Lilia took off her apron and smoothed her skirts. She had tidied up and even scrubbed down the kitchen—but could delay no longer. Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty.
Why did I agree to this?
She usually had no difficulty rebuffing men, yet Saul had been impossible to deny. Even now the thought of his dark, brooding looks and limpid stare made her stomach flutter.
Stop it—this is a bad idea.
What if he’d merely been mocking her? What if she went out into the common room to find him gone? Dain and Ryana had seen Saul ask her to join him later—they’d both make fun of her for being such a goose.
Sick with nerves, Lilia poured two ales and left the kitchen.
Her heart leaped in her chest when she saw that Saul was still there. He had shifted position, taking up one of the smaller tables near the hearth; a solitary figure for all the other customers had departed. Even Ailin, Dain and Ryana were nowhere in sight.
A fresh log burned in the fireplace next to Saul, sending hungry golden flames roaring up the chimney. He watched her approach, his gaze tracking her across the floor. “You came.” His voice was a low rumble that sent a thrill through her.
Lilia managed a tight smile. “I said I would.”
She set down the tankards of ale upon the table and pulled up a chair. As it had earlier, her pulse quickened when he looked upon her. The intensity of it made her feel excited and flustered all at once. Saul did not look, dress or behave like any man she had ever met.
“I’m glad.” He smiled, raised his tankard to her, and Lilia followed suit. They both took a sip of ale. It was warm by the fire, and the popping of embers and the crackling of burning wood were the only sounds in the deserted common room.
“It was a long night,” he said, leaning back in his chair and observing her frankly. “They work you too hard.”
Lilia shrugged. “It’s a busy inn—the most popular in town.”
Saul’s smile widened. “That’s what the man on the docks told me when I arrived. Said a pretty red-haired wench made the best pies on the island, and that the steep climb would be worth it.”
A smile tugged at Lilia’s mouth. He was an outrageous flirt. “The man lied—my mother makes the best pies.”
Saul’s mouth quirked. “He didn’t lie about you though.”
“So the walk was worth the effort?” Lilia couldn’t believe her own ears, she was actually flirting with him.
Saul gave a soft laugh. “Most definitely.”
Suddenly shy, Lilia took another gulp of ale before breaking eye contact with him. “Where are you from?” she asked, steering the conversation into safer waters. She wasn’t used to flirting and felt that if things continued she was likely to embarrass herself.
“From Anthor.”
Lilia glanced up, her shyness suddenly forgotten. As a child she had spent evenings with her father poring over his maps of The Four Kingdoms of Serran. “My Da used to read me stories about Anthor … of its cruel king.”
Saul grinned. “Really?”
“Aye,” Lilia replied. “He described it as a land with long, hot summers, edged by a glittering sea. That the king lives in a great citadel of stone upon a cliff looking south. I remember that much, at least …”
Saul gave her a speculative look. “You have a good memory then.”
“And is the king cruel, as the tales tell?”
Saul shrugged. “No more so than other rulers.”
Lilia felt her face grow hot. “Sorry,” she muttered. “That was a foolish question.”
“No it wasn’t,” he replied. “You’re just curious. Have you ever visited the mainland?”
Lilia shook her head.
“Would you like to cross The Wash and discover the rest of the world?”
Lilia sighed. “Dearly.”
He smiled, clearly amused by her candor. “Why haven’t you then? There’s much to see beyond this little rainy isle.”
Lilia looked down at her tankard. “You make it sound so easy,” she said. “Maybe it is for someone like you.” She looked up then, emboldened by ale. “Why did you ask me to join you tonight?”
Saul inclined his head, his expression turning serious. “When I saw you earlier, I thought you could do with some attention. Was I wrong?”
Lilia looked away and inhaled deeply, willing herself not to blush. Was the truth so obvious? Was she such a sorry case?
“No,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m weary from travel and you’re a comely girl—does a man need any other reason?”
Lilia’s cheeks burned as she kept her gaze averted. “I suppose not.”
She took a sip from her tankard and glanced up to find Saul still watching her. “So, Saul of Anthor.” His name sounded exotic on her tongue. Yet she was desperate to turn the conversation away from herself again. “What brings you to the Isle of Orin. We get few southern folk here.”
“I’m travelling north,” he replied, “and thought I would rest a few days here before continuing my journey.”
“North?” Lilia frowned as she thought back to her father’s maps. She could remember little of the northern territories of Serran, except for tracts of wilderness, great lakes and long mountain chains. She could not remember the names of any cities. Still, she recalled her father saying that the northern reaches of the mainland was a desolate spot. “Why are you going there?”
“King’s business. I serve Reoul, the King of Anthor.”
Lilia’s gaze widened. She looked upon Saul with fresh eyes, taking in the expensive cloth and exquisite cut of his travel-stained clothing. Of course, no wonder she had never seen a man like him. She had never heard of royal emissaries visiting Orin. The isle was one of the world’s forgotten places.
“So, are you a warrior?”
His gaze gleamed. “Of a kind …”
Lilia met his gaze and felt excitement curl at the base of her belly. There was an aura of danger, of contained power in this man. Her instincts warned her to be wary of him, but her senses drank him in. He awoke something nameless, and thrilling, within her.
When she looked into his eyes, she forgot her fears.
It was much later when Lilia barred the door and banked the fire. Her eyes stung with fatigue, but she felt wide-awake. Acutely aware of the tall man, clad in dark leather who followed her, she led the way out of the common room and down the narrow hallway towards the bed chambers. She carried a lantern aloft, its warm light reflecting off the pitted stone walls.
They had not gone far when Lilia paused in front of a door. She turned, craning her neck up to meet Saul’s gaze. His eyes were almost black in the soft lantern glow.
“This is my room. Where’s yours?”
“At the end of this corridor, I think,” he replied.
Their gazes held for a moment and Lilia became aware of how close they were standing. He reached out then, his fingers entwining around a lock of fiery hair that had come loose from her braid.
“You have stunning hair,” he murmured. “I’ve never seen such color.”
Lilia’s throat closed. He was standing too close. His nearness—the scent of leather and wood smoke—overwhelmed her.
His hand left her hair and stroked her cheek. Lilia trembled under his touch.
“And your skin … it’s like milk.”
Lilia stifled a gasp. He made her feel beautiful; no man had ever done that. However, she had to stop him from saying more.
“I’d better go,” she gasped, taking a step back to find the door pressing against her. He had her cornered.
Saul bent low then and kissed her, pinning her up against the door. Lilia melted into his arms. She had never been kissed before. The intensity of it pushed all rational thought from her mind. The kiss was hard, demanding. When Saul eventually released her, they were both out of breath.
“Can I come inside?” His voice was a low growl. She saw the hunger in his eyes.
Lilia’s heart raced at his request. Yet, somehow, she managed to retain some sense.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she breathed, aware that his gaze had travelled down to the swell of her breasts. “Good night, Saul.”
Disappointment flared in his eyes. Mastering it, he stepped back from her. “I’m staying at The Grey Anchor a few days,” he said softly. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
Her pounding heart leaped, and she struggled not to let the excitement show on her face. “I have some time off work in the afternoon.”
“Would you take a walk with me?”
Lilia nodded. “I’d like that.”
He smiled down at her. “Goodnight then.”
Lilia watched him walk away before she let herself into her room and shut the door behind her. She leaned back against it and inhaled deeply. Then, she raised a trembling hand to her lips. They still burned from his kiss.
Dain’s fist connected with his opponent’s jaw.
He hit him so hard that pain lanced across his hand, despite the leather bindings protecting his knuckles. The big man he’d just hit grunted and crumpled to the sawdust-strewn floor—knocked out.
It was the last of the four rounds; Dain had won. The surrounding crowd howled—some in glee for they’d bet on the underdog, others in fury for they’d been sure the hulking smithy would hammer the innkeeper’s son into the floor. The din of the roaring mob was deafening.
Massaging his throbbing hand, Dain spat out a gob of blood on the floor and limped out of the ring. Ardan stood on the sidelines, waiting for him. Ignoring his friend, Dain began untying the leather knuckle guards.
“Gods, you made a mess of him,” his friend observed. “What was that about?”
Dain glanced up, frowning. “Nothing.” He ripped the bindings off and shoved them at Ardan. “I’m done for the night.”