Instinct

Wynter felt her heart quicken with fright as she turned to face the stranger. A man, who stood a little taller than she did, stared back with pale grey eyes rings with red. His nose was swollen with sunburn and his left cheek marked with pox.

She took him in quickly, stepping back at the same time. Taking herself out of his intrusive hold. His fingers tightened on the fabric of her corset, unwilling to let her go. Wynter glanced at his hand then lifted her gaze back to his face.

For a long time, during her childhood she had been someone who trained with weapons and with hand to hand combat. Some part of her had dreamed of joining the King's Guard and maybe even becoming a Knight.

Malachi had been interested in her training, at first. It had been a point of attraction for him, that she could hold her own. Until things had started to change between them. But she had continued her training in Castle Ashton for a while. She’d learnt, quickly, how to size up her opponents.

‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ Wynter twisted out of the man’s hold again. One thing was certain, he wasn’t someone who worked for Malachi. None of his men would have dared to lay a hand upon her. Not if he wanted to keep his hand.

He reached for her again and she sidestepped, twisting away as though they were dancing. He had a crooked smile, missing one of his canine teeth and he grinned at her. As though he thought she was flirting, not moving away.

‘Cuthbert,’ he grinned and lent back on his heels, letting his hands fall to the thick belt that could barely gird his waist. It reminded her of a ring of iron caught around a barrel. If the belt was removed, then any illusion of his strength would slip away.

Cuthbert? The name flickered through her thoughts and her heart quickened again. She hoped that Gaz was nearby, not because she was afraid. But because she didn’t want to cause trouble for the Innkeeper. Cuthbert was a name she’d already heard that evening.

‘Cuthbert Aldred?’ She questions and he grinned again, moving forward. Reaching for her hand this time. She grimaced, trying to not to snatch her fingers away as he moved in time with the music and lifted the backs of her knuckles to kiss.

A shiver ran through her body. Not of desire, but revulsion. Funny how the two were so closely linked, she thought. She had a dry mouth and her limbs felt weaker. Her heart was racing and her breath was shallow. Not from wanting to be near the man. The opposite.

‘I’m not sure that we’ve met before?’ He lifted a brow, ‘I’m sure I’d remember a beauty such as yourself.’

‘You’re too kind,’ Wynter pulled her fingers free from his grip. Not rude, but firm. ‘I heard that you often visit the tavern during the dances.’

‘For the girls,’ he winked and moved to step forward again. Wynter glanced quickly around her, realising that she was slowly backing away from the dancefloor, towards the shadows. The bar had grown emptier during the last song, most of the patrons slipping away into the night. She frowned.

‘I didn’t think that this was…’ she glanced across at the bar. Where Gaz stood yelling at the youth, Fletcher, felt a world away. ‘I didn’t think this was that kind of tavern,’ Wyter challenged. She understood why Lore thought Cuthbert was unforgettable. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made her uneasy. She was learning to trust her instincts again.

‘What kind of tavern is that?’ He tilted his head to one side. He ran his tongue over his top lip, ‘you can say it pretty, you can admit to your profession.’

‘I’m a hunter,’ Wynter replied, firm once more as she held her ground. She set her shoulders back, her pale grey eyes flicking over his face. He had been drinking. She could smell it on his breath and almost feel it oozing out of his pores. ‘Hunting is my profession.’

He closed the distance quickly then, catching her off guard with his sudden swiftness. To dodge as he lunged, she stepped back. Her shoulders hit the tavern wall and his breath rebounded off of her face.

He gripped her shoulder, pinning it to the wall. She grimaced, choking on the stench of him. Now that he was close enough to touch, she could smell days of unwashed sweat clinging to his skin. It was a bitter, dry smell and threatened to make her gag. Her face turned away as she tried to inhale.

‘You caught me,’ he whispered in his seductive, hopeful tone, ‘you can claim your prize, pretty. I’ll pay you even more than the girl they had before,’ he spoke against her cheek and shifted to press his body against her.

No more. Wynter shifted then, taking hold of the hand upon her shoulder. She gripped it tightly and ducked under his arm. Keeping hold of his hand she twisted, as though dancing. His arm was looped up, pulled back against the socket and he shouted as it wrenched. He fought, but the force of his own arm being used against him was enough to propel him into the wall.

He hit the wooden panels with his forehead, bouncing back as she released him and stepped back and back again. Now his back was against the wall as he snarled, turning to face her. A thin line of blood running down the centre of his forehead.

‘I’m not a penny harlot, nor any other kind of whore,’ Wynter told him, voice stern. She was nervous, but she wasn’t afraid of Cuthbert. She was balanced between her feet, with the now-empty space of the dance floor behind her. Her hands were pulled into fists as he smeared the blood across his face with the back of his sleeve.

‘How dare you!’ He snapped, ‘you’re not too good for me! Get back here, woman and I’ll make you pay on your knees.’

‘No, Cuthbert Aldred,’ Wynter watched his swaying movements, adjusting her own stance as he growled and drew himself up. Like a bear trying to intimidate. But most people she fought were bigger than her, stronger than her. It didn’t matter, she knew her strengths. ‘

‘’Bert!’ It was Gaz’s voice that sounded like thunder beside her and she shifted, giving enough space for the Tavern Keeper to step into the drunkard's swaying vision. ‘You’ve scared Tisha away, we’re not a brothel. You can’t proposition, or force yourself on every woman who sets foot in a tavern!’

‘Then what are they doing here, if they’re not selling their bodies?’ Cuthbert demanded, outraged. There was a cheer from a collection of equally burly looking men, Wynter glanced across at them, inwardly sighing. They were all a little older, a little overweight. All drunk, arms looped around each other.

‘Selling meat!’ Wynter protested.

‘I’ll sell you a sausage,’ one of the older men at the door snickered and she felt herself flush. Exchanging looks with Gaz who simply rolled his eyes.

‘You tell them ‘Bert!’ One shouted and winked at Wynter, ‘she’s only trying to raise her prices.’

‘No,’ Wynter turned back to Cuthbert, ‘I’m telling you no.’

‘You need to leave, Cuthbert,’ Gaz was rolling up his shirt sleeves again, his expression grim as he looked between Guthbert and the portly red-heads cronies at the door.

‘I’m taking her!’ He moved to lunge but Wynter threw a hand out.

‘Wait!’ She met the man’s unsteady gaze, ‘you don’t want to do this…’ she warned him.

‘Oh I do, pretty. I do,’ Cuthbert growled and lunged forward again. He moved to grab her, and although he was strong, Wynter was faster. She was also sober and he missed her. He circled back, trying to grab her again.

Roaring with fury when she was out of reach. He was swearing, lunging wildly and she was never where he thought. He missed her, over and again before finally, he caught hold of her wrist.

She stopped toying with the man, she twisted her body. Using his weight against him she threw him like a doll over her hip. Letting him crash onto the floor before delivering a neat blow to his temple. Leaving the large man snoring on the floorboards. His friends burst out laughing and she straightened, dusting off her hands on her apron.

Fighting to calm her racing heart as she looked up at Gaz, who was staring at her.

‘Good night,’ she nodded, swiftly before turning to collect Shadow from lore who stood at the door, with the same astonished expression. She vanished, fleeing upstairs as quickly as she could. Listening to the raucous laughter as Cuthbert’s friends tried to pick up the unconscious man, to take him home.