The town of Oakhaven was less a charming village and more a sprawl of crooked timber and close-packed taverns, its air thick with the smell of cheap ale, stale sweat, and woodsmoke.
Isla reined Flame to a halt at the edge of the square, her breath coming in ragged puffs. The reckless gallop had been exhilarating, but her silks were now snagged with thorns, the heavy fabric of her inherited riding cloak was speckled with mud, and her carefully styled red hair had escaped its pins, whipping wildly around her face. She looked less like the Duke's treasured second daughter and more like a high-spirited, if slightly ruined, lady's maid.
She dismounted, tying Flame's reins to a weathered hitching post with an impatient yank. The stallion snorted uneasy and unsure of what they were doing in town.
In all honesty Isla wasn't quite sure either. She never did quite think things through when she got herself into a emotional tizzy.
Though galavanting off into the late evening to a bustling border town was unpredictable even for her.
The din of the Crooked Tankard tavern, the nearest establishment, spilled out into the night, promising warmth and an audience.
Isla pushed the tavern door open with a shove, convinced the patrons would recognize her inherent superiority and fall silent.
They did not.
The place was loud, humid, and rough. A dozen pairs of eyes—mostly men's, glazed over their drink—flickered over to her. They didn't see a Duchess's daughter; they saw a woman alone, in slightly muddy fine clothes, wearing a worn cloak, and flashing too much expensive jewelry in a place where such things were rarely seen—and often taken.
A large, greasy man at the nearest table immediately grinned, showing a missing tooth. "Well, look at that! Did a stray bird fly in off the road?" he slurred, pushing his mug toward her. "Come here, little pigeon. Buy a lonely man a drink."
Isla, recoiled as if struck. "How dare you. I am no bar maid! As a matter of fact I demand that I be shown a clean table immediately, and someone fetch me hot cider!"
The men roared with laughter. The greasy man pushed himself up, clearly ready to press his luck. Isla was suddenly paralyzed, realizing that she wasn't quite sure if this was her brightest idea.
"That's an interesting order, my lady" a smooth, low voice cut through the noise.
Standing by the bar, leaning casually against the wood, was a man draped in a dark, heavy traveling cloak, the hood casting his face in shadow. He was tall, lithe, and conveyed a potent sense of controlled danger. His visible black hair was thick and untamed, and as he shifted slightly, the hood slipped, revealing a brief, startling flash of color. His eyes were the deepest, most arresting shade of amethyst Isla had ever seen.
Isla, momentarily distracted from her fear by his striking features, snapped, "And who are you to question my command? Be useful and remove this creature from my presence!"
The man gave a low chuckle, a rich sound that nonetheless held a metallic edge. "In here, my lady, we don't take commands from muddy little girls, even well-dressed ones. And unless your 'creature' is violating the peace, the only one who might be removing him is the barman."
The greasy man took offense at being called a creature and lumbered toward the cloaked stranger.
"Who the hell are you, cloak? You want to be a hero for the little bird?"
The rogue pushed off the bar, his movement fluid and efficient. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even raise his voice. He simply waited. When the aggressor swung a clumsy fist, he sidestepped, letting the momentum carry the man into the counter with a loud thump. Before the man could recover, the hark haired stranger's hand shot out, not striking him, but pulling the man's heavy drinking mug away.
"You're done, friend," he said mildly, placing the mug back on the counter. "You're too drunk to argue with the bar."
The greasy man stumbled, caught off guard, and his two companions rushed forward to help him.
Suddenly, two more men stepped out of the shadows behind the cloaked man. One was a burly giant with a scarred face; the other, lean and quick-looking, had a knowing smirk.
They simply stood, silent, radiating menace. The three drunken thugs immediately backed down, settling for muttered curses.
The man turned back to Isla, the brief flash of violence gone, replaced by an unnervingly calm demeanor. "See, my lady? Problem solved."
Isla was still trembling, a wave of cold fear finally washing away her confidence. But her pride immediately flared up to take its place.
"Well if that was all it took I would have handled that just fine!"
The stranger merely raised one perfectly arched black eyebrow. "Oh, I saw how you handled it. Yelling at the top of your lungs in a place where people would gladly slit your throat for that pendant you're wearing. Very clever, indeed." He tilted his head. "Tell me, princess, what are you even doing in a place like this?"
"I… I want a drink," Isla snapped, clutching her cloak around her.
"A fine goal," he conceded, gesturing to the empty barstool next to him. "Sit. You may call me Alek," he offered,with a polite, if utterly detached, formality. "And I don't care to be ordered around"
Isla hesitated, battling the urge to flee and the overwhelming realization that, for the first time in her life, she had encountered a challenge that had set her nerves on edge.
She wanted to yell, to demand he be arrested, but her body was still humming with fear.
Instead, she dragged the empty stool closer to the bar, her mud-streaked gown scraping the floor. She sat, her eyes narrowed, meeting the sharp gleam of his amethyst gaze.
"Lady Isla Montgomery. And if you don't like to be ordered around," she challenged, her voice low but steadying, "then why did you just risk your neck intervening?"
Alek leaned back, resting his wrist on the counter. "Because a crying, screaming noblewoman is bad for business. You attract unwanted attention, and I find your particular brand of fiery arrogance amusing. Now, what kind of drink does a this little spitfire require"
"Whiskey," Isla declared, her chin lifting. "The strongest they have."
Alek chuckled softly and signaled the barman. "A man's drink for a girl who is very demanding. How oddly amusing Lady Isla."