Chapter Six
“Nothing like a peat fire on an evening and a fine man to go with it. And here, we have one a walking in. It doesn’t get no better than this for a Wednesday eve, does it not?” Minna leaned across the bar toward Ashlyn. She had a shock of white hair curled around a petite face and sent Ashlyn a quick flash of one blue and one green eye.
“And how many a times has Quintin come and left alone without either us?” Ashlyn stared down at her untouched pint. Tonight’s special brew wafted with prickly pear and yeasty bitter birch. She’d drink it anyway, as she intended to come here and drink until her mind would forget of dragons and men, and especially the one who’d walked in beside Quintin.
“Not Quint, but look, would you? Do you see who he brought with him?”
“No one worth looking at, I assure you.”
“Is that a fact? Not one to listen to heavy metal music then?”
“I am.”
“Then you’ll want an autograph as I do. Think he’d sign me boob?” Minna pulled down the low-cut collar of her blouse to expose a rounded bit of flesh. Ashlyn put her hand up alongside her face to shield her eyes. “Put it away.”
Minna giggled, then she straightened and said, “Welcome.”
“Good evening to you, Minna. This is Sigurd Eltvik, he’s come to help at the hatchery for a bit. A guest of Dr. Kovak.”
Minna slapped her hand over her chest. “Oh me. Oh my. It is you!” She grabbed Ashlyn’s arm, shook it so hard, Ashlyn bumped her pint and it sloshed over her hand.
“Why yes, it is I.” Sigurd stepped up behind Ashlyn. “Do you know me?”
“Do I know you?” Minna covered her heart. “You’re a rocker. The way you play the base.” Minna fanned herself and Ashlyn rolled her eyes.
“I love Lure! Would you… could I have your autograph?” Minna asked.
“Of course, anything for a fan.” Sigurd patted his pants, Minna pulled out a marker from under the bar and held it out to him. He leaned forward at the same time as Minna, trapping Ashlyn between them. Minna hiked down her shirt to expose her breast. Sigurd signed the breast, capped the pen and handed it back with a wink. Ashlyn turned away, tried to slide off the stool when her back landed against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her. “Going somewhere, baby?”
“You haven’t finished your pint?” Minna looked up from admiring her autographed breast.
“We’ll each take one if you’ve a hand to pour one,” Quintin said to Minna.
“Right. This one is on the house.” She whirled around and grabbed two glass mugs.
Ashlyn brought her hand up close to her mouth to lick the beer off, when Sigurd snatched her hand and licked it off for her. He sucked on her fingers, his eyes locked with hers. She felt that little snake in her belly uncurl and slither south with a tingle. His tongue wrapped around her finger and he pulled it slow, ever so slow, from his mouth.
Two pints splashed on the bar. “Here you be.”
She pulled her hand from his grasp.
And so, it began. Ashlyn calculated more people had surrounded them at the bar in ten minutes than she normally had seen in a month of coming here. She watched Sigurd sign his name on every limb, breast, and back known to the whole village. “Do you always seek attention wherever you go?”
“Don’t be jealous, baby. I can’t help my fans adore me.”
He had a way with them, she noticed, reaching for her pint and finding it full again.
Someone shouted, “Play us a song.”
She spotted Sigurd give a pretty blonde a quick peck on the cheek and made a guttural sound in her throat. She turned back to her lager, took another swig, and tried to ignore the fire balling up in her belly. He held up the neck of a ukulele.
“It’s a party we’re having now.” Minna leaned over the counter, the neckline of her blouse dipped low and a bit of black smudge from Sigurd’s autograph winked out at them.
Quintin’s eyes fell to Minna’s cleavage, he was a man, after all, she couldn’t blame him. But when she glanced back to the crowd, her eyes met Sigurd’s. He looked at her not as the predator dragon she knew resided within him, but as a man looked at a woman. Heat spread up her neck and burned the tips of her ears. He perched on the edge of a table, foot on a chair, and he strummed his fingers across the little ukulele. He hummed first, a deep tenor sound from his throat, and when he matched to the right note he sang.
Around them, the crowd grew silent as everyone listened to Sigurd sing an old Hungarian ballad.
He sent her a wink, both cheeky and wicked.
She’d never forget this moment. Sigurd’s accent thick with the words, promises of hope and good fortune to come. The music intoxicating, filled with a heady mood which wafted through the pub and wrapped around her like a warm blanket.
“Looks like someone is wanting to go home with you tonight.” Minna gave her a nudge.
“So, let him want. I won’t be driving. Not after this pint. Quintin can give me a lift, can’t you?” She saw Quintin’s smile fade, all the amusement empty from his eyes. Something else came to them when he gave a quick glance at Minna. So quick. Then gone. “Sorry. Minna promised to give me a ride after closing.”
“If you need a ride….” Minna looked over at Sigurd and back at Ashlyn. She licked her lips before pushing off to fill another pint for a patron down on the other end of the bar.
One more reason to have another drink. Sigurd’s rich, flirtations voice, the humor on Minna’s face, the longing in Quintin’s eyes, filled her heart with an ache.
When applause rang out, she found herself with a slight buzz.
“You were grand,” Minna said, taking the ukulele from him when he offered.
“Music is a part of the soul. Sometimes you have to sing it out loud.”
“Well, you’re right good at it,” Quintin said.
“One on the house.” Minna slid a tall glass of dark brew in Sigurd’s direction.
“And another for me.” Ashlyn pushed her empty mug Minna’s way.
“I think you’ve had enough for one night.” Quintin shook his head at Minna.
“And who made you the boss of me?”
“Will do her no harm,” Sigurd said.
“And so, you see, I’ll have me another.” Ashlyn glared at Quintin.
“One and you’re done.” Minna refilled her drink. Satisfied she turned to Sigurd, “You’ll take her keys and see her home, will you not?”
“That I will.”
Shaking her hair back, Ashlyn held up her glass, her eyes never leaving Sigurd’s. He clanked his mug against hers and grinned. “Bottoms up.”