before his arm was rudely seized by his companion.
" 'Od's blood, Haggie. Ever since ye fell from yer horse and banged yer head, ye ain't got the manners ye was born with. Ye never go takin' what was meant for me. Now that ye'll be workin' 'round here, ye remember that, ye hear?"
The man nodded readily, and with rich enjoyment, Timmy Sears sank his own lips into the head of foam. Haggie watched with puckered mouth until the second mug passed, then eagerly caught it up and joined in a like refreshment.
"What are the two o' ye doin' here on a day like this?" the innkeeper inquired.
Sears laughed as he lowered his mug and slapped the flat of his hand down on the planks. " 'Tis the only place I can escape from me harpin' wife."
Sauntering close, Molly caressed his chest and smiled into his eyes. "I thought maybe ye'd come ter see me, Timmy."
The man took the maid into a great bear hug and swung her about until she fairly squealed with delight. When he set her to her feet again, he searched inside his coat pocket for a moment, then leering, slowly withdrew a coin, which he flipped before her gleaming eyes. She laughed with excited glee, and quickly grabbing the piece, she dropped it into her blouse. She danced away from him and, looking over her shoulder, smiled seductively. The promise was in her eyes, and she had no need to speak, for when she fled up the stairs, he came after her in eager haste. Haggard Bentworth slammed down his own mug and stumbled after them, but he came up smartly against his companion's heels as the red-haired man paused on the bottom step. Sears was nearly knocked face downward against the stairs by the force of the other's impact but managed to regain his balance. He came around with fire in his eye.
"Not up here, Haggie," he barked. "Ye can't follow me here. Go have yerself another ale." He shoved the man back and hastened after the swinging hips that by now had proceeded well up the stairway.
Christopher chuckled in his ale, then once again noted a shadow beside his table. His brow raised in mute question as he glanced up. The dark-haired man from the trestle table stood with a hand poised on the back of the chair Ben had vacated. He had the bearing of a military man, although his garb did not support that supposition. Over a stocky, muscular build, he wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, a thick, soft shirt, and snug breeches tucked into tall black boots.
"May I join you for a moment, sir?" He did not wait on an answer but spun the chair about and straddled the seat, facing Christopher. The man opened his jerkin and twitched a pair of pistols to a more comfortable position in his belt, then leaned forward, his forearms braced on the back of the chair.
"Old Ben waggled a drink or two from you, eh?"
Christopher eyed the other without comment, wondering why the man had approached him. His lack of a reply should have angered the intruder. Instead, the other gave a quick, disarming smile.
"Forgive me, sir." He reached out a friendly hand. "I am Allan Parker, the sheriff of Mawbry, appointed by Lord Talbot to protect the peace of these lands."
Christopher took the other's proffered hand and, introducing himself, watched the man for a reaction. There was no outward show that he had heard the name before, yet Christopher found it hard to believe that the story of his duel with Farrell had not reached the sheriff's ears.
"I believe 'tis part of my duty to warn strangers about Ben. Depending on the quality of whatever he drinks, he usually has a headful of ghosts, demons, and other hellish creatures. He should not be taken too seriously."
Christopher smiled. "Of course not."
The sheriff pondered him. "I don't remember ever seeing you here before. Are you from around these parts?"
"I have a town house in London, but one of my ships is in port at Wirkinton, and that is how I came to be here." Christopher supplied the information with no hesitation. "I'll be staying in Mawbry until I have concluded my
" 'Od's blood, Haggie. Ever since ye fell from yer horse and banged yer head, ye ain't got the manners ye was born with. Ye never go takin' what was meant for me. Now that ye'll be workin' 'round here, ye remember that, ye hear?"
The man nodded readily, and with rich enjoyment, Timmy Sears sank his own lips into the head of foam. Haggie watched with puckered mouth until the second mug passed, then eagerly caught it up and joined in a like refreshment.
"What are the two o' ye doin' here on a day like this?" the innkeeper inquired.
Sears laughed as he lowered his mug and slapped the flat of his hand down on the planks. " 'Tis the only place I can escape from me harpin' wife."
Sauntering close, Molly caressed his chest and smiled into his eyes. "I thought maybe ye'd come ter see me, Timmy."
The man took the maid into a great bear hug and swung her about until she fairly squealed with delight. When he set her to her feet again, he searched inside his coat pocket for a moment, then leering, slowly withdrew a coin, which he flipped before her gleaming eyes. She laughed with excited glee, and quickly grabbing the piece, she dropped it into her blouse. She danced away from him and, looking over her shoulder, smiled seductively. The promise was in her eyes, and she had no need to speak, for when she fled up the stairs, he came after her in eager haste. Haggard Bentworth slammed down his own mug and stumbled after them, but he came up smartly against his companion's heels as the red-haired man paused on the bottom step. Sears was nearly knocked face downward against the stairs by the force of the other's impact but managed to regain his balance. He came around with fire in his eye.
"Not up here, Haggie," he barked. "Ye can't follow me here. Go have yerself another ale." He shoved the man back and hastened after the swinging hips that by now had proceeded well up the stairway.
Christopher chuckled in his ale, then once again noted a shadow beside his table. His brow raised in mute question as he glanced up. The dark-haired man from the trestle table stood with a hand poised on the back of the chair Ben had vacated. He had the bearing of a military man, although his garb did not support that supposition. Over a stocky, muscular build, he wore a sleeveless leather jerkin, a thick, soft shirt, and snug breeches tucked into tall black boots.
"May I join you for a moment, sir?" He did not wait on an answer but spun the chair about and straddled the seat, facing Christopher. The man opened his jerkin and twitched a pair of pistols to a more comfortable position in his belt, then leaned forward, his forearms braced on the back of the chair.
"Old Ben waggled a drink or two from you, eh?"
Christopher eyed the other without comment, wondering why the man had approached him. His lack of a reply should have angered the intruder. Instead, the other gave a quick, disarming smile.
"Forgive me, sir." He reached out a friendly hand. "I am Allan Parker, the sheriff of Mawbry, appointed by Lord Talbot to protect the peace of these lands."
Christopher took the other's proffered hand and, introducing himself, watched the man for a reaction. There was no outward show that he had heard the name before, yet Christopher found it hard to believe that the story of his duel with Farrell had not reached the sheriff's ears.
"I believe 'tis part of my duty to warn strangers about Ben. Depending on the quality of whatever he drinks, he usually has a headful of ghosts, demons, and other hellish creatures. He should not be taken too seriously."
Christopher smiled. "Of course not."
The sheriff pondered him. "I don't remember ever seeing you here before. Are you from around these parts?"
"I have a town house in London, but one of my ships is in port at Wirkinton, and that is how I came to be here." Christopher supplied the information with no hesitation. "I'll be staying in Mawbry until I have concluded my
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