Darkspell - Katharine Kerr [130]
“Jill, this is my son, indeed my only child, alas, alack, and suchlike.” He turned to the lad. “Bocc, this is Jill. I trust there’s no ill will between you?”
“None on my part,” Jill said.
“And none on mine.” Bocc made her a small bow.
Jill considered him carefully. Although he was as lean as his father was fat, she could see the resemblance, particularly in the shape of their tiny eyes and the tilt of their noses. Bocc leaned over and helped himself to a chunk of Ogwern’s chicken.
“Here, Jill,” Bocc said. “Since you’ve been over in Yr Auddglyn—”
“We’ve been discussing that,” Ogwern broke in. “She—”
Someone knocked loud and hard on the door. As the innkeep hurried over, some of the lads moved closer to the windows. The innkeep peered out and shook his head. Everyone relaxed.
“It’s not the wardens, you see,” Ogwern whispered to Jill.
The innkeep stepped back, admitting a tall, broad-shouldered man in plain gray brigga and a sweat-stained shirt, pulled in by a heavy sword belt with an expensive-looking scabbard and sword. The easy, controlled way he moved told her that he knew how to swing his blade, too. When he strode over to Ogwern’s table, Bocc hastily moved out of his way. Jill could understand his reaction. She’d never seen eyes like this blond stranger’s before, ice-blue, utterly cold, utterly driven, as if he’d looked on so many sickening things that there was naught left to him but to see the world with contempt. Hardly thinking, she laid her hand on her sword hilt. When the stranger caught the gesture, he smiled, a thin twitch of his lips.
“Er, good eve,” Ogwern said. “I take it you wish to speak to me?”
“Perhaps. It depends on what this silver dagger has to say.”
His voice was not particularly unpleasant, merely cold and dry, but Jill shivered when he turned to her.
“I don’t believe we’ve met, good sir,” she said.
“We haven’t. But I understand you’re carrying a stolen jewel. I’ll pay you for it in gold.”
Jill was aware of Ogwern watching in amused surprise, as if thinking she’d duped him earlier.
“You’re wrong,” Jill said. “I don’t have any jewels for sale. What do you think I have?”
“An opal. A rather big opal. I know you thieves haggle, but I promise you I’ll pay a good bit more than any midnight jeweler. It’s in that pouch around your neck. Get it out.”
“If I had this opal, I’d sell it to you.” Jill felt another force put words in her mouth. “But the only piece of jewelry I have is a ring brooch.”
The stranger’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. Jill brought out the pouch, opened it, and took out—a ring brooch, just as she’d known would be there, a rather plain brass one, at that, set with glass for want of gems, but strangely light in weight for its size.
“Don’t trifle with me, lass,” the stranger snarled.
“I swear to you, this is the only piece of jewelry I own.”
The stranger leaned onto the table and stared directly into her eyes. His glance pierced her in a way that reminded her of Nevyn, as if he were boring into her very soul.
“Is that truly the only piece of jewelry you own?”
“It is.” She found it very hard to speak. “It’s the only piece I have.”
His eyes seemed to darken, and she felt then that he was trying to go even deeper into her soul. With a wrench of will she broke away, tossing her head and taking up her tankard, ready to heave it at him if he tried tricks on her again. The stranger set his hands on his hips and looked around, honestly baffled.
“Now, what is all this?” Ogwern snapped. “Jill’s telling you the truth.”
“I know that, hog fat! Do you have the stone? Do you know where it is?”
“What stone?” Ogwern laid down his chicken leg and wiped his hands on his shirt. Jill saw the little gleam that meant he’d palmed a dagger. “Now, here, you can’t come blustering into an honest inn like this. Kindly state your business, and we’ll see if we can help you.”
The stranger