Page 12 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

LEXI

W e ducked through the doorway into the tavern, the light vanishing behind us. It took my eyes a moment to adjust — the interior was darker than the dusk outside. The ceiling was so low Torin had to stoop, his head thrust forward to keep from brushing the soot-blackened thatch.

The only light came from a few tallow candles guttering down the center of the long trestle table. A peat fire burned at the far end, smoke curling up the rough stone hearth.

Six men hunched over their cups at the warm end of the table, but when the innkeeper waved his arms and barked, they shuffled grudgingly along. We dropped our bags in a stack against the wall and claimed their seats, three-legged stools, right before the hearth.

The floor was packed earth, strewn with straw, damp in places — was that piss? The air was thick with ale, old sweat, and a waft of boiled onions and turnips from the kettle swinging over the fire.

Not that I could complain. I reeked of wet wool and horse, and, frankly, like something pickled, a little like cat piss. I hadn’t bathed or washed my nether regions in days. How long had it been, days or years?

Torin leaned across the table, low, and said, “Best not look down the table at the ruffians there. They’re ornery and drunk. Ignore them.”

I nodded quickly. “I agree.” Then I asked, “What will we be ordering for food, what are our choices?”

He smiled faintly. “My dream is bannocks and cheese.”

“Is that your favorite?”

“Aye, tis the best, oatcakes with hard cheese. I order it whenever I can. I hae been thinking on it for hours.”

“Like pancakes?”

He thought for a moment. “Heavier, verra substantial. My favorite cheese is the goat, but any cheese can be just as fine.”

“Never had bannocks, but I will try anything.” I licked my lips. “Hopefully something filling.”

The innkeeper’s wife stalked up to the hearth, swung the kettle closer, and scraped the contents with a long wooden spoon. Whatever it was, it was thick and took some muscle to move it around.

I grimaced.

She dolloped a dark mound into a wooden bowl and plunked a coarse bun beside it, dropping it in front of us.

Torin peered at it. “Dost ye hae bannocks and cheese as well?”

“Nae. The last was eaten a fortnight ago.”

He sighed over the bowl. “Och, then stew must do.”

She asked, “Need anythin’ else?”

Torin grinned up at her, charmingly. “Aye, I will need more. If ye kent how long it’s been since I ate, ye would give me the whole kettle.”

She teased, “Gluttony is a sin, sire.”

He raised the bowl toward the firelight. “But this is wee! Tis meant for both of us, and I am hungry enough tae eat a horse!”

“Och nae.” She swatted his shoulder, snatched the bowl, and heaped on another ladleful. “Tis fair?”

Torin bowed his head. “Aye, but ye ken, with more stew comes the need for more bread.”

Rolling her eyes, she pulled another bun from her apron pocket and handed it to him with a smile.

He said, “Och, now that is fair. We will want for nothin’ but a second helpin’ in a few moments.”

“Ye’ll eat the whole pot, sire!”

“Nae, it looks plenty, and I will pay — how long hae ye had this pot rollin’?”

“Since high spring. Tis a fine stew. We keep it goin’.” She laughed, moving off.

One of the men down the table bellowed, “Mi’ we hae seconds?”

“Nae! Tis for the master and his lady.”

The men scowled into their cups.

I reached for the bread, but Torin whispered, “We hae tae pray,” and folded his hands.

I folded mine, my stomach rumbling.

Then his stomach growled louder.

He rushed out, “Bless us, this food, Amen,” then tore a bun in half and passed me a piece.

I tapped it against the table. It was hard as stone. “Oh. Crusty. ”

“Aye. Tis one word for it.”

I leaned closer, whispering so the innkeeper’s wife wouldn’t hear. “Did she really say this stew has been cooking since spring? What is it now, how long ago… what? ”

Torin started counting on his fingers. “By the look of things… this is likely a three-month stew.”

I groaned. “What do you mean, three months?”

He calmly dipped his bread into the bowl and scooped up a lump. “That is young for a stew. They keep it rollin’. Always cookin’, never empty. Addin’ bits that are necessary.”

My eyes went wide. I echoed, horrified, “Always cooking?”

He bit, chewed, swallowed, and grimaced. “Och, there is a great deal necessary, ye can see that this tavern inna known for its fare.”

I said, “Torin, is this going to make us sick?”

“Nae likely, soup daena make ye sick, tis the lack of soup. Everyone kens.” He swiped the bread through the stew again, and bit it. “Ye ought tae eat up, Princess, it tastes terrible, aye, but it will fill yer belly and keep ye alive tae morn. Ye want tae survive?”

“Yes, definitely. I need to get home.”

“Then eat up!”

I swirled my bread through the bowl. “Well I am very hungry. And without the stew I might break a tooth on the bread.”

I raised it to my lips, sniffed, and touched my tongue to the broth. I gagged. “Ew. It tastes like... burnt.”

“Aye, likely.” He shrugged. “Ye never had a forever stew afore, Princess?”

“Never. I don’t even like leftovers, no old foods except cheese.”

He grinned around another bite. “Think of it this way — ye are eatin’ a story. That burnt taste? That was last week, when the drovers came through and the wife was so busy she forgot tae stir. For months now, every soul who eats from this pot will taste that same burnt place. Continuity, Princess.”

I stared at him.

He jerked his head toward my bread. “Eat up. Daena think on it. Just chew.”

“To the history of it.” I shoved the bread into my mouth and chewed, and chewed, and chewed.

“I can taste the long months,” I muttered after swallowing.

Then I scooped another chunk through the stew and ate that too.

“I was hungry, and now that I’ve started, I don’t care what it tastes like. I just want it in my food hole.”

Torin chuckled. “Me as well.”

We ate until the bowl was scraped clean.

“Dost ye want more?” he asked, already half-rising. “I can ask, though it will make the men at the end of the table furious.”

“None for me, you go ahead. I’ll just enjoy the ale for a minute.”

He grinned. “Ye can hae some of mine if ye grow hungry watchin’.”

I said, “And if I want more — it’s not like she has to cook more. It’s just… sitting there.”

I sipped from my ale.

Torin ate his second serving.

Then I said, “It’s kind of brilliant, actually. To just have a stew rolling day in and day out. Now that I think of it, the cooking kills the bacteria, probably. As long as it boils. Do you think it boils?”

Torin shrugged, dipping more bread into it. “I think ye might be considerin’ it too much, if ye dwell upon it ye will decide ye canna eat it. If ye eat it and let it fill ye and daena think on it much ye will like it a great deal and feel full and not hungry. That is the most important part of it.”

“Very good point. I am really enjoying this ale, it’s hitting the spot.” I raised my cup. “This must be the one thing that is good in every century.”

He raised his mug to mine. Then asked, “What dost ye think is missing from the stew?”

“Salt. Pepper. Spices. The bread could be much softer, it’s almost a weapon.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing.” He pushed the empty bowl away. “But I will tell ye, Princess, the last bite was the best bite.”

“Good, I’m glad you got it then... Where do you think Dude is?”

“He ran through the room a few minutes ago.”

“Did he? Wild. Was he checking on us?”

“I think he was chasin’ a mouse.”

I said, “So after another ale?—”

He said, “And perhaps another bowl of old stew.”

I smiled. “When will we be shown to our room?”

“We winna, I can see it. Tis through that door.”

I looked, it was dark in there.

I blinked. “Oh, so not a private room?”

“Tis a private room. We just hae tae go through the public room. The men in the public room will sleep on the floor, we will hae a bed.” He sipped from his ale and wiped his hand across his mouth. “Or ye will hae a bed, I will sleep upon the floor.”

“Oh.” I exhaled. “This is a lot to get used to.” I drained the ale and added, “But I guess this is what you were dealing with when you came to the future.”

“Aye, dost yer eyes sting from the brightness?”

“Nope, it all seems too dark. My breathing is really loud in my ears.”

He nodded thoughtfully and finished his ale. He signaled to the innkeeper for two more. Then while we waited he pulled the vessel from his sporran and placed it between us.

I clamped my hands on his forearm, but it was unnecessary. Totally dead.

He dropped it back in his sporran. “Tis a good thing — we dinna want tae leave Dude anyway.”

I nodded, letting go of his arms, blinking back my tears as the innkeeper brought us a new ale.

Torin asked him, “I ken we are near Aboyne, aye?”

The innkeeper nodded. “Aye, sire. Ye’re at The Fordman’s Rest, by the burn crossing east o’ Aboyne.”

Torin leaned forward. “Dost ye ken what the date is?”

The man scratched his beard. “Och… a week or two past Beltane, if I reckon right. The hill paths are warm, the lambs growin’ quick.”

“That would be near mid-May. And the year?”

The innkeeper only shook his head.

Torin’s jaw tightened. “Hae ye heard any news of our Mary?”

“Aye, she’s away tae France, ever since our good king Jamie passed?—”

Torin leaned forward. “James the Fifth passed in 1542. How long since then?”

The man squinted at the fire, then gave a slow nod. “I mind it well. My eldest lad was born the same winter the king died. He’ll be sixteen come Yule.”

Torin said, “Sixteen years… then this must be the year of Our Lord 1558.”

The man grunted, glancing toward the ale barrel. “Aye, if ye say it plain, that sounds right. Beggin’ yer pardon, sire, I must see tae the drinkers.” He shuffled off.

Torin lifted his ale, thoughtful. “I canna be certain, Princess, but by his reckonin’, tis mid-May, 1558. A week after I left. The verra same year.”

I said, “That’s good news. Max will be here. Somewhere.”

“Aye. I must reach Muckhart, where we are tae meet.”

I grinned. “Perfect! He’ll know how to get me back. We go tomorrow?”

“Twill take four days.”

I gulped. “Oh, okay, sure. That’s fine. Four days. And any day now the vessel will work, easy. We just keep checking.”

“Aye.” He drained his ale with one long pull, then set it down. “I need tae relieve m’self. Dost ye need tae go as well, Princess?”

“Yes, definitely, um… where?”

“We will go out back and find a bush for privacy for ye.”

Torin pushed back his stool and rose. To the men at the end of the table he said, “Tis my seat, and there the lady’s seat. Daena take them, or ye will answer tae m’wrath.”

He offered me his arm, and I put my hand on it, and we left. The innkeeper, catching Torin’s nod, shuffled down to sit at the end of the table, keeping a watchful eye on our things.

We stepped out the back door into a dark field. The night was crisp, the stars sharp in the cool air.

Torin guided me to a bush at the side of the yard. “I’ll step just over there tae pish. Ye will be able tae see me.”

“Doubtful,” I whispered. “I can’t see a thing. This is scary.”

“Ye want me tae talk the whole time, so ye ken where I am?”

“Sing.”

He chuckled and sauntered twenty feet off, already humming. Then he raised his voice:

“Here’s tae the ale that fills m’cup, and here’s tae the lass that tops it up?—!”

His stream hit the ground with a loud rush. “Can ye hear me well, Princess?”

“Yep, that’s perfect.”

I gathered up my skirts, crouched and peed.

He kept singing cheerfully, “Wi’ a wink o’ the eye and a swing o’ the hip, I’ll drink tae her smile and a kiss on her lip!”

I shook myself dry. “Do you have the balm?”

“Nae, I left it in our bags. Dost ye need me tae fetch it?”

“No.” I pulled my underwear up and dropped the makeshift skirt. “That’s fine, I’ll put on some more right before bed.” I yawned, loudly. “I’m exhausted.”

“Aye, me as well.” His voice rose again as he finished,

“So raise yer mug, let sorrow sleep, the night is long and the drink is deep!”

He rejoined me, tucking himself in, and smiled faintly.

I yawned again.

He touched my elbow. “Princess, I will get ye tae bed.”