor.
He was a big man with long black hair tangled around his head and a spreading patch of blood on his shoulder and his massive chest. His shirt had been almost ripped from him, the whole of one sleeve torn away, and the left leg of his breeches had been torn from ankle to knee. It was then that she noticed that his hands were tied behind his back, so she made quick work of cutting his bonds, then examined him more closely.
Evanna’s heart skipped a beat. The wound was so fresh that whoever had made it was likely still close by, but there was nothing she could do. What if the man was not dead?
Evanna knelt down beside him to make sure that he was still alive by putting a finger to the pulse on his neck. It was strong and steady, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Then she was faced with a dilemma. He was not dead, and as she inspected his visible injuries, she found even smaller ones. However, though there were various cuts and bumps on his head, she could see that there was nothing seriously wrong with him.
I will leave him tae fend for himself,she thought.He is likely a bandit or some such evil person anyway.She turned her back on him and lifted the sack of berries and mushrooms onto their old horse, Daisy, then lifted her foot to place it in the stirrup.
Then she looked back, realizing that she could not leave him. He was not in any fit state to take care of himself, and if the men who had injured him came back, they would likely finish him off. As well as that, Lexie had been trained as a healer and would no doubt insist on coming back to take care of him.
Evanna sighed, knowing that she could not have a man’s death on her conscience. However, she could not lift him on her own, so she sat down beside him and waited, hoping that help would come. The path was fairly well-used, so she was sure that it would only be a matter of time before they were found.
The afternoon wore on until the first shadows of dusk began to fall. Evanna was beginning to feel more and more frightened, afraid that he was going to die beside her.
She took a close look at his face, realizing for the first time how handsome he was, even in this state. In spite of the great bruise on his temple that was even now turning a terrifying shade of purple, he had strong aristocratic features, with a long, slightly aquiline nose, full lips, and heavy brows. His light beard was neat and as dark as the night sky.