Disclaimer : If you came here expecting a shared wife story, keep on moving, this isn't that. It started as an exchange of paragraphs with someone, that eventually led to a longer story then anticipated. As always, if you have feedback fire away.
Once upon a time there was a salty barmaid. Her life was ordinary and dull, much to her dismay. Until one day, a strapping man walked into the bar and changed her life forever. He stepped in from the dark night, his woolen jacket damp from the rain, his cheeks red from the cold fall air. He placed his wet clothes upon a hook and strode over to the bar.
"Good evening lass, have ya got anything to help warm a man's bones on a cold night?" He asked, a mischievous twinkle behind his eye, a warm smile upon his face.
She smiled back, and grabbed a particularly good bottle of scotch whiskey. "This'll do the trick," she said as she poured the amber liquid into a crystal glass.
"I thank ye," he said in reply, taking the glass in hand and downing the whiskey in one smooth gulp. "Aye, that does warm a man." He stated, pushing the glass back towards her. She replied by pouring another drink. He took a deep breath, glad to be back inside after a long day on the road. The air brought with it the scent of a pot of stew simmering on the fire that crackled in the back corner. Before he could ask, she dropped down a bowl in front of him with a chunk of bread torn from a fresh loaf.
"You must have read my mind, it's been dried food and stale bread since I arrived at the port," he said as he brought a spoonful up to his mouth, hunger getting the better of his manners.
"A woman doesn't need to read minds to know the wants of a man. It's usually only one of three things, ye've had the drink, and now you've got food for your belly," she replied as she gave a light chuckle.
"Aye, and whats the third thing then?" He asked between mouthfuls.
"Company of a sort," she said with a knowing smile.
"Ah," he coughed, she sure was direct. Women were usually more demure than this, though he supposed that a barmaid had perhaps seen all kinds of things. He took a quick look around the establishment, now that he wasn't frigid to the bone. The place was more or less empty of patrons.
Small tables and chairs, a piano in the corner, a large hearth with a roaring fire, and stairs that obviously led to some kind of upstairs rooms. *Did this pub have whores* he wondered, or were they gambling rooms above. Lots of places nowadays had their gambling rooms above with a staircase out the back for quick escapes. But then again, those outside escapes could also be used to frequent a whore without first going through the pub.
The thought of whores made him ache. It had been a long time away. Too long at sea with nothing but the horizon, the waves, and the cold. That bitter cold. He shivered.
He took another bite of his stew, at least it was hot.
"My company of late has been less than desirable I admit."
The bell above the door jingled, signaling the last patrons leaving. She came around the bar to the table they left to clear away the glasses and bowls. He watched as she worked, his eyes feasting on the sight of the first real woman he'd seen in a tenday. Sure there had been women at the port, but the ones waiting for sailors would be just as quick to cut a man's throat as they would to bed him.
Her dress covered up most of her body with the exception of her bosom, the cloth cut and shaped in such a way as to accentuate her breasts and the curve of her hips. No doubt many a man had paid above and beyond his bill with the hope of finishing the night in her company. His own mind wandered then, he craved the touch of another, to feel the soft skin of a woman on his fingertips, and the warmth of a shared bed.
It took him a moment too long to realize she'd caught him staring, though she said nothing and returned to the back of the bar with the collected dishes. He gulped down the last of his whisky and set the empty glass down.
"Has this place got rooms to rent?" He asked, wanting to break the silence.
"They're all full tonight I'm afraid. Been a few ships that come into port recently, that storm has everyone stuck on dry land." She replied over her shoulder as she cleaned the dishes from the eveningès patrons.
"Anywhere nearby that might have a place for a lonesome sailor then?"
"Perhaps. How far is home?"
"Too far to get tonight I'm afraid, and no warm welcome waiting either."
"Is that so?" She said absentmindedly. Usually sailors were met at the dock by their wives or even mistresses if they lived in the city. But if his home was in the country, and by the sounds of it no wife waiting, surely this was a sad and lonely man. She could think of a few rooms for rent, but not in the nicest of places. Penny a night for a cot type of rooms, crammed to the breaking point with bodies. Or if you were really out of luck, which some men would be after coming ashore during a storm, a ha'penny for a hangover would have to suffice.
She looked at the man, strong in stature, tall men usually didn't make good sailors, they didn't fit in the bunks below deck. Perhaps he was a captain and could be assured a full length bed in proper quarters.
He looked as though he had been at sea for at least a couple weeks. On the King's commission perhaps. It was hard to say for sure.
His shirt was weathered and collar was askew, no medals adorned his jacket, but that didn't mean much. The coat hanging by the door was of good wool quality, she could tell even from this distance. But it too held the appearance of being well worn.
She looked back at the man finishing the last bites of the stew and bread. His belly satisfied, he smiled. A lovely smile that made his sea green eyes sparkle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, a childlike gesture made all the different by the strong hand. No ring, she noticed. He looked up at her, their eyes meeting. God his eyes were lovely.
"I suppose you'll be wanting to close up here, if you could point me in the direction of a room I'd be grateful."
"Oh, yes. Well there's Adams place just up the street, and in the other direction is Arthur's"
"Right. Thanks for the warmth" he said standing.
He tossed his coat over his broad shoulders and made for the door. She noticed how his britches clung to his muscular legs as he walked. She felt an urge to tell him to stay, she wanted to call out to him, but then he was gone. Out the door and into the cold night.
---
Damn this rain he thought. He turned right and walked towards the next building that looked like it may have rooms for the night. He knocked loudly on the door, everything was shut up for the night as it was well past midnight. An older gentleman came to the door and through a crack said "no rooms!" Before turning away again.
Damn damn. He glanced up and down the street, no lights on in any of the buildings, save for one. The one he had just left.
He walked back towards the pub with the light. As he neared the entrance, he noticed the place sounded lively again, though he was entirely sure he had been the last to leave. With each step however, in spite of the rain and the wind howling about, he realized it was not the sounds of merry men, but that of commotion.
He quickened his step, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pulled open the heavy oak door.
Across the room, he saw one man behind the bar, the bar maid trapped between him and the wall. From the back came another with a small leather pouch, neither of which looked overly friendly, and a good bit rougher looking than a typical paying customer.
"Pubs closed" scowled the man behind the bar, a look of malice in his eyes.
"No need to shout" replied the sailor. "Forgot my coin purse when I left is all, can't blame a man for wanting to collect his belongings."
"Ain't no such bag what I see'd, and we're closed, so best be moving along now." Growled the man. He stood a touch over six feet, and his posture changed to an aggressive one as he grabbed a knife from behind the bar and pointed to the door with it.
The sailor looked to the barmaid, her body was calm, but the look on her eyes was that of fear in it's purest. This wasn't his problem, but he had a feeling it was about to be if he didn't leave.
"I'll just have a quick look, won't be but a moment." he said, starting to cross the room, his hands up in front of him to show he carried no weapon.
The man who had emerged from the back, a hand or so shorter than his companion moved towards him though, fists clenched. As the gap closed, he moved to strike first. As his arm extended, the punch aimed for the sailor's jaw. However it caught nothing but air as the man sidestepped. The thug felt one hand clasp on his wrist as another grabbed the back of his neck and used his own momentum to carry him forward, and then down, face first into a table.
