The innkeeper, Finley, glanced over at Scarlett with a stern expression, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. He walked over, his voice filled with authority. "Scarlett, mind your tongue. We can't have you scaring off our paying customers. Keep your emotions in check."
"Doesn't it bother you that filthy men like Grayson believe they can touch us the servant without permission simply because they're purchasing a drink or two?"
"You know they mean no harm, dear," he countered. "And you know it's all in good fun. They would never go too far. And if they dared to, you know I would intervene."
"Finley-"
"This inn is my business, girl. And I have the right to run it as I see fit," Finley replied, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "You knew the terms when you agreed to work here and reside in the cottage out back."
Her gaze hardened, observing that he purposefully mentioned her living arrangement to remind her of her vulnerable position.
"Your fiery temper is sure to drive away my customers. And without guests, I won't have an inn. And if I don't have an inn, you won't have a roof over your head or food in your belly," Finley stated, his tone tinged with anger.
Scarlett opened her mouth and began to respond, but then thought better of it and remained silent. She acknowledged the truth in Finley's words and felt a sense of gratitude towards him for providing her with shelter and sustenance. She was aware that her temper often got the best of her, causing her to utter harsh words without thinking them through beforehand.
The uncertainty of her position weighed heavily on Scarlett's mind. If Finley were to cast her out, she had no alternative plan or place to go, making it nearly impossible to meet her vow to her family.
Staying at Finley's inn provided her with the basic necessities of food and shelter, as well as the chance to train with Henry. It allowed her to properly prepare for the upcoming fight that awaited her.
"Esme, you must learn to rein in that fiery temper and sharpened tongue," Finley advised, his tone stern. "Your outbursts are frightening away the customers."
She let out a deep, heavy sigh. "I’m sorry, Finley. I'll make an effort to behave more appropriately. But you know, deep down, they actually enjoy it when I get angry."
He let out a loud, abrupt laugh, shaking his head. Scarlett took hold of the mug and placed it carefully on her tray, making her way over to where Grayson was seated. She placed the mug on the table before him with a bit more force than required, and he responded with a lewd grin, his gaze lingering on her revealing cleavage.
"Thank you very much, girl," Grayson said. "Want to earn some extra cash, huh?"
She looked at him with a cold, sharp gaze. "All the money in the world couldn't get me to do what I know you want me to do."
His laughter echoed through the bustling common room, and as Scarlett attempted to free herself from his grasp, he tightened his grip like an unyielding vise. His bloodshot eyes and flushed face indicated his intoxication.
Scarlett met his gaze with a stern expression, her voice firm. "Release me, Grayson. You'll regret it if you don't."
He flashed her a sly smile, his features distorted by the effects of alcohol. "I'm not so sure about that, girl."
"Unless you want to see your own blood staining the tavern floor, I suggest you release me," she warned with a steely gaze. She deliberately shifted her gaze to her other hand, where a glint of steel reflected in the dim light.
Grayson's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his face as he met her determined gaze.
"Well, where did that come from?"
"Somewhere you will never see."
The men at the surrounding tables burst into laughter, and Grayson even joined in, seemingly amused by the situation.
Scarlett gracefully moved away, her wrist aching, but she resisted the urge to massage it. She didn't want Grayson to see any sign of weakness, knowing it would only embolden his inappropriate behavior further.
"Indeed, the girl's got some nerve," Grayson said, making his drinking buddies laugh even more.
Scarlett went back to the bar and looked at Finley. He tried to look serious by furrowing his brows, but a quick smile showed that he was laughing.
"Grayson's question was interesting. Where did you get that dagger from?" he asked.
Scarlett flashed a mischievous smile. "Ah, I've got weapons tucked away in various places. Never know when I might need them. I'm not one to wander about defenseless, you see."
Finley chuckled. ""Just try not to do it all the time, girl. I don't want to scare away my customers."
"As long as they keep their hands to themselves, there won't be any issues," she replied firmly.
"You're certainly keeping things interesting around here," he said, still amused.
As Scarlett moved toward the back of the room, she put the knife back into the sheath on her thigh. Just then, the front door opened. A cold gust of wind blew through the bar, making the men who were huddling around the fire to stay warm grumble.
Her gaze fixated on the figure standing in the doorway, her eyes widening in astonishment. He was a formidable presence, with a broad frame and muscular build concealed by a tightly wrapped cloak. Despite the obscuring garment, Scarlett could sense the strength emanating from him. Yet, it was his chiseled jawline, dark hair, and piercing eyes that captivated her, holding her gaze with an unyielding grip.
Those eyes were familiar to her, a haunting deja vu that stirred a mix of emotions within her. Her grip on the dagger tightened instinctively as she observed the man closing the door behind him and stepping into the bustling common room.
As the stranger made his way through the crowded common room, her heart pounded in her chest. There was an air of anticipation, a tension that seemed to fill the space. Whispers spread like wildfire among the patrons, their hushed voices hinting at the stranger's true identity.