Passion of the Liger

Chapter 17

Lena Straud sat behind the bar, eyes fixed on the stranger in the red hooded cloak. He was seated in a shadowy corner of the tavern, away from the warm amber of the fireplace and the room’s flickering candlelight.

“Penelope,” said Lena, to the buxom young waitress who was walking by, “That man in the red robes. Who is he?”

“Never seen him before, ma’am,” said Penelope, “Seems nice enough, but very mysterious. His hood comes down so low, I couldn’t make out his face. He has a bushy beard, but that’s about all I can tell you.”

Lena nodded, her eyes still boring into the stranger across the room.

“Did he order a meal?” said Lena.

“Roast boar,” said the waitress.

“With mint sauce?” said Lena.

“Yes’m,” said the waitress, “How did you know?”

Lena didn’t answer. She seemed to be thinking about something.

Penelope looked down at her little notepad, and said, “He also ordered a tankard of-”

“Butterscotch mead,” they both said together.

Penelope looked at Lena, “You know him?”

“My instincts tell me it is a man I knew long ago,” said Lena, “One day he left, and never returned. Why he should return now, out of the blue, I do not know. Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps this is simply a stranger passing through Firgenduke. In any case, I will speak to him, to put my mind at ease.”

Lena got up and made her way over to the dark corner where the man in the red robes was seated alone.

“Greetings, stranger,” said Lena.

The man nodded his hooded head slightly in greeting, but made no sound.

“Do I know you?” she said, “You seem familiar.”

There was a long pause.

“Yes,” said the stranger.

“Who are you?” said Lena.

The stranger reached out his hand and clasped it firmly around her wrist, holding her in place. His grasp was incredibly strong, and Lena knew she was not going anywhere until he let her go. She made not a sound; her heart began to beat fast.

The stranger brought his other hand up–with index finger pointed–to his mouth, indicating that Lena should not make a sound. Then he tilted his head up, his face coming into view.

Lena couldn’t believe it. Even if he hadn’t been holding her wrist, she was too stunned to move.

The piercing green eyes. The face–aged since she had last seen him–still ruggedly handsome, his beard longer and shaggier than she had remembered.

“Anton!” whispered Lena, “It’s you!”

“Please, Lena,” said Anton in a low voice, “I need your help. No one must know I am here.”

Lena nodded, “Come with me. We can speak in private.”

Anton stood up and followed her. The two of them weaved their way through the crowd, until they came upon a set of stone steps at the back of the tavern, which they descended. When they reached the bottom, Anton found himself in a small square room. Aside from a few big wooden kegs, there was not much else in the room. Even though there were four wall torches–one in each corner of the room–the light was very dim; Anton could barely make out Lena’s face, and she was standing directly in front of him. But even though it was dark, he could tell that she was not happy with him.