Redheart (Leland Dragon Series) (5 page)

Chapter Eight

Riza awoke to a slap of wetness against her cheek. Drowsy, she swiped the back of her hand across it. She groaned and tried to settle again. Her brain felt like a fuzzy blanket, and she wasn’t ready to get up yet. But she did wonder what time it was. She opened her eyes to see another drop of morning dew slip through a crack in the barn roof and splatter against her cheek. Remembering where she was, she sat up quickly.

Too quickly. Her back and hips wrenched. Her legs felt heavy as timber logs, and her feet were swollen inside her worn boots. Would she ever feel like herself again?

She didn’t have time, though, to feel sorry for herself. She could do that later. Right now, she had to pull herself together for another day of walking. She had to find some food and a job, and a better place to sleep than this rickety barn. It was time to put her plan into motion. As soon as she came up with one, anyway.

She hauled her weary self up out of the straw. Her joints didn’t want to bend, and she wasn’t even sure she was standing yet. Then she hobbled one tiny step forward. She had to grasp the low wall of a horse stall to keep from falling. She took a deep breath, blinked to wash the sleepy haze from her eyes, and tried again.

She considered it a small victory when she reached the barn door. It was already ajar, so she peeked out. The morning sky was thick with warning, and the wind whistled around her ears. Wonderful. Now a storm was coming, on top of everything else.

“Sleep well?” called a man’s voice.

Riza’s eyes darted to the man who sat on the bottom step of the farmhouse. The blade of his sword was stabbed into the ground between his boots, and his arms were crossed over the handle. His black beard was close-trimmed, making his hard features seem even darker. Staring at his eyes, her stomach clenched as though a clay brick had suddenly formed there. She was as afraid of him in the daylight as she’d been last night in the barn.

The man stood and took several steps toward her. “You’ve had some trouble.”

She must be a mess to look at. She combed fingers through her hair, and smoothed the front of her bodice, but from the way his eyebrows quirked while he watched her, she guessed it didn’t do much good.

“Someone in town got rough with you?” he asked.

“No. I haven’t been to town yet,” she said around her Adam’s apple that got wedged too high in her throat.

His brows shot up. He moved a step closer. “Then you’ve come from the trees? The mountains?”

“Yes. Just now. Or, I mean, last night. But traveling before that. I mean—” Her own words weren’t making sense even to her. She pressed her hand to her throbbing temple. “I’m sorry about the barn. I promise I’ll pay you a night’s rent as soon as I find work.” She bowed her head, hoping this man would just politely let her be on her way. She moved to slip past him.

“What kind of work?” He swung out his sword, and the flat of the blade pressed against her belly. “I’ve been in this town only a few days, myself, but I know that employment is a rare find.”

Riza backed up, guarded. His speech was refined, but his mannerisms were just short of rude. If he’d planned on harming her, though, he’d had plenty of opportunity already. She couldn’t figure him out. So she answered. “I’m willing to try anything. I’m…” She paused. “…eager.”

“You’re over-thin. Young, I’d wager.” His lips pursed, and he slid his sword into its sheath against his hip. Then he crossed his arms, his dark eyes scrutinizing. “You might do well, though, in a job available at the Brown Barrel.”

“The Brown Barrel?”

He nodded. “Local tavern. Just down the road. I’ll take you there.” He turned, and began his way toward town.

“Now just a minute! When I said I’d do anything, I didn’t mean that!” Her own town had a tavern, and she knew about those girls that entertained men there. No one was supposed to talk about it out loud, but it got talked about, just the same. She forgot the stiffness in her arms as she pressed both fists on her hips. “What do you take me for, Mister? I’m not a tavern girl!”

The man swung around on his heel, and glared. His eyes flashed. Then his face slowly shifted into an awkward smile. So awkward, in fact, that Riza wasn’t sure if he might suddenly laugh, or possibly vomit. Neither happened. He bowed at the waist, and opened his arms. “Begging the lady’s pardon,” he crooned obnoxiously. “The job opening is for a cook.” He straightened again, and met her eyes.

Heat flushed over Riza’s face. “Oh.” She brushed an imaginary hair from her cheek. “Well, then. I appreciate your mentioning.” She raised her chin, lifted her bedraggled skirt away from her mud-encrusted shoes, and prepared to follow him with all the attempted grace of a princess tiptoeing across a red carpet. All the while, she hoped a cliff would suddenly present itself so she could jump off of it.

Still holding that strange smile of uncomfortable amusement on his face, he took her hand. “I am Jastin Armitage, my indignant lady.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist.

Riza was too shocked to snatch back her hand. “I’m Riza. Riza Diantus.” His mouth lingered there on her skin, and she was appalled at the flutter down her spine. Then, his nose traveled another inch up her forearm. Was he sniffing her? She almost giggled out loud, but cleared her throat instead. She tugged her arm.

He didn’t let go. Alarm prickled her neck just as a gust of dry wind threw dust into her eyes. She coughed, and blinked, and felt him release her hand. But he was suddenly closer, and he wrapped his thick fingers around her elbow. “Let’s go, Riza Diantus,” he said quietly. She couldn’t decide if this shift in his voice made him seem friendlier, or more dangerous.

“Why are you doing this?” Riza asked the dark man as he dragged her through the village streets. There weren’t many people around, maybe because of the brewing storm, but those who were stared hard at her. Most looks were downright hostile. She felt like a beggar.

“Why am I doing what?” he asked without looking at her. His eyes were focused ahead of them.

“Helping me.” She watched his tight profile as she stumbled along to keep up. Deep creases surrounded his eyes, and frown lines curved around his mouth as though his face was used to scowling. Dust clung to his face everywhere, even the bottom edge of his dark beard. A thought struck her. “How long were you waiting on that step this morning? Were you waiting for me to wake up?”

“Here is the place.” He tugged her through rugged doors and guided her toward the long, curving bar inside the Brown Barrel Tavern. “Sit here and don’t speak.”

“But I—”

He pressed a gloved finger to her mouth. “Do not speak. I’ll be back shortly.” He moved away.

The room was larger than any she’d been in before. The smoke from wall lanterns hazed the meager sunlight squeezing through high, tiny windows. She could barely make out the shapes of chairs and tables in the gloom. The stench of ale and sweaty male bodies made her breathe shallow so she wouldn’t gag. It wasn’t so different from the dragon’s cave, really.

Her dark helper returned with another man. This man’s bulbous nose was too large for his face. Deep pockmarks scarred his cheeks. His coppery eyebrows perched like woolly caterpillars over dark and tiny eyes. Riza shrank back.

“This is she,” the dark man said. His finger rubbed at her cheek, too hard, to clear away some dust. “She’s not much to look at, but a hot bath will scrape off the dirt, and her bruises will heal.”

Riza stiffened. She wasn’t a farm animal! Talking about her like she wasn’t even there! She opened her mouth to protest, but his instant glare made her slap it shut again.

“Aye…but can she cook?” asked the new man. His face loomed closer, and his breath smelled of hot peppers. “Looks like she hasn’t had a decent meal herself in weeks! I dun trust a skinny cook!”

“She can cook. Give her a day. If you do not want to continue her employment, no harm done.”

“Aye, very well, Mr. Armitage,” the new man said, nodding. He wrung his hands against his stained apron. “She can have a bath, but I’ll take it out of her day’s wages. It’s in the back.” He jerked his head. Then his fearsome look dissolved into the soft grin of a rumpled rag doll. “Rusic Landel, I am. Most call me Rust. I own the place, and if ye do right by me, I’ll take good care of ye.” His face scrunched into a long wink, and he lumbered away.

The dark man yanked her from the barstool to her feet. “Move.”

“Stop hurting me.” She glanced toward Rusic, whose back was turned as he wiped down the bar.

“Now you have employment. While you’re bathing I’ll get you some new clothes. Don’t make me sorry for what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything you’re doing, so if you’re sorry, don’t blame me.” Again came his glare, and again she withered. “But I am grateful, sir.”

“Jastin.” He released her arm as they reached the back of the room.

Before them was a curling staircase that led to inn rooms above. Set in the space beneath the stairs was a miniscule room with only a curtain for a door. Inside this, a half-barrel bathtub squatted in a corner.

“I’m taking a bath in there?” she asked, her hand holding aside the curtain. “I can’t even see in there.”

Jastin clenched his jaw, and leaned into the crawlspace to pull out a beeswax candle from a small table. “Light this. Then light that.” He pointed at a large hole in the dirt floor that contained firewood covered with fist-sized rocks. “Heat the rocks, put the rocks in the water. I’ll be back.”

Riza spun to face him. “You’re leaving right now?”

Jastin closed his eyes, and his thick fingers circled against his temples. He released a long sigh. “You need clothes. I’ll get them and bring them back.”

“But there’s no door. Anybody could just walk in!” Never mind that there were only a few men seated at the scattering of tables just beyond, most of whom were hung over and sprawled across those tables with their cheeks in puddles of their own drool. Her dark helper hadn’t done much this morning to make her feel safe around him, but without him there she felt positively vulnerable.

He opened his eyes and narrowed them on her face. “Nobody is interested in looking in on a skinny beggar girl.”

Her cheeks filled with stinging redness. The bruises on her face ached with the sudden rush of blood, and she touched her fingertips to them. Then she turned away. She couldn’t decide whether his comment did more to offend her, or hurt her feelings. “I’m not taking a bath in a place with no door,” she finally said.

His voice was softer when he replied. “Very well. You start the fire, and when I return, I’ll post myself as guard outside the curtain. All right?”

She nodded without looking at him. When she heard his heavy boot steps move away, she turned to light the beeswax candle in the flame of a wall torch. Then she carried it carefully to the fire pit in the floor, and patiently waited for the wood to accept the flame.

Who was this man, anyway? The woman last night called him Mr. Armitage. Jastin Armitage. Why was he waiting for her outside the barn this morning, and why was he helping her? He obviously had nothing but contempt for her. Whether it was because he thought she was a beggar, or simply because she was a woman, she didn’t know. And she disliked him right back. So why was she accepting his help? Frankly, she could think of no other choice.

She blew an encouraging breath across the flame that was beginning to overtake the firewood. The nagging hunger in her belly fed the nagging doubts in her mind over her decision to leave her father. So far in her journey she had been attacked, nearly eaten by a dragon, and now she was starving and forced to rely on a stranger for help. She’d underestimated how hard it was going to be, and the amount of resolve she was going to need. Maybe it was time to admit she’d been wrong. Not about hating the way her father treated her, but wrong about leaving. Perhaps her father had been right all along. She needed him, she needed their home. And she needed the comfortable, predictable life they’d led, despite how utterly miserable it made her.

She reached for heavy iron tongs beside the fire pit, and used them to retrieve the heated rocks. She carried them, one by one, to the bath water and listened to them sizzle as they sank to the bottom of the barrel.

Not just miserable, she reminded herself! She’d despised that village. Not the people, but the mindset. No one in that entire place gave a thought about what lay beyond the village gate. No one wondered if there were others who might act, and think, and live differently. They settled for the drudgery of rising from the same straw bed they had woken from their entire lives.

Were they content? Some of them, she supposed. It was evident in their happy smiles and cheerful whistling as they went about their daily chores. Her friend, Lilly, was like that. Lilly had married and already had a baby before Riza left, and Lilly’s face shone like a buffed silver tray each time she spoke of her husband. Riza envied her friend sometimes for the bliss she knew from her simple life.

But Riza wanted more than simple. She wasn’t certain what it was she wanted, but she was sure what she didn’t want. If she had to take risks to learn, then that was what she would do. If she needed more resolve, she’d just dig down deep within herself and find some, somewhere. She wasn’t going back. Ever.

It was a long time before she finally heard Jastin’s voice though the curtain. “I have returned.” A wooden chair scraped across the floor and stopped outside the closet.