Centyr Dominance (5 page)

The Dusty Doxy was anything but dusty. They had just
stepped inside, and Moira’s eyes revealed a main room that was meticulously
clean. Patrons sat quietly at tables scattered around the room, watching the
newcomers curiously. The bar looked relatively new, compared to the old wood
paneling that decorated the rest of the taproom.

Chad coughed before muttering, “This don’t look good.
Let’s look a little further down.”

Gram shrugged and then looked at Moira.

“It’s lovely,” she ventured. “Why don’t you like it?”

The hunter grimaced, “Who could be comfortable in a
place like this? It’s too clean. The place gives me the creeps. I can’t
trust a bar that looks like a woman’s boudoir.”

“Hello,” said a new voice. An attractive woman in her
middle years was approaching. Her hair was a dark auburn, but it was heavily
interspersed with gray streaks. There was an air of authority about her that
enhanced rather than detracted from her welcoming smile. She gave the
impression of being well accustomed to dealing with men, a friendly confidence;
her large bust did nothing to distract from that feeling.

“Hello,” said Moira promptly, smiling in return. “Do
you serve food here?” From the corner of her eye, she could see Gram had
frozen, his eyes drawn to their hostess’ proudly displayed bosom.
Oh, for
goodness sake!

“In a little while, if you’re patient,” said the
newcomer. “Cook just arrived, but he should have the evening fare ready in an
hour or so. You look like you’ve traveled far.” Her eyes moved between them,
noting their clothing.

“Yeah, this is my d…,” began Chad, but Moira
interrupted him.

“I’m Moira, and these are my servants. We’ve come
from southern Gododdin,” she said quickly, determined not to be caged again by
one of the hunter’s stories. While their hostess’s overly exposed chest, and
Gram’s reaction to it, irritated her, she still felt a certain warmth from the
woman. Observing her aythar, Moira could tell that she was easy going and
straightforward compared to most.

The redhead smiled, “I’m Tamara. Nice to meet you,
Moira. Would you and your companions like to sit at the bar, or perhaps you’d
prefer a private table?”

Moira would definitely have preferred a private
table. The eyes of the room were still on them, making her uncomfortable, but
Chad spoke first.

“The bar would be fine,” he put in. Seeing the dark
look Moira shot him, he leaned over and whispered to her, “We won’t learn anything
sitting alone.”

Tamara’s eyes lit on him in curiosity, no doubt
wondering at a servant who made so bold as to make such decisions. After a
second, they switched to Gram, and she smiled. “Where were you twenty years
ago young man, before I retired?” She gestured to the bar, indicating they
should sit.

They made their way over, while Gram struggled to
answer her question, “I wasn’t born yet.”

Tamara laughed, enjoying his discomfort.

Gram and Chad sat on either side of Moira,
protectively situating her between them. After a moment Tamara sat beside
Gram. Leaning forward she placed her hand casually on his shoulder while
addressing Moira, “Would you and your companions like something to drink while
you wait?”

“Tea would be lovely, please,” she answered, hiding
her annoyance at the woman’s excessive familiarity with Gram. It didn’t help
that she could easily tell what sort of effect Tamara was having on him. The
young warrior was blushing furiously.

“An ale for me,” announced Chad. “Somethin’ that
doesn’t taste like dog piss if ye have it.”

“M—me too,” agreed Gram, stammering slightly.

“Perhaps you’d rather have small beer, don’t you
think?” suggested Moira. Small beer was half water, half beer, a drink meant
mainly to quench thirst rather than to inebriate.

He glared at her, “I’d rather have ale.”

Tamara waved at the man behind the counter. He had
been listening, letting her do the talking rather than interrupt. He put a
kettle on the stove in the back and then began pouring the ale.

“Tamara, if it’s permissible for me to ask, are you
the manager here?” asked Moira.

“Oh no, that would be Lars, the fellow pouring the
ale. I just hang around because I enjoy meeting people, and to annoy him. I’m
the owner,” explained the older woman.

Chad watched Lars pulling ale with professional
interest. He seemed to approve of the man’s technique as the heavy mugs were
filled. “How did this place get its name?” he asked Tamara idly.

The owner smiled, “I renamed it after I stopped
working and bought out Madame Brengir. It was called the ‘Red Lady’ before
that.”

“That explains the look then,” he said, sipping his ale
carefully. “I bet you were one of the top ladies here, if you could afford to
do that.”

Tamara wondered if she had misjudged the hard-faced
ranger; he was definitely more perceptive than she had realized. Grinning she
replied, “I was very popular, and I was no fool when it came to saving.
Thankfully, Madame Brengir wasn’t the kind to steal from her girls.”

Moira was the one blushing now.
This was a
brothel?
She found herself even more embarrassed as the older woman met
her eyes boldly. The other woman’s expression told her that she knew exactly
what Moira was thinking. Dropping her gaze, she found herself looking at
Tamara’s ample bosom, which only made her feel more awkward.
She’s a…

“I was a pleasure girl,” said Tamara, without any hint
of shame. “I named the place after myself in a way.”

“Ye don’t look so ‘dusty’ to me,” laughed Chad.

“Thank you,” she answered, accepting the compliment.
“I thought dusty sounded better than ‘grey’ or ‘decrepit’.”

“I’d think ye’d make more money if ye had kept it as a
whorehouse,” commented the hunter without the slightest hesitation.

“That’s true,” agreed Tamara, “but I want to leave my
daughter something more respectable someday. Plus, I was worried she might
take up the same profession.”

Moira’s mouth chose that moment to start working,
“Daughter?”

“Yes dear, my daughter,” said Tamara. “Children are
one of those things that happen in my old line of work. No matter how careful
you are, sooner or later you make a mistake. Not that I regret it, of course.
Amy is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Sort of like my dad,” said Gram quietly to himself.

“What was that?” asked the proprietress.

“Old story,” said Chad, waving his hand, “his father
was a whoreson.”

Gram’s face tightened and Tamara glared at the
ranger. “That was unnecessary,” she told him, “not to mention rude.” She
turned to the others, “Is he always so unpleasant?”

Moira shrugged in embarrassment, but Chad answered
first, “Ye caught me on a good day, darlin’. That was a compliment. My
favorite people are bastards an’ whoresons.” He raised his mug as if in a
toast before taking a long draught.

“And what was your parentage like, to produce such a
prickly personality?” wondered the proprietress.

Chad smirked, “Actually, it was surprisingly average.
My dad was a farmer an’ my mother a gentle soul. I can’t really lay any of the
blame at their feet. I was just born an asshole.”

Gram shook his head. He was already well acquainted
with the hunter’s strange humors, but Moira began to laugh. The stress she had
been holding onto had kept her tightly wound for days, but for some reason
Chad’s remark tipped her over the edge and she began chuckling in spite of
herself.

“At least he’s honest,” remarked Moira, once her
laughter had stopped.

“Speaking of which,” began Tamara, “what brings you
and your friends to Halam?”

Moira was ready for the question, “We’re hoping to
find the Earl of Berlagen. He knew my father, and I was hoping he might take
us into his service…”

Tamara held up her hand, “Let me stop you there. If
you don’t want to talk about it, don’t, but I’ve been serving people for too
long to listen to tall tales.”

Moira’s mouth was still open, but her mind was working
overtime. She could see an honest concern in the other woman’s face, and her
magesight revealed the truth of it in Tamara’s mind. She decided to take a
chance, “You’re right. What gave me away?”

“I’ve got an ear for lies,” said Tamara. “Besides, I
could see too many holes in your story from the start. These two men aren’t servants
or farmers. The old one bears the calluses and scars of a lifetime with a bow,
and your young gentleman here carries himself like a warrior-born. I’d think
he was a mercenary, but his smooth skin and shy politeness point to a noble
birth. Am I wrong, milady?”

Moira sighed, “I can’t contradict you.”

“So what brings you from Lothion?”

“Is it that obvious?” asked Moira.

“Your accent isn’t that different than that of
southern Gododdin, but I’ve been with men from both countries. I can tell the
difference,” said the auburn haired woman. “Don’t worry, though. I doubt many
around here would notice. Now, back to my question…,” she added.

Moira hesitated, trying to decide how much to share,
“I can’t tell you the whole truth, but I am looking for my father. I think
Berlagen might have information regarding his current whereabouts.”

Tamara’s brows shot up in surprise, “A Lothion
nobleman has gone missing, and you suspect the Earl of foul play? How rare,
how unusual!”

“I didn’t say that exactly…,” minced Moira.

“But that’s the only reasonable conclusion, milady,”
stated Tamara calmly. “I don’t involve myself in politics, so I’m afraid I
won’t be of much use to you. Nor am I sure I should be, since it might be
treason. I don’t think our good King Darogen has done much to create enmity
between our nations, but the Earl is a strange one. Who knows what he might
do, or have done?”

Chad’s eyes were sternly on his mug, but his ears were
at full attention. Gram, by comparison was watching the two women with
unabashed concern. Both of them worried what the outcome might be if their new
acquaintance decided to betray them.

Tamara winked at Gram before speaking to Moira once
again, “Tell your bodyguards to relax. I have no intention of reporting you to
anyone. In fact, I might know someone who would consider helping you.”

Moira nodded, “I wouldn’t expect anything from you
that goes against your conscience. I harbor no ill intentions toward Dunbar.
In the main, I just need help finding the Earl of Berlagen.”

The proprietress smiled, “I believe you. Look over
your shoulder. Do you see the man in the corner over there? The one watching
you?”

Moira tensed, looking furtively across the room.
While most of the patrons were talking quietly amongst themselves again, she
could sense their eyes on her. “I think they’re all watching us,” she replied.

The older woman laughed, “That’s true. We don’t see
many strangers in Dunbar. I mean the dark haired one in the corner, not much
older than you. He’s a nobleman, easy on the eyes.”

Moira spotted him then, before quickly turning her
gaze back to the bar. The man was well dressed and looked to be in his early
twenties, with aquiline features and sharp eyes. “I think I saw the one you
mean.”

“That’s the Baron Ingerhold,” said Tamara. “He’s a
smart young man, and no friend of Berlagen. He’s also still unmarried, if
you’re looking for a husband.”

Moira turned a deep red, “I had no intention…”

The older woman chuckled, putting a hand on her arm,
“Relax, I was only teasing. He is the most sought after bachelor in the
kingdom, though. Just something to keep in mind.”

“I’m not here to think about such things,” protested
Moira.

“He’s young, and you are beautiful. If you’re looking
for a co-conspirator, then you should be thinking about such things,”
admonished Tamara. “Men are fools once their smaller brain takes over.”

Moira stared at her, but her magesight could plainly
see the amusement in the older woman’s aythar. “Please stop teasing me,” she
said seriously.

Tamara sighed dramatically, “You’re taking all the fun
out of it. At my age I have so few pleasures. Wait here, I’ll speak with him
and bring him over for an introduction.”

She nodded and as soon as the owner had left, Chad
leaned over, “Are you sure this is wise? We just met that woman.”

Gram stayed silent, but his look as he gazed at the
man Tamara was talking to, was one of disapproval.

“I’m not sure of anything else here,” admitted Moira,
“but I get a sense of honesty from our hostess.”

“Ye can’t know that,” argued the hunter.

She noticed that his bow was settled innocuously
against his leg, and while it was unstrung, he had the string over the lower
end and was holding the rest in his hand. She wondered how quickly he could
ready it. It seemed an awkward weapon for a bar, but she knew better than to
underestimate the ranger. “I
do
know it,” she insisted. “Besides, I’m
sure if something goes wrong you’ll be more than ready to murder everyone in
here,” she added sarcastically.