travelers, and the occasional townsfolk who might stop in
for mead, ale or company were safely home in front of
their own hearths at an early hour.
It was on just such an evening, when the tavern had
cleared, and Lisle was finishing up, that the door opened,
ushering in a cold, harsh wind. Along with the wind,
strode a dark stranger.
“Good evening, Madame,” he said, removing his hat. “Is it
too late for a drink, and perhaps some respite from a cold
night?” Lisle, looked at the fine cloak, and polished boots,
her guest obviously a gentleman of means, and thought of
the near empty cash till.
“No, sir” she said pulling a glass down from the shelf. “It’s
not to late, and I wouldn’t mind a bit of company myself.”
They sat and chatted for hours, as if they were old friends.
He spoke of his travels and the many lands he had seen.
She spoke of the villagers and shared local gossip. From
time to time, Lisle would catch herself staring at a
particular feature of the stranger while he spoke, and after
a little while, realized that she found him to be quite
handsome. The hour had indeed grown quite late and
without realizing it; Lisle had risen, crossed the room to
the front door, secured the bolt for the night and begun to
extinguish the candles around the room. Taking up the last
glowing candelabra, she ascended the stairs to the rooms
above, silently he followed. At the end of the hall she came
at last to a stop before her own door. There were no other
guests staying in the inn that evening. They were alone.
7