Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

L ord Taffington made his unpleasant return three days later, of course, just in time to dash her fragile hopes that maybe Baldric had been wrong. He swaggered into the tavern just after sunset, clearly enjoying the grim hush that fell over the crowd as they realized just who had arrived, looking a prize fool in what seemed to be a brand new wig and a red velvet-lined cape that made him look like a child pretending to be a king. All eyes might have been on him and his stupid outfit, but Amelia’s eyes were drawn quickly to the man standing behind him, doing a damn good job of looking unobtrusive… especially for a man his height.

She knew without a second thought that this had to be Gaunt. Sir Gaunt, if Baldric’s letter was accurate… how a brute like that got a knighthood was anyone’s guess, but she could tell just by looking at him that he was a trained fighter. He had dark brown hair and a nondescript beard, the kind of man in his early forties who’d blend easily into any crowd… if it wasn’t for the scars, of course. He had one or two on his face, more visible on his arms beneath the sleeves of the simple leather armor he wore, and she didn’t doubt that the beard was largely there to hide the true extent of the scarring. His cold gray eyes flicked over to her and rested on her, just for a moment — just long enough to send a chill down her spine as he sized her up.

This was a man who meant business. And as revolting as Lord Taffington was, she knew in her bones which of the two was the greater threat.

Hamish was beside her. She put a comforting hand on his forearm, knowing that he was consciously controlling his breathing from the tension she could see in his jaw when she glanced up at him. Lord Taffington was still lingering in the doorway, clearly enjoying the attention his arrival had drawn, but thanks to where they were standing, he hadn’t spotted either of them yet. His attention was focused on one of the guards Amelia and Hamish had gotten to know better over the last few days, a resident of the village and cousin to Milly who’d taken a particular interest in keeping the locals safe from Taffington. Gareth was squaring up to the man now, his hand almost trembling where it rested by the hilt of his sword.

“You’re not welcome here any longer, Lord Taffington.” His voice boomed loud in the hushed atmosphere of the tavern. “Leave now, and that’ll be an end to it.”

“You know, I don’t think I will,” Taffington said brightly, taking an unctuous little step toward Gareth and lifting one finger to jab him unexpectedly in the middle of the chest. “My money spends as well as anyone else’s. Better, I’d say, given how much I’ve got compared to you miserable wretches. Respect your betters, lad.”

It happened in an instant. Gareth’s face twisted, and Amelia could already see him telegraphing his swing — his left foot shifting on the floor, his hip twisting as he gathered the force he needed for what would no doubt be a prodigious haymaker. It would have done the smirking Taffington a great deal of damage, too — if it had connected, that was. Instead, with a blur of dark leather, Gaunt was suddenly in the way, blocking the blow with one hand and spinning around to drive an effortless elbow directly into Gareth’s unprotected throat. With a dreadful choking sound, the young man doubled over — only to be met by an uppercut from the unfazed Gaunt, which sent bright blood splashing across the floor.

Hamish lunged forward, and for a horrifying second, Amelia was certain he was about to attack the guard. Instead, he called sharply for quiet, his voice cutting right through the uproar that Gareth’s collapse had brought about.

“Peace,” he said sharply, positioning himself between Taffington and the stunned tavern-goers. “There’s no need for anyone else to be harmed tonight.”

“Tell that to your ruffians,” Taffington sneered, gesturing to Gareth, who was still choking and spluttering as he held both hands to his freely bleeding nose. “You all saw him attack me unprovoked. Thank God for my dear sweet guardian, Sir Gaunt. He’ll always keep me safe, isn’t that right, Anthony?”

Gaunt didn’t respond. He was methodically wiping the blood from his knuckles with a stained handkerchief he’d pulled from a pocket somewhere, his gray eyes emotionless. Amelia had seen eyes like that before, usually on the other side of a boxing ring — the eyes of a person who was no longer uncomfortable with any amount of violence. She was grateful, fiercely grateful, that Hamish had managed to keep the situation under control. Gaunt and Taffington might have been outnumbered by the locals in the tavern, but in the event that a fight had broken out, she knew that that man would have done a great deal of damage before superior numbers won out.

She melted into the crowd and away toward the back of the room, mindful to keep out of Taffington’s line of sight wherever she could. Hamish had fetched a few furious-looking guards to help Gareth out of the tavern and down the street to find someone to see to his injuries, but it wasn’t long before he was back and hovering by her side like a vengeful spirit. He kept glancing down at her, then back across the bar to where Taffington had installed himself and was doing his best not to look bothered that every single person in the tavern was ignoring him.

“I think you should go back to the Keep, Amelia,” Hamish said abruptly.

She had a feeling she knew what had prompted this suggestion — Taffington was leering over the bar at one of the barmaids, and it wasn’t hard to see which part of her body he was ogling as she bent to mop up a spill.

“It isn’t safe here.”

“That’s exactly why I need to be here,” she retorted, not moving her eyes from Taffington’s shape. The barmaid had realized he was staring at her and risen to her feet, and though she couldn’t hear what he was saying over the din in the room, she saw the young woman reluctantly approach him, a flagon of ale in her hand. He set a coin down on the bar and she reached for it, but before she could take it, his own chubby, ring-encrusted hand lashed out to grab her by the wrist with a smug little chuckle. Amelia held her breath — and then grinned in triumph as she saw the girl’s wrist twist. Taffington’s high-pitched yelp of pain was audible from even this distance, and then the girl was walking away with the coin as if nothing at all had happened. Taffington was holding his wrist, looking mutinous, and Amelia’s grin spread even more widely across her face when she saw the girl look up to seek her out in the crowd to flash her a quick smile.

“One of your moves, huh?” Hamish was smiling too, though she could see that not much of his worry had left his eyes.

“One of my favorites. Doesn’t leave any marks or do any lasting damage, but it hurts like hell and breaks the grip in a second. He’ll think twice before he pulls that crap again.” She glanced up at him. “See why I can’t leave? I’m not letting some asshole and his hired thug scare me away when I’ve still got things to teach these women.”

“You’ve taught them enough, surely,” he tried to argue — but it was a weak argument, and he clearly knew it. A little disturbed by his determination to see her carried away to safety at the Keep, Amelia took a deep breath before responding, not wanting to snap at him. Then she frowned. The seat Taffington had been occupying at the bar was empty. Was it too much to hope that his brief altercation with the barmaid had been enough to send him home in disgrace?

“Well, well, well,” she heard a revoltingly familiar voice purr, far too close for comfort. “What a coincidence, seeing you here. I knew you were getting my letters.”

“If by ‘getting’ you mean I’ve been using them to light my fires,” she snapped back before she could remind herself to take the high road. “Get away from me, Taffington. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Now, now,” Taffington said impatiently. “The thing about playing hard to get is you need to know when to cut your losses — otherwise, you end up getting hurt. Ask your little friend about that,” he added, leering as he nodded across the bar. She turned to see that he was looking at Milly, who was moving through the crowded tavern with a tray of drinks and her head held high. The girl had showed a surprisingly steely streak when she’d been told Taffington would likely be returning to the tavern, refusing to take any time off work in the interests of avoiding him. Amelia was torn between worry for her — and worry for Taffington, if he tried anything at all with her. Those elbows of hers would be absolutely lethal if she was given the right opportunity to use them.

“That’s enough,” Hamish said firmly, his usually quiet and calming voice shaking with anger. He was squaring up to Taffington, using every bit of the height advantage he had over the man — Taffington might have been heavier set, but Hamish was the taller, and clearly the more seasoned fighter.

But he hadn’t reckoned on Gaunt being there. Before Amelia could blink, she saw the man step with terrifying speed into the fray, shoving Hamish bodily away from the sneering Taffington. But he clearly hadn’t reckoned on Hamish having the turn of speed that he did. With a quick blur of motion, suddenly the tables had turned again — Hamish had moved with the shove, throwing Gaunt off-balance long enough to get a knife to his throat.

“Now, now, boys,” Taffington said nervously. “No need for all that.”

Gaunt looked almost bored as he raised both hands in surrender, as though it was a toy blade that Hamish was holding to his throat.

“I’ll remind you, Taffington, that you’re on thin ice with the Laird,” Hamish said, his voice suddenly calm again. “If you so much as lay a finger on Amelia?—”

But Taffington merely threw back his head and laughed. Hamish watched him with gritted teeth, but Amelia knew a lost cause when she saw one. She reached out to take his elbow, wishing she could tell him how much she sympathized with the futile anger on his face — she wanted to break Taffington’s nose so badly right now, but she knew who’d look like the bad guy if she did. Slowly, reluctantly, Hamish lowered the knife, and Gaunt stepped neatly back to his boss’s side, adjusting his armor as though nothing at all had happened.

“Let’s go,” Hamish suggested to Amelia, turning to give the smirking Taffington a disgusted look. “I don’t like the company here.”