“No matter how ferocious,” he added suddenly.
“You are not enjoying the ale, my lord?”
Laronnar started as a shadow blotted out the room and its boisterous patrons. His hand was already on the hilt of his sword when he realized the soft voice was that of the lovely red-haired barmaid. He relaxed, his hand slipping casually back to his thigh. His gaze, heavy lidded and sluggish, raked her from the tip of her head to the leather boots peeking from beneath her tunic.
Kaelay was magnificent. The cloud of red hair, so fiery that it made her pale skin seem as white as the sands at the edge of a bay, framed her face and shoulders. Her ivory tunic molded to the sweet curves of her breasts. The cloth was fastened on her shoulder with a plain wooden brooch, and the soft folds seemed precariously close to coming loose.
From hips to knees, the blood in Laronnar’s veins quickened.
The woman deftly filled his mug. She swiped at the wooden table with a ragged cloth not much cleaner than the dingy floor. “I could not help but overhear. You would prefer to be about on such a wet night as this? I’ve heard that rest is good for the morale of the troops.”
Laronnar mumbled, “It’s good for the pocketbook of your master.” He caught her arm and smiled-a slow, inviting smile that eased the sting of his sarcasm and made no attempt to disguise his interest.
He rubbed his thumb across the smooth, soft flesh of her wrist. She lowered her gaze to his caressing fingers. For a moment, Laronnar imagined he saw annoyance on her flawless face. Then she smiled at him, and his breath caught in his throat.
She bent down. Her lips were close…. “As I was saying, Kaelay”-Dralan’s deep voice cut through the clamor and chatter surrounding them-“I saw at once that the sails of the vessels would give us the cover we needed.”
Kaelay straightened. She glanced back over her shoulder at Dralan, then back to Laronnar, then back at Dralan, trying to make up her mind.
“We were already so low, gliding across the waves, I could taste the sea on my lips.”
Dralan’s smooth voice decided her. With a rueful little smile, she turned away.
Anger simmering, Laronnar allowed her to slip her hand free without a word.
Ignoring the calls for ale, Kaelay worked her way through the crowded tables to where Dralan stood, his back turned, one elegantly booted foot resting on the footrail.
Laronnar fumbled for his mug. He brought it to his mouth and drained it. Droplets of ale ran down his chin and dripped onto his white shirt. “Not this time,” he vowed, rising.
Haylis rose as swiftly, grabbed his arm. “Captain! No! She’s just trying to make you mad. If she had her way, we’d all kill each other. It would save the warriors of Lenat the trouble.”
“I was already mad,” Laronnar growled and strode away before Haylis could stop him. He caught up with Kaelay just as she edged closer to Dralan.
“The wind is quite different over the water . . .” Dralan was saying.
“Here now.” Laronnar grabbed Kaelay’s arm and pulled her toward him. She smelled of spices and malt and smoke. “You don’t want to waste your time listening to his lies!”
Kaelay laughed, loudly enough to draw Dralan’s attention, and tossed her long hair back over her shoulder. “Is it a waste of time to listen to your commander?”
“You’re drunk, Laronnar.” Dralan pushed between the two of them. His knuckles dug into Laronnar’s breastplate. “The lady doesn’t want to waste her time with you.”
The anger he’d been repressing for far too long flared in Laronnar, white-hot and corrosive. He tried to step around Dralan, fingers curled into fists.
Dralan blocked his way with an immaculate boot. He pressed his fist harder against Laronnar’s chest. “I suggest you leave, Captain. I was just telling the ladies and gentlemen about my victory today.”
My victory! Had Dralan thrown lava on Laronnar, he could not have better fueled his anger.
“That was my plan and you know it!” Laronnar’s voice was low, barely controlled. “You said that this time-“