Page 35 of Torin and His Oath (Torin and the Princess #2)

TORIN

I rode up tae the tavern at Muckhart near collapsed on Lambo’s back. I slid tae the ground, almost fallin’ tae the mud, but steadied myself against Lambo’s side.

The tavern was a low, stout stone building with whitewashed walls and a thatched roof, and all I had tae do was somehow stagger inside, but I swayed on my feet when I felt a tap on my arm, one of the lads who worked the stable. “Sire, what dost ye need?”

My hoarse voice croaked out, “Max, m’laird…? Max…? Inside?”

He ran intae the tavern.

Smoke drifted from the chimney — the smell of peat, ale, and roasting barley beckoned, if I could only move. When suddenly Max came from the door. “Och nae, Torin, what hae ye been doing?”

I groaned. “Everythin’…” and fell tae m’knees in the mud. I said weakly, “Come down here, I am goin’ tae beat yer arse for what ye hae done.”

He stood over me, “Ye are goin’ tae beat me? After ye hae stolen my vessel? Ye ought tae beg for my forgiveness.”

“Ye need tae beg for mine, ye hae nearly killed me. Whilst ye are sittin’ warm and dry in a tavern, without a care in the world. I should stab ye through.”

“I’d like tae see ye try, ye are covered in mud like a mucag and ye look weak as a bairn. Ye canna pull yer sword, much less swing it! Look at ye, ye are pitiful.”

“Am not, I am goin’ tae beat ye, as soon as I gain m’strength. Can ye help me rise?”

He asked, “Why am I helpin’ ye when ye hae been denouncing me in front of all the citizens of Muckhart?”

I glanced around. There were two other people standing there, watching our exchange.

“Ye are helpin’ me, because ye owe me for how I hae come close tae death ridin’ yer vessel, solvin’ all yer problems.”

I felt m’self hefted tae my feet and my arm slung across Max’s shoulders. He asked, “Dost ye need a bed?”

“Nae, an ale.”

He laughed and all but dragged me intae the tavern, sayin’, “How did ye come tae hae three horses?”

“I killed at least that many men.” I glanced back at Lambo, “I promised them hay.”

“The lad will take them tae the stable. Yer horse, Kobold, is already there.”

I said, “I am a fortunate man tae hae four horses.”

He dropped me intae a chair near the fire. “Och ye daena look fortunate. Ye look wet through and injured horribly.” He nudged m’kilt tae see the bloody bandage on my thigh. “Will ye survive it?”

My head drooped. “Likely.”

“What scoundrel sliced ye?”

I pointed at my thigh. “A boar.” I put my hand on my shoulder. “The men chasin’ us for the vessel.”

“And yer face?”

“Who can remember, five different men hae swung upon me. At least.” A mug of ale was placed in front of me.

He asked, “Twas five against one?”

“Each one was at a different time.”

He scowled, “But ye killed them?”

I shook my head, and gulped from the ale.

“But tis not like ye tae allow them tae live! Ye hae been beaten heartily, ye daena sound like yerself. The Torin I ken would kill every man who placed a hand upon him.”

I took a long deep breath. “That was in m’youthful days, I am a man full-aged now. Time has beaten me soundly. I hae learned that sometimes I hae tae run.”

He winced. “Och nae, Torin, how long hae ye been gone? Twas only a week!”

“I canna tell, months? Years? Centuries?”

Sarie, the barmaid who we had known for many years, approached. “Master Torin, ye hae made a puddle in m’tavern, ye ken tis not mannerly. Give yer cloak tae me, I will place it by the hearth tae dry.”

I looked down. “Och, I suppose I will, I hae made a puddle.”

She put out her hand, feigning anger.

I undid the brooch and pulled the cloak from my shoulders.

Max teased, “Mistress Sarie be ever wantin’ tae get young Torin from his clothes.”

She batted his shoulder. “Ye ken Torin inna my favored kind of man, he is too much of a burr in my saddle and from the looks of him, the world dost agree.”

I chuckled. “Ye daena ride in a saddle, Mistress Sarie.”

“And ye ken twas not the saddle I was speaking on.” She laughed heartily, then asked, “Why did the man beat ye, Torin? Twas because of a lass or a lady?”

“Those are the only options? It could not hae been that he was an arse and he was at fault, not poor faultless Torin?”

She said, “I suppose there might be a first time, but I think tis unlikely. If there is trouble about tis sure tae be ye who are the cause of it. Ye are lucky that Master Max is willin’ tae get ye from the troubles so regularly.”

Max grinned widely.

I groaned. “Max is the cause of m’troubles!”

She said, “I daena believe it, look at him, noble bearing, charm, and wits, nae, it canna be him.”

I sighed, then bared my thigh. “Ye may be right in it, Mistress Sarie, but tis less important than that I am bleedin’ upon yer puddled floor.”

She said, “Och nae, Master Torin, I will get ye a clean bandage!” She rushed tae the kitchen while I drained my ale and Max carried our mugs tae the cask tae refill them.

With a new full mug in front of me Mistress Sarie brought me a long strip of cloth and a bowl of clear water.

I removed the dirty bloody bandage and washed the wound.

Then I applied a balm that she passed me, and she wrapped the wound in a clean cloth.

She nodded. “Twill heal now. Och, Master Torin, ye hae gotten in much trouble.” She patted me on the shoulder and left tae go take ales tae the men at another table.

I stood. “I must go relieve m’self.”

He said, “Hurry back, I hae a tale I need tae hear.”