Read Online The Ivory Road: A Walk in the Sand by Siobhan Muir - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Siobhan Muir
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filtered into her awareness as they approached a tavern. Lanterns hung above a door with an image of a strutting rooster, and the scents of rancid beer and unwashed sweat seeped into the street from the open portal.
“Ah, the Strutting Cock Tavern. Should be a good place for a drink, don’t you think?” Brandon slapped Iliana on the back with a smirk.
“Aye, should be well enough.”
He blinked in surprise at the heavy brogue and his smirk shifted into a grin. “What should I call you tonight, then?”
“Ian MacIntyre’s the name, a desert crawler and explorer, and a man with a sweet spot for the lassies.” She’d deepened her voice and broadened her vowels until the sound suggested a male tenor. “I be an educated man, Master Crowe, but even I fall prey to the fairer sex.”
Brandon laughed and pulled the door open wider to allow them through. He didn’t look convinced at her efforts, but he wasn’t her target. The hard part would be convincing the local serving wenches. That would be a challenge worth trying.
They entered a tavern full of men drinking and smoking and gambling. She scanned the place for the right spot to begin her charade. A spot at the bar opened up and she stomped through the tables, appraising all the women in the place with an appreciative eye. Brandon followed her with an amused expression on his face, waiting for the game to begin.
They both ordered ales and Iliana settled into her role as Ian MacIntyre. I just hope I remember enough about the men in the bars from my home town. It’d been a while since she’d visited small town Oregon, but the fishing fleets always brought in men to the bars. They hadn’t been her favorite tourists, but they’d certainly painted an interesting picture of fishermen.
“You say you’re a desert crawler.” Brandon’s voice cut across her musings. “You must have seen women of all colors and shapes in your travels. Who are your favorites?”
She angled her head and raised an eyebrow. “Are ye speaking as if lassies are nothin’ more than broodmares, Master Crowe? ’Cause if ye are, ye wouldna ken a good one if she smacked ye with a rolling pin.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Have you known any good ones, Master MacIntyre?”
“Oh, aye. There was a bonny lass who held me heart for a while. A willful thing, she was, but beneath the will was a heart of fire that demanded much and gave more.”
Brandon snorted with derision. “Ain’t no such woman. You’re tellin’ tales.”
“Upon me honor, mate, I ain't never found a warmer bed than the women from me own country.” She slapped a hand over her chest. “Give ye a wild ride, they will, and keep ye warm in the cold winter nights. A man couldna ask for nothing better.” She took a deep pull from her ale, and tried not to gag on a combination of piss-water and the sludge dredged out of a silty lake. Jeez, this is what passes for ale here? “Tell me, mate, where else can ye find a lass like that?”
“Well, I ain't so well traveled as you, mate, but the whores in Minmass to the south of here could suck the silver off a rich man's cutlery and ride him all night until he can’t take no more.” Brandon raised his glass as the men around him cheered with appreciation.
She joined in and Brandon shot her a surprised look. What, thought I couldn’t handle your misogynistic blather? Think again, boyo.
“Sounds as if I should get me one of them girls. Too bad there ain't none here.” Again she took a pull from her awful beer and nodded to one of the serving women.
“O’ course, I had me share o’ the rich girls, to be sure.” She nodded smugly to the interested murmurs. “Them girls can’t resist the baby face.” She pointed to her clean-shaven cheeks. “They think I’m a young innocent, they do, and they want to be the first to give me a taste of the good life.” She winked at Brandon. He damn near choked on his beer at her bawdy remarks. Score one for the actress.
“Had
“Ah, the Strutting Cock Tavern. Should be a good place for a drink, don’t you think?” Brandon slapped Iliana on the back with a smirk.
“Aye, should be well enough.”
He blinked in surprise at the heavy brogue and his smirk shifted into a grin. “What should I call you tonight, then?”
“Ian MacIntyre’s the name, a desert crawler and explorer, and a man with a sweet spot for the lassies.” She’d deepened her voice and broadened her vowels until the sound suggested a male tenor. “I be an educated man, Master Crowe, but even I fall prey to the fairer sex.”
Brandon laughed and pulled the door open wider to allow them through. He didn’t look convinced at her efforts, but he wasn’t her target. The hard part would be convincing the local serving wenches. That would be a challenge worth trying.
They entered a tavern full of men drinking and smoking and gambling. She scanned the place for the right spot to begin her charade. A spot at the bar opened up and she stomped through the tables, appraising all the women in the place with an appreciative eye. Brandon followed her with an amused expression on his face, waiting for the game to begin.
They both ordered ales and Iliana settled into her role as Ian MacIntyre. I just hope I remember enough about the men in the bars from my home town. It’d been a while since she’d visited small town Oregon, but the fishing fleets always brought in men to the bars. They hadn’t been her favorite tourists, but they’d certainly painted an interesting picture of fishermen.
“You say you’re a desert crawler.” Brandon’s voice cut across her musings. “You must have seen women of all colors and shapes in your travels. Who are your favorites?”
She angled her head and raised an eyebrow. “Are ye speaking as if lassies are nothin’ more than broodmares, Master Crowe? ’Cause if ye are, ye wouldna ken a good one if she smacked ye with a rolling pin.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Have you known any good ones, Master MacIntyre?”
“Oh, aye. There was a bonny lass who held me heart for a while. A willful thing, she was, but beneath the will was a heart of fire that demanded much and gave more.”
Brandon snorted with derision. “Ain’t no such woman. You’re tellin’ tales.”
“Upon me honor, mate, I ain't never found a warmer bed than the women from me own country.” She slapped a hand over her chest. “Give ye a wild ride, they will, and keep ye warm in the cold winter nights. A man couldna ask for nothing better.” She took a deep pull from her ale, and tried not to gag on a combination of piss-water and the sludge dredged out of a silty lake. Jeez, this is what passes for ale here? “Tell me, mate, where else can ye find a lass like that?”
“Well, I ain't so well traveled as you, mate, but the whores in Minmass to the south of here could suck the silver off a rich man's cutlery and ride him all night until he can’t take no more.” Brandon raised his glass as the men around him cheered with appreciation.
She joined in and Brandon shot her a surprised look. What, thought I couldn’t handle your misogynistic blather? Think again, boyo.
“Sounds as if I should get me one of them girls. Too bad there ain't none here.” Again she took a pull from her awful beer and nodded to one of the serving women.
“O’ course, I had me share o’ the rich girls, to be sure.” She nodded smugly to the interested murmurs. “Them girls can’t resist the baby face.” She pointed to her clean-shaven cheeks. “They think I’m a young innocent, they do, and they want to be the first to give me a taste of the good life.” She winked at Brandon. He damn near choked on his beer at her bawdy remarks. Score one for the actress.
“Had
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