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If Deirdre Cousland’s parents knew she was in a tavern, why, they might laugh or throttle her. She holds her cloak’s hood close to her face and finds an empty seat at a more shadowy part of Highever’s Green Spear tavern. The tavern is busy, full almost to bursting with patrons that have largely come to the city for the tourney being held in honour of her brother’s wedding. Many of the patrons are Antivan like Fergus’ bride, Oriana. Their accents and language fill the room like a new song she has never heard before.
A barmaid swaggers over to Deirdre, her dress showing angles that Deirdre would never be permitted to reveal in public. With a wavering voice, Deirdre orders herself a mug of beer and watches as the barmaid turns to collect the drink for her. Patrons jeer and tease the maid. The sight of it makes Deirdre shy. Such chaos is new to her and she is loath to be the object of attention.
“There you are,” says a voice from behind her, causing Deirde to nearly jump from her boots.
Turning in the direction of the voice, Deirdre is faced with the smiling face of Ser Roderick Gilmore. His red hair is disheveled, not like how groomed and oiled it is when in the service of her parents. He wears a simple tunic and hose with only his sword as a symbol of his knighthood. She finds herself staring at his broad chest and muscular arms. Usually he is hidden behind layers of metal and leather, so seeing his body as it truly is feels like unwrapping a present. At least he looks as delicious as a gift.
“Ah, yes. Here I am,” she says with a shy smile.
“May I sit with you?”
Deirdre nods and watches as Gilmore sits himself on the bench next to her. His thigh briefly touches hers before he catches it and moves his leg away. For a moment, she craves the return of his touch. What is she thinking? A blush heats her cheeks and she looks away from him. It isn’t proper to feel this way for one of her father’s knights.
“Your mother sent me looking for you. She wanted to know what you were up to. Shall I tell her I found you in here?”
“I would rather you didn’t.”
The barmaid returns and sets down the mug with a thump, sloshing the beer within unceremoniously. Gilmore orders his own drink. Deirdre moves to take a sip of her own drink. It is warm and slightly smoky, much harsher than the vintages served in the Cousland household. She wrinkles her nose at the taste, but decides to keep drinking. It is a lesson in the lives lived outside of the walls of her home.
“Your secret is safe with me, my lady,” Gilmore says, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table. “Your brother has snuck out many times. Why should I ruin for you what he has enjoyed?”
His lips look exceptionally soft in the low light of the tavern. His eyes, a gorgeous shade of green. Her heart beats slightly faster while she looks at him. Deirdre has been attracted to him for over a year now, all yearning and stolen glances. Being alone with him like this is almost too much excitement for her. She folds her hands in her lap and tries to ignore the hunger for him burning in her gut.
“You must be excited for the wedding, hm? Lavish feast and all that,” Gilmore says as his own drink arrives. He finishes his thought and then takes a drink of his beer.
“I’m happy for Fergus, truly. I just… hm.. I wonder when it will be my turn.”
“Your turn? Is there someone you have your eye on?”
Deirdre blushes and says, “You could say that…”
Gilmore smiles politely and turns back to his drink. She watches the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows; admires the certainty to his movements as he lifts up his mug. Does he have a lover? She has never seen him spend any especial time with anyone. The man was always serious about his role as a knight of Highever.
“Do… Do you have someone waiting back home for you?” Deirdre asks, suddenly feeling bold.
Gilmore shakes his head and says, “If circumstances were different, there might be, but I find my obligation to your father keeps me busy.”
“May I try something then?”
He raises an eyebrow and she sets down her mug. With the boldness running through her veins like fire, Deirdre catches his face in both hands and pulls him close for a kiss. His lips are soft and pliant. For a moment, there is hesitation and then Gilmore reciprocates, pressing himself close to her. His tongue parts her lips gently and a thrill runs down her spine like lightning as she tastes him. They cling to each other for a moment and it is like the sounds of the tavern around them blurs into a din.
Pulling away, Gilmore asks, “Am I… the one you have your eye on?”
Deirdre smiles and nods, “It has only ever been you, silly goose.”