THE TATTOOED WOMAN - Chapter 2 (Rewrite version 1)
This is a complete rewrite of Chapter 2.
All the very best to those following this story. Apologies for the delay in submitting. I hope you guys are doing well.
Once again thanks go to Avicia (and others) for editing and other input. Their help has provided me with a whole lot of inspiration.
The Tattooed Woman Volume 1 - Chapter 2: A Night at the Inn
Ashunara cursed as she poked at the fire. Outside, the storm raged on, and she could hear the wind battering at the Inn's walls and tugging at the shutters fixed over the windows. Thankfully, those shutters were of good, heavy timber, securely latched, and well-suited to resisting the elements. Iron nails, made from metal shaved from old horseshoes and crafted in a proper forge dedicated to the Gods of the craft, had been used in their construction. They had been consecrated with an offering of blood given in tribute by the smith, and so, the sprites and zephyrs that howled about were confounded, as they could find no purchase to tug at them and so were left outside in the dark, shrieking their frustration at being barred entry. Above the Inn, the thunder that had shaken the heavens was moving off towards the mountains and subsided to a low and distant rumbling, like the echoes from some giant's battlefield.
The dark elf listened to the keening and shivered. She hated being cold.
After checking on the captives and seeing the sentries' disposition, she had taken the innkeeper's room for her own that night. It was large enough, with a good-sized bed that had a properly stuffed mattress and blankets that didn't reek and looked to be at least moderately clean. The chamber also had a decent fireplace and hearth that would be sufficient for a warming fire. But the wood laid aside for such a purpose had not been allowed to dry properly, and the faggots were still mostly green. There was ample peat on hand, but it was easier to get a blaze going with wood before adding such slow-burning fuel.
She had lit the lamp with a flicker of witchflame and could have created a magical blaze in the range easily enough, but the truth of it was that while witchfire provided decent illumination and was wondrous effective at fearing and driving off wild beasts and many of the hoons and apparitions that haunted the night, it didn't provide much in the way of actual warmth. So, unless she fancied freezing her tits off as she huddled in the bed, a more corporeal flame was required, and of course, the fucking wood was damp.
Grumbling under her breath, she found herself on hands and knees, blowing the embers to life, when the chamber door opened, and the blacksmith was unceremoniously shoved inside. Her ears easily heard the drunken giggling of a couple of her comrades, probably Tallis and Varoona, as the door was pulled closed behind him and their light but unsteady footfalls on the boards outside as they hurriedly bumbled off.
Looking across at the hulking man standing there, she shook her head and blew out an exasperated breath as she muttered, "Shite."
The man looked about the room and then back to the lithe form of the strange creature before him, eyeing her as she nimbly rose to her feet. Her movements were graceful and strangely predatory, which, given the havoc the wench had already wreaked on the settlement, was hardly surprising. Her eyes were dark, and he wasn't sure if her aquiline features reminded him more of a bird of prey, wolf, or a hunting cat. Either way, her unblinking gaze was unnerving, and he heard himself swallow.
A narrow brow raised, and her lips curled in a wry smile at his reaction, and he drew a breath, steeling himself for the torments that were to come.
Moving closer, the dark elf eyed the leather cords that bound his wrists and tilted her head up to regard the man's features. He had a swarthy look about him, not handsome as such, but not ugly either, and she could see from his eyes he had a strong will that was far from broken. There was a cut to his lip and bruising under one eye, doubtless injuries left over from the fight downstairs, but he had not fared so badly, which, given how hard he had struggled, spoke well of his hardiness.
She grinned, "Well, well, what have we here?"
The blacksmith sniffed but stayed stubbornly silent.
Ashunara regarded the man, taking in the impressive breadth of his shoulders and the size of his hands. He wasn't particularly tall for a human, but his arms looked thicker than her waist. He smelled of iron and leather, and his thunderous brows gave him a brooding, dangerous look that, under different circumstances, she might have found rather fetching. His dark hair was unkempt, and there was a feral mien about him. Like some wild creature doing its very best to play at being civilised. She grinned; it was a look she knew well. In truth, standing there, he looked not unlike a bear and strong enough to snap her in two if he had a mind. Chuckling at the thought, she drew her dagger and moved the blade towards his bindings.
His voice came out a deep growl, "Are you no feart that I'll hurt ye?"
The blade paused as she looked into his eyes, "Will you?"
His reply was a half-heard mumble as he looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze.
Elf ears are keen enough, but she raised an arched brow and asked anyway, "I didn't hear you."
"I said no! Damn you," he sniffed, "I'd no hit a lass."
Her grin widened as her appraisal of him was proved true, and she cut him free, "Not even a witch like me?"
"My da said that a man who needed to lift his hands to a wench wasn't much of a man."
Her teeth flashed as she smiled, "I'd lay odds you're sorely tempted, though."
His embarrassed, rumbling growl was all the answer she needed, "Well, I can hardly blame you, to be fair."
Rubbing his wrists, he looked down at her, and his eyes narrowed, "What now, woman? Am I to be your sport for the night?"
The laughter of the dark elf surprised him. He half expected it to sound somehow wicked and cruel, malicious for sure, and certainly not strangely musical and full of genuine mirth. Though the glitter in those Fae eyes was mischievous enough for a whole skulk of foxes, "Woman, is it?"
Turning, she pointed her poignard at the fireplace, "Now, Master Smith, you light yon fire in the hearth there, for I mislike the chill in the air. Do that for me, and I'll consider leaving your virtue well alone," she smiled, "for now."
Grunting, the man lumbered forward to crouch over the fireplace, and moments later, his bearded face was lit by the orange glow of flame. Feeding the fire a few more sticks, he paused momentarily for it to catch hold properly before expertly laying in a few bricks of peat. Leaning back, he grinned, and the fire glinted in his deep brown eyes.
Ashunara moved closer, enjoying the warmth, "It seems the fire spirits prefer your company to mine."
He grunted, "I'm a smith."
"Fair enough."
Moving back onto his haunches, he looked at her, "What now?"
The dark elf rolled her eyes. "Now, nothing. My subordinate is an intemperate sot with a singular wit. I'd lay odds this is her idea of a jest. It used to be the custom that after a skirmish, a Captain would have her pickings of the spoils. I have no doubt that at her instigation, our antics are the subject of bets and wagers aplenty among my sisters down in the common room."
His brows furrowed as he considered, "They would embarrass you so?"
"Ach, it's a jape, nothing more. Either I jump your bones and have my way with you, or I don't. There's no harm meant by it."
"Says you."
