Page 25 of Blood & Claw

Talia cleared her throat, rousing herself. “You shouldn’t go there alone.”

“It’s all right. I carry a blade.”

A pause followed, and then Talia’s gaze dropped to her hands once more. Without realizing it, Ailsa had unfurled her fingers, exposing her nails again.

Jaw clenching, she yanked her hands from the table, dropping them on her lap.

Talia’s gaze lifted to her face, her expression speculative. She then huffed a sigh. “You’re a stubborn one.”

A smile tugged at Ailsa’s mouth. “That’s what Kayla always says.”

“Kayla?”

“Aye.” She halted then, wiping damp palms against her skirts. “She’s the woman I’m going after.” Her smile faded. “And I’m not going home without her.”

A pause followed this declaration.

Eventually, Talia sighed. “And what will you do when you get there?”

Ailsa stiffened. Her host likely thought her foolhardy indeed. “Ask around … see if anyone’s interested in a job.”

“And what if someone is? How will you know they can be trusted?”

Ailsa stilled, warmth rising to her cheeks. In truth, she had no idea how to answer Talia. Once again, she just felt young and foolhardy. “I’ll just trust my gut,” she hedged.

Talia cast her an arch look. “What if it steers you wrong?”

The ale-hall squatted at the end of a dank wynd like a toad—a hump of mottled sods with a dark maw.

Ailsa stood before it, staring down at where steps led underground.

Talia’s directions had brought her here, yet now she hesitated.

Today’s attack had rattled her. She wasn’t ready to go through that again.

She pursed her lips then. Enough. Hesitation won’t get the job done.

Squaring her shoulders, she descended the steps and met a wattle door at the bottom.

She pushed it open and ducked inside.

The reek of unwashed bodies and boiled cabbage hit her first, followed by acrid peat smoke that stung her eyes. Dimness followed, broken only by guttering tallow candles that cast more shadow than light. The ale-hall wasn’t like any other she’d visited. The space was small, carven out of the earth, like a badger’s den, and filled with rough-hewn tables and benches. Shadowy booths lined the dirt walls, where cloaked figures hunched over their drinks.

And unfortunately, every gaze in the place now swiveled toward her.

Heat crawled up Ailsa’s neck as conversations died. A dozen pairs of eyes—maybe more, it was hard to tell in the gloom—observed her with varying degrees of interest. A man at a table nearby smirked, while a group of warriors at a table in the corner simply stared.

They made her fingers itch to draw the knife sheathed in her boot.

She’d had enough of the fuckers in this fort.

“Well, well.” A barrel-chested man eyed her as he slammed down a trencher of greasy-looking mutton in front of a customer. “Lost, are you?”

Ailsa shook her head. “Ale,” she replied curtly.

She moved toward the only free table, near the door, acutely aware of how every stride drew more stares. The room felt suffocating now, the air too thick.

The ale-hall owner grunted before disappearing through a doorway. He then returned with a cup of something dark and frothy and set it down heavily in front of her. “Half an iron penny.”