It was the end of the evening for Cat, of hard work and drudgery. And what a night it had been. There was the regular crowd to contend with; the ones who knew where she hated to be pinched and pinched her there any ways. But there were also many new faces in the tavern as the call to arms for the King drew the mercenaries out.
Cat knew that she was considered common among the townsfolk. It didn't bother her in the least, for only she knew of her past. She wasn't always Cat, the tavern wench, who wouldn't bed every drunken sot who propositioned her. She was once Catherine, loved daughter of a far distant land, ran away to be with her beloved Aaron, only to have him fall on battle grounds, never to give her his name.
She paused as she cleared another table and pulled a tendril of her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. The night had grown cold and the men that hadn't found lodging were still drinking their fill, fighting the cold with warm mead in their bellies. There was a camp set up inside the keep where they would spend the night, wrapped in furs and blankets.
Nessa walked by laughing loudly, her rotund grace barely moving out of the way, balancing two large tankards in each hand. "This will be a fun night of frolic, girlie."
Cat smiled weakly at her friend's innuendo and bent to her task once more. A blast of cold air as the door swung open drew her attention back up.
One more hooded man to add to the rising din of drunkenness. To have their mead and ale was one thing; to drink beyond reason was another. He sat at the tables alone, rather than gathering around the hearth with the others.
She carried the dirty bowls and empty tankards to the bar and barely missed being slapped by Mikael. "Get to work, slut. Stop daydreaming. There's a traveler with a full pouch. See how you can serve him."
Cat sighed and hustled to the newest guest. She stood quietly for a few minutes at his side and then reached out and touched his shoulder. A few of the foreigners visiting this land didn't speak the language and found it easier to point to what they required.
She was taken aback as a jeweled dirk crept out of the cloak and pressed against her ribs, but was slowly retracted. The hood came back to display a deeply lined face of age, his long dark hair stranded with grey pulled back in a silver clasp, but his dark brown eyes still quick. "I apologize pet. You startled me out of my thoughts." His voice was like warm honeyed mead, deep and...
The shivers that ran down her spine were like the ones that she hadn't felt for years..not since Aaron had gone. She smiled pleasantly. "And would you be wanting drink or sup, Sir?"
"Aye, pet, both." He eyes carefully examined her, making her shiver all the more as he seemed to strip her of her tattered and soiled garments in his gaze.
Cat scurried away and gathered up an earthenware bowl, filling it with the thick stew that had been cooking all day and laid a crust of bread on top of it. As she ladled out the steaming mead, she happened to glance up at the stranger to catch his eyes on her. A fine warm blush covered her cheeks as she glanced down to see herself ladle the mead onto her hand instead of in the tankard. With a soft cry of pain, she drew her hand to her mouth sucking softly on the burn and had her ears boxed by Mikael. "Clumsy slut. That will come out of your keep."
She refilled another tankard and gathered up the bowl. She made her way back to the stranger's table and set it in front of him.
The man pulled a spoon from his pouch and started to eat without a word, but as Cat made to move away, his arm came out, hand grasping her wrist and pulled her to sit down. "It's not often that I can enjoy my sup with a sumptuous view," he said between bites.
Cat chuckled softly and propped her head up with her hand, watching the tentative bites as he worked at his meal. She enjoyed the view just as much, trying to garner where he had come from, what his work normally was; just from how rough his hands were, how thick the dust was from his cloak. A slow smile teased at her lips and absently she rubbed at the burn spot on her hand.
"I'm responsible for that you know," He pointed at her with his spoon before sitting upright and reaching for the mead. "Such a scar would torment me in my travels, knowing that I had wilted a lovely blossom with a misstep."
"Not often do I hear prose from a mercenary," Cat chuckled again and then ducked, missing Mikael's slap by mere inches.
"Back to work, wench," Mikael said gruffly.
"I will pay for her company," the man said quietly and returned to his stew without as much as a glance at Mikael.
