“Doona ye think it will offend them?”
Adwen shook his head, not worried in the slightest about what anyone thought of his disdain for castle walls. “’Twill offend them much less than it did everyone else we’ve encountered. They know me well and willna think it odd. I just canna stand to lie beneath them, no unless I have to; and even then, ’tis something I dread most mightily.”
The weight of Orick’s palm slapping him on the back jolted him forward on his horse. “Ye sound like a wee babe. Ye are far more fortunate than most yet all ye do is pity yerself. And I doona wish to camp out of doors tonight, Adwen. ’Tis too cold; I wish to keep my toes.”
The wind blew swiftly through the line of trees they passed, causing Adwen to pull his coat more tightly around him. Perhaps Orick was right. Tonight, with the wind blowing so fiercely and the air so frigid, sleeping outside might, for once, be more miserable than sleeping within castle walls.
“Aye, I’m fond of my own toes as well.” They found the village to be surprisingly empty, its main street vacant even though the last remnants of sunshine still shone on the horizon. All shops were closed, all villagers either gone or tucked inside their homes. “Where do ye think they’ve all disappeared to?”
Orick pointed behind them, and Adwen twisted his head to look. “Do ye no remember the tent we passed earlier? I doona know what lies there, but I’d wager that’s where ye will find most of the townspeople.”
Adwen paid vague attention to Orick’s words as he caught sight of the one building on the edge of the village still illuminated with candlelight. One large window to the right side of the inn’s entrance framed the lass that stood inside. Her brow covered in flour, her hands squeezed out a rag over a basin as she swayed her hips, dancing with only herself. Her lips moved and he could tell she sang to herself, believing no one was around to witness.
“Orick, we shall stay indoors tonight, but no at the castle. There,” he pointed in the direction of the candlelight, “at the inn.”
He pulled on his horse’s reins and waited for Orick to pull up beside him. He watched as Orick leaned forward to peer inside the window, waiting expectantly for his friend’s response.
“Ach, yer manhood is the only thing that directs ye in every decision. For once, why doona ye try to think with yer brain? If we are going to sleep inside, why no at the castle where ’tis free of charge and no doubt cleaner than an inn intended for weary travelers?”
Adwen smiled, thoroughly entertained and confused by the beautiful, strange blonde in the window. She’d released the rag held in her hands and now grabbed onto the end of a broom, holding the wooden end up to her mouth as her lip and hip movements grew more free and wild. He laughed as he jerked his head in her direction.
“Ye can see well enough why we will stay here rather than the castle. Do ye have any idea just what she might be doing?”
Orick shook his head, not sharing his smile. Instead, Orick’s brows pulled up high as his eyes widened in shock. “I havena any idea, but it doesna look verra decent at all.”
“Exactly, Orick. She will be the one I spend my last night of freedom with, and she will be the perfect lass to help me win the wager.”
“Ye disgust me, man. Truly, ye do. Just what do ye mean, ‘wager’?”
Orick grunted and kicked in his heels to spur on his horse, giving Adwen no choice but to do the same.
“Could ye no tell? Dinna ye notice that I chose a different lass in each territory to bed?”
“O’course, I dinna notice. Ye behave as if ’tis unusual for ye.”
Adwen laughed, realizing that without knowledge of the wager, it probably was hard to notice anything different about his behavior. But it was different—very different.
“’Twas Griffith’s idea. What a foolish lad he is, so young and ignorant to doubt for a moment that ’twould no be as simple as asking me to recite my own name. I almost expected him to arrange payment to a lass who would deny me, but he is no clever enough.”
Adwen patted his horse as they rode steadily toward the castle. After seeing what awaited him in the village, he found himself no longer anticipating dinner with old friends quite as much.
“So, he made ye a wager that ye couldna find a lass to bed ye at each of our stops? That hardly seems a wager worth anything. What are ye wagering?”
“Five years.” Five years would still be torturous, but just knowing that he need only bed one more lass before having his responsibilities of laird reduced by such a drastic measure made the prospect so much more bearable.
“Five years? I doona ken what ye mean, lad.”