Red Rider RIsing: Book 2 of the Red Rider Saga by D.A. Randall (best books to read for beginners .TXT) 📗

man squinted at me. He grabbed at my shoulder and spun me to face him. I looked up in his astonished face. “Why, she’s a girl!” he sputtered.

“What sort of game do you think you’re playing, Mademoiselle?” Squat demanded. “This ain’t no place for someone like you.”

I swallowed down fear and anger. I had no time for this. “I’ll see for myself and let you know,” I said.

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I started forward. Moustache moved to block me. Behind me, Crimson grumbled and shifted uneasily, while Squat took another swig of his bottle.

“You should listen to your betters, Mademoiselle,” Moustache said. “If you want some drinks, I’ll show you where to find some.

More private, away from all these gawkers.”

Crimson snorted, ready to charge him.

“Step aside, Monsieurs,” I warned.

Squat chuckled and glanced at Moustache, who laughed along. “Now, now, Mademoiselle.

You didn’t say, ‘please’.”

I pulled my crossbow from beneath my cloak and aimed its bolt-end directly beneath Squat’s jowls. They stopped laughing abruptly as my other hand settled on the lever. “Please.”

Squat nodded, slow and careful, backing away to let me pass. I lowered the crossbow, measuring their reactions. Satisfied that they would not bother me further, I concealed it beneath my cloak once more. “Would you look after my horse while I’m inside? He sometimes gets agitated around strangers.”

Squat and Moustache turned to Crimson, who glared back with eyes that seemed to spit flame.

“Yeah,” Moustache said dully. “Sure.”

“Why, thank you,” I said.

Moustache took a step toward me and Crimson stamped his hoof. Both men spread their arms as they backed up to the wall. Crimson would have no trouble with them.

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I moved to the oak doors and pushed inside. Into a room of noise and smoke and wild laughter. Where men dressed formally but acted foolishly, and a handful of women moved from table to table, dressed even less modestly than I was, serving drinks and letting men gawk at them from every angle.

At the bar counter, separated from the chaos surrounding him, stood a plump man with thinning auburn hair. He talked with two men there as he busied himself polishing a wooden mug.

The man I had come to see. The tavern owner, Gerard Touraine.

I strode toward the counter, noting the quiet that came in my wake. Like the ripples of a swan wading through a polluted stream. Everyone seemed dumbstruck at the sight of me. Including the men at the counter who watched me approach.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

“That’s quite a cloak, Monsieur,” said Touraine, wiping the mug in his hand. He turned to put it away and grab a new one from the pegs on the wall.

I didn’t know if he had meant that as a compliment. I assumed not. “Thank you.”

Touraine stopped and turned on his heel.

He took a step toward me and crouched to peer at my mouth beneath the hood. “Eh – are you lost, Mademoiselle?” he asked with a chuckle. Then his face fell. “Wait. You’re that little girl, from Francois’ party. With the, eh –.”

His hand rose to make a gesture at his face.

He stopped himself before making reference to my 184

scars. I appreciated that. “Francois saved my life,”

I said. “He was a good friend of mine.”

“Yes,” Touraine said. He cleared his throat.

“Mine, too.”

One of the other men laughed. “What’s this, Gerard? Your niece paying you a visit? Or is it someone else, eh?” He nudged his friend on the next wooden stool and both men chuckled.

Touraine ignored them, focusing on me.

“Uh – I’m afraid women aren’t allowed in here, Mademoiselle.”

I glanced at the tall brunette leaning over a table of men with her hands on her hips. “She is a woman.”

“Of course, but she’s – eh –.”

“She has a point, Gerard,” the other man insisted. “That is definitely a woman over there. So it stands to reason, if this mademoiselle insists upon –.”

“Enough,” Touraine said, silencing him.

“She’s made a mistake. She came to the wrong place, nothing more.”

I climbed up onto the stool across from him. I had never sat in such a high chair. But then, I