Page 3 of Kilty By Association
The man slid the mug across the table. “Take mine. Tastes of piss. Just leave.”
Hospitable, these bandits were, aye?
Cautiously, Elspeth wrapped her hands around the mug and lifted, not caring that the movement pushed the cloak from her shoulders, but careful to keep her face hidden from the rest of the tavern.
She sipped and her nose wrinkled. “Therearestrong flavors of—what is that? Ammonia?”
“’Tis piss,” the giant repeated bluntly, still watching her.
“Nay, I think the brew wife was going for…notes of oak, mayhap, but the honey’s gone sour.”
“’Tis impossible for honey to sour,” he shot back. “But there’s a hint of elderberry, aye? Faint notes of privilege and pretention?”
Elspeth was on a serious mission, and possibly a dangerous one too. Which is why it was entirely inappropriate to burst into laughter at the stranger’s dry commentary.
But she did anyway and tried not to notice the way his gaze settled on her mouth.
He was large—Brigit would saytoolarge—but he had a surprisingly gentle face. Anopenface, which was an odd thing to say about a bandit.
He looked like the type of man who smiled easily, and Elspeth had always had a weakness for laughing men. This Craig—this criminal she’d come to hire—had red hair which bordered on orange, a sprinkling of dots across his nose, and a jaw hidden by a thick beard several shades darker than the hair on his head.
He wore a shirt of rough homespun, and his kilt was so dirty she couldn’t tell the colors. When he spoke, his teeth—even and straight—flashed, and she had to admit she’d been watchinghismouth too.
This man is a bandit. A dangerous man. That iswhyye’ve sought him out. Ye cannae beattractedto him!
Even now, she could hear Brigit’s haranguing in her mind. But her maid had firm ideas about Right and Wrong, and Elspeth had been trying so hard to follow that Right path since she’d come to Scone with the children.
Perhaps, just once, it would be fun to be Wrong.
What? Nay! Ye’re here because ye need a man who can fight, who can kill. That is no’ the kind of man—bandit—ye think about kissing!
Och, aye? Then why was there a strange throbbing between her thighs? One she would’ve thought birthing children had put a stop to?
She took a deep breath and lowered the offending ale.
“I am Elspeth,” she announced. “And I need yer help, Craig.”
Did he growl as he reached across the table to tug the mug from her grasp? It was hard to say, because his eyes hadn’t left hers.
“How do ye ken my name?”
“When I came to Scone from the Highlands, I was assigned a maid by His Maj—” She bit down on her words, realizing they’d do naught to convince this bandit she wasn’t a lady. On the other hand, if he took the position she offered, he’d discover her identity soon enough.
On theotherother hand, if he truly was as terrible a bandit as Brigit thought, then what was stopping him from demanding ransom forher, if he found out who she was before he accepted the job?
She swallowed and forced a carefree smile. “Imean,I have a friend, Brigit, who is quite skilled at finding out information. I described the kind of man I wanted to hire for a particular job, and she spent a sennight following rumors. Apparently ye’ve recently arrived in town and have made a name for yerself as the strongest fighter, deadly with yer hands.”
She’d added that last bit as an attempt at flattery, really. She’d expected the man to preen at the compliment.
Instead, he just watched her. Did he seem a bit…wary? Or was that confusion?
“Ye want…to hire me, milady?”
“No’ a lady, remember?” she blurted, then softened it with a smile, because he seemed to enjoy looking at her lips. “But aye, I need a bodyguard.”
Her words seemed to startle him, and he shook himself, then took a deep breath and raised the mug.
“Look elsewhere,” he barked. “I’ll no’ protect ye.”
