“Of course, milord.” She pretended acquiescence to Ira.
“Milord?” the stranger asked.
Tressa bent over the pot, pretending not to hear the man walking closer to her. His boots, heavy on the wood plank floor kicked up the dirt that so badly needed sweeping.
“I’m sure he doesn’t pay you enough to warrant a title like that.” The man stepped closer to her, close enough for Tressa to feel his breath on the back of her neck.
Tressa let her hip slide a little to the side, giving him a better view of what she had to offer. His breathing paused for a moment and she stood up slowly, turning to face him. She held back her loathing for the part she played. “It’s the tips from patrons like yourself that keep me from starving.”
He laughed again. “Silly girl. You’re just like all the others. I had hoped Ira finally hired a smart girl. It appears he’s only interested in a girl who plies the tricks of a whore to make her money.”
Tressa slapped him. His hand flew to his pink cheek, her handprint still visible in white. “You may be right, but you didn’t need to say it out loud like that,” she whispered.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t buy it at all. You’re playing the trollop, and it’s a part you don’t play well. You’re not an actress or a whore. So what are you?”
“None of your business. And I suggest you leave before I hurt you worse than I just did.” Tressa didn’t know anything about fighting. She’d have to continue to bluff her way through the conversation until he left her alone. Maybe he’d never come back to the inn. Another man would be better.
“Is she taking care of you, Leo?” Ira sidled back over to them.
“Yes, brother, she’s a pleasant conversationalist. You chose your new employee well.” He stroked Tressa’s cheek. “Perhaps she can show me her other talents later.”
Tressa bit her lower lip, enduring his touch. So they were brothers. One dazzled by her cleavage, the other fooled by nothing. Leo’s hand left her cheek as soon as Ira turned back to the bar. Strangely, she didn’t feel threatened. Quite the opposite. It almost felt tender, fatherly.
“Who are you and why are you here?” Leo’s freshly shaven head and goatee set him apart from the other men who were quietly making their way downstairs from a rough night of drinking and whoring. Their tousled hair was preceded by the stink of unwashed clothes and sweaty armpits.
“I’m but a maid, looking for employment.” She kept to the ruse. There was no other choice. She’d get him to go away and focus on finding another man who might be able to help her.
“I don’t buy that for a moment. Your hands aren’t rough and there’s no stoop to your back.”
“I’m young and strong,” she countered, still stirring, unsure how long she was supposed to do it. Ira hadn’t given her any directions. If he had, she’d happily be serving the other men instead of getting raked over the coals by his brother.
“There’s something different about you. Your accent is wrong. Your hair is too long. Your attitude is too forthright.” He placed his hands on his hips. “I’ve travelled extensively, yet I cannot place you. Why is that?”
“Maybe because you’re not as smart as you think you are.” Tressa tapped the spoon on the edge of the cauldron. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to my duties.”
Leo clamped a hand around her bicep. “I will be watching you and I’ll figure out why you’re here.” He lowered his voice. “But I must warn you. If you’re new to town, you must be told. Stay away from the soldiers. They’ll take a woman like you and break her mentally and physically. Don’t become one of their slaves, chouchou.”
“Chouchou?”
“Term of endearment.” He shrugged and smiled. “You seem a nice girl.”
Tressa laughed, despite herself. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“True. But sometimes we project more than we realize.”
“I don’t know what you mean, milord.” She shoved past him. All of her plans, so hastily made in the middle of the night came crashing down around her. Avenging Connor, getting close enough to Stacia to kill her, then saving her people.
Now with the morning sun streaming in, waking up her exhausted mind, she wondered if she made a mistake. This was going to be harder than she thought.
“Over here, girl.” Ira called out. She maneuvered around the tables, the men settling in. A few pats on her bottom from errant hands didn’t stop her.
Ira set bowls on the bar. “Take these to the hearth. Fill them up with porridge and take one to each of the men. I’ll divvy up the bread.” He tossed her a towel. “Make sure you use the towel when the bowls are full or you’ll burn your hands.”