Page 32 of Captured By the Highland Devil
“It’s louder than the screams of the damned in here,” said Ruben as he stepped into the tavern that evening, raising his voice above the clamor of conversation and the wild song of the patrons.
The place was packed from wall to wall. Even though the main room was larger than most of the pubs Ruben had stepped foot in, it was absolutely cramped.
“That’s the best part of it,” Galan grinned.
There were a few empty places at the tables crowded into the room, but Galan lead them to the very back where empty tables were in the shadows.
Ruben did a quick assessment of the table; it was nowhere near a window or door, near a corner and then up against a wall. It was the most defensible position in the room. “I approve,” he said.
“I kenned ye’d approve,” Galan grinned over his shoulder. “I’d already kenned ye would prefer this spot away from the others. Ye’re nae a mysterious man, me laird. T’is very easy to predict what ye want and what ye daenae.”
At least a dozen drunk men and a handful of women sang along with the half-drunk minstrel in the corner. The mood of the place was jolly, carefree and warm, a feeling that was strange to Ruben. He was not used to such merrymaking or knew how to behave in the midst of it.
“Mead,” he told Galan. “I will nae become drunk beyond reason on spirits.”
“Nor would I expect ye to,” Galan replied. “Ye’re too disciplined for such a thing.”
Even with the flickering light in the room, the tavern was clean, freshly whitewashed. The floor was swept spotless, and even the panes in the windows were clear of soot and dirt.
As he looked around the room, he noted men and women who made the town as profitable as it was, the slight baker lass, the hulking arms of the smithy. He saw the two sisters that spun cloth for the nuns, the young lass that sold candles and oranges, and the gaggle of fisher lads.
The splash of mead from the tankard dropped in front of him jolted Ruben from his musing and he reached for the drink. “Thank ye.”
“Now, tell me why ye havenae touched yer bonnie lass yet.” Galan said, asked with a knowing jerk of his chin.
“The lass hates me,” he said plainly. “She cannae get over the war and the deaths it brought on them. She keeps mentions her cousin but I havenae an inklin’ who was.” He paused to take a mouthful.
“The deaths of those who passed in those three months, five years ago blurred into a long line of blurred faces and names,” he said with a grunt.
Sipping his ale, Galan asked, “Why nae tell her the truth about how the war began? I daenae think ‘tis wise to keep the lass in the dark about if for too long.”
Staring at the men and women cavorting and dancing to the music from the fiddle and bone flute. “She’s naive and so… so bloody innocent,” Ruben said. “Her parents have shielded her from everythin’ and the thought of merely touchin’ her makes me think she’ll break apart.”
He knew Paige was no commoner to be bedded as carelessly as any tavern wench. Her dignity, pride, and bearing alone told of her high birth and genteel upbringing. She was like a fine, high-spirited filly that had not yet been broken—and that terrified him.
Very few knew it because he did not let it show but he was a man of sensual appetites, and Lord knew he did not think the gentle lady would take kindly to that.
“What sweet little virgin could put up with me irritability and me devilish temper?” he grunted.
“Oh, I daenae ken,” Galana said, leaning back in his chair and flinging an arm over the edge of it. “Seems likes the best time to teach a young lass the pleasure of couplin’. If I were ye, I’d enjoy every moment of seein’ her discover her own passion, step by slow step. Take in her passion as if it were yer own. Rediscover the pleasure of first times.”
Rubbing a finger along the rim of the wooden cup, Ruben sighed. “I willnae get any gain with her until she kens the truth of the war. Problem is, I daenae think she will accept it.”
Galan’s thick brows dipped. “Why do ye believe that?”
“She seems to think her faither’s words are sanctified law,” he said dully. “She doesnae ken the deceiver and slippery madman he is. MacPherson is like an overgrown child. He is an arrogant dunghill with a loud mouth and nay substance to back it up.”
“Like an empty barrel.” Galan agreed.
“Aye,” Ruben scowled. “Just like one. Bang on it with a stick and it makes the biggest noise, but there is nothin’ inside.”
“So, tell the lass the truth about the war,” Galan said. “If ye want, I’ll gladly be with ye.”
Ruben took a moment to think it over, then eventually shook his head and reached for his drink, “Nay. I’ll do it alone. If she doesnae believe me on me own, she’ll never believe anythin’ else.”
While sipping his drink, Ruben gave himself a moment to observe. The mood inside the tavern was merry, and the song was cheery and lighthearted, it almost tempted Ruben to forget the trouble back at the castle.
Galan looked in the same corner as Ruben did; he spotted a couple kissing each other with licentious abandon. Their hands were roaming in places they should not have in the open. The man was moments away from hauling the woman into his lap or carrying her out back.
