Page 20 of Lady Knight and the Thief

Cypress curled her lip and opened her mouth to retort.

“Don’t answer that,” Torren said, laughing lightly. Then, he released her, pulling a lock of hair through his fingers as they separated. Perhaps if the men in the room thought she was spoken for, they wouldn’t make idiotic decisions when they were deep in their cups.

“We should get some rest,” Cypress said in a tone that brooked no arguments.

“I suppose we should,” Torren agreed, though it was a mistake to leave the main rooms so early. “Go on. I know what room you’re in. I’ll get you if there's trouble.”

“And I’m to trust you won't galavant away in my absence?” Cypress retorted, crossing her arms.

“Lass, we’ve been over this. I can’t get what I need untilyoutell the King the Wylds are awakening. So, unless you’d like to turn around now, so we don’t have to trek across the entire continent?”

Cypress raised her chin. “I won’t abandon my duty.”

“Youcouldjust say you saw one of the Old Ones in Grethnah,” Torren suggested, though he knew better to think she’d accept the subterfuge.

Her face darkened, brows lowering over uncommon eyes.

“Right. Go on. Get cleaned up and get some of that lady-likebeauty restyou lot harp about.”

“Perhapsyoucould use a clean-up and somebeauty rest,Torren. I doubt the brunette wants a dusty vagabond likeyourself,” Cypress retorted as she stood from the table, her half finished Brandlewine in hand.

Torren choked on his drink, amusement flooding him as he watched Cypress ascend the staircase and disappear down the hall. Thankfully, the room doors weren’t visible from the hall and the inhabitants within.

But he wanted to see who would follow Cypress up the stairs.

Torren finished his drink. The wine wouldn’t affect him, no matter if he drank a whole barrel or two. Pixie blood ran rampant through his veins, which made human spirits nothing more than juice.

At some point, a bard struck up a lively tune on a lyre, a pair of flutes trilling away in a lovely melody. It was seemingly a popular tune around these parts, as many in the crowd took up the tune, tapping their feet and pounding their fists on the table in time with the rhythm.

One of the men Torren had been keeping an eye on all evening kept glancing toward the upper balcony leading to the rooms, as he had when Cypress disappeared.

Torren could feel the violence seeping through the man’s pores. The man was as deep in his cups as Torren appeared to be, and like his cohorts, made no attempt to hide their thoughts and chatter about the woman who came screaming in on a horse earlier that day.

It was time to put his plan into motion.

Rising from his chair, Torren stumbled a bit, playing into the character he’d crafted in the hours sitting in the corner of the room. He took the stairs one at a time, accepting the brunette’s help when she rushed over. She ducked under his arm, supporting him up the stairs.

When they duckedjustout of sight, Torren straightened, disengaging from the barmaid.

“Two men are about to come up these stairs to kill me. Go down the back way and stay out of sight, send word for my horses to be readied,” Torren ordered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Thank you for your help.”

Then, Torren pushed the girl away, urging her down the rear stairs. He regretted not being able to give the horses more of a rest without the saddles, but there was nothing to be done now. Then, he bent at the waist and began moaning as if he was going to be sick.

Heavy footsteps coming up the stairs sounded almost on cue, and Torren had to suppress a laugh.

Predictable. So predictable.

They barely waited at all before following him up the stairs. Dorne Towne was a convenient stop on the way to the Wylds, but perhaps Torren had allowed convenience to override his senses for too long when he brought Cypress here.

Two men rounded the corner, and Torren faked a retch with his hand pressed to the wall, his head hung so that his hair hid his face.

“Deal with him, I’ll find the girl,” the shorter of the two men ordered his companion.

Torren didn’t give them the opportunity to separate. He pushed off the wall and swung his fist, using the momentum to throw a knuckle duster to the larger male’s chin.

The man’s head whipped to the side with a distinctcrunch, and then he dropped to the ground–dead as a doornail.

Which only left the smaller of the two males.