Raising a Hero

Chapter 7

Inn worker, aka, tavern wench life had its fair share of harassment from the gentry that I had long been expecting. But the first real signs of it didn't stick themselves out until a few days after mine and Gus's sobby make up.

Namely, it came as a hand on my rear.

I swung about reflexively and swung my open palm as hard as I could at the face it was attached too. I got a bit of slobber on my hand from the foul aim. The toothy, greasy grin the man gave me made me think I'd hurt my hand a lot more than I'd hurt him. It was hard to tell if I'd left a mark since his face was already red from alcohol.

"What a cute little squeak you make," he squawled like an excited pig.

I really, really wanted to grab the nearest mug and dump its contents over his head. Just as I was debating on whether the consequences were worth it, or even necessary (couldn't let myself grow a reputation of being easy), our suppertime regular came over and set one of his large, soot lined hands on his shoulder.

"You've had too much to drink, Soren," he said lowly. He shot me a look that said 'go.'

"No I ain't. An ass that fine was beg'n for it."

As I scuttled back behind the bar to fill up on my next order, I just managed to hear, "She's a proper lady, you bastard, not a whore."

Bent over, cleaning tankards in a corner out of sight, was my Gus. His hand was frozen in a mug, however, and his big eyes had grown sharp again.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Just a drunk," I said lightly, urging my hands not to shake as I slipped out two more tankards and set them beneath the barrels of drink, one of mead, the other of ale. They both smelled foul to me. I preferred water.

His mouth turned down. Seeing his cute, knobbly frown helped soothe the trembling in me. It wasn't so much the feeling of violation that unnerved me as did the old memories it brought up.

When I came back around, stepping carefully so as to spill as little foam as possible, our friendly neighbor blacksmith was just walking back in from escorting the other man outside. His eyes crinkled towards me, which was the most of what I could see of his smile through all the hair.

"You alright, miss?"

"I will be," I gave him my most grateful smile, for I really was. If he hadn't stood up, who would? Hal was in the kitchens with Milly, so if he hadn't stood up, who would. "Thank you so much."

His eyes uncrinkled and he stiffened. When I turned back after delivering the mugs to a table of two, an old lady and an old man traveling through, he was still there, standing in front of the door as though stunned.

"Sir?"

He shook himself and strode back to his table. A trio of men sitting by the window, in prime seating to watch the show, guffawed into their fists. One gestured me over to order another serving of Milly's chicken roast, a favorite among the patrons.

"Seems you got a guardian, miss," he said with a mischievous smile.

I just smiled in agreement, making him blush. I didn't miss his friend muttering "Fine ass indeed" as I walked away.

Hal had returned to the bar when I walked behind it, blushing.

"What can those men even see beneath all these skirts?" I muttered, mostly to myself. I thought it would be my skin that caught people's attention, since it was unnaturally clear now even for my world, without a freckle or scar.

Gus's frown got even knobblier.

Hal just pressed his lips together. "You get those sorts everywhere. Some are just more vocal than others. Did something happen while I was back there?"