Marguerite pushed open the door to the tavern and threw off the hood of her cloak. The curly red hair around her face was wet and clung to her cheeks. She could feel the warmth from the fire in the dining room caress her cold limbs through the thick wetness of her cloak. Within seconds she was approached by a short friendly looking woman with a smile just as warm. Her brown hair was pulled back into a simple bun and her heavy frame was draped in a plain blue dress covered by a dirty apron.
"My goodness, dearie, come and get warm by the fire. I'll fix you a bowl of soup and pour you a mug of ale."
The woman pulled her by the hand around the maze of tables filled with loud drunken men shouting over each other to a small table by the fire with two wooden chairs.
"That's very kind of you," Marguerite responded gratefully, slipping out of her cloak and revealing a long flowy emerald green dress with a plunging neckline covered in black lace.
"Well you'll catch the eye of every man in here with a dress like that," the woman said eyeing Marguerite up and down.
"Thank you, it cost me a pretty penny," she admitted. She sat down on one of the chairs while the lady hung her wet cloak on a peg.
"My name is Marguerite by the way."
"Jillian," the lady said, giving her another warm smile. "I'll be back in just a moment with your food."
She walked away briskly disappearing through a door into the kitchen. Marguerite rubber her hands together slowly getting the feeling back into the tips of her fingers. A rowdy tavern was not her favorite place to be on a rainy cold night but the promise of warm soup made up for some of the noise.
As she looked around the room she noticed another small table in the corner across from her where only one chair sat. The man in it had short black hair that seemed to shine even in the dim firelight and eyes as blue as the sea. They seemed to be looking at all of her at once and as she looked back at him, his thin lips curved upward in a sly smirk.
"Who is that man over there?" Marguerite asked Jillian as she came back to the table carrying a bowl of steaming soup and a mug filed with ale. She set them down and looked where Marguerite pointed.
"Oh you'll want to stay far away from that one, miss," Jillian said, her previously happy face turning deadly serious.
"People around here tell strange tales about his power over women."
"Power?" Marguerite laughed. "I'm not sure I would consider flirting to be a man's power."
"I don't speak of flirting, miss. Folks say he can put a woman under his spell. As soon as the words "I love you" pass her lips, she is his slave forever and must obey his every word."
"Surely you don't believe that," Marguerite answered, pushing her long red hair over her shoulder as she leaned forward to take a spoonful of soup. The hot liquid on her tongue sent warm shivers down her body.
"I'm not saying I believe it but I also am not calling anyone a liar."
Marguerite looked back at the man in the corner. She had been on the road for what seemed like an eternity always having to take care of herself and find her own way. It might be nice to have a man to lean on for a change.
"I'm going to sit with him for a bit," she decided, picking up her mug of ale and rising from the table.
"As you like, miss," Jillian said with a small sigh. "But I'm warning you, don't say you love the man. Whisper as many sweet nothings in his ear as you like. Tell him he is kissed by the gods. By golly tell him he is a god himself. But don't say the words 'I love you."
Marguerite smiled and shook her head.
"You're sweet to worry about me so but I will be alright. I have met many men in my travels and none of them have ever gotten one over on me."
Marguerite smoothed her skirts and strode confidently toward the corner table. Jillian followed behind with the bowl of soup muttering under breath.
"Good evening, fair lady," the man said, rising as soon as Marguerite approached. He gave her a slight bow and she dropped a small curtsey in return. Jillian pulled a chair from one of the surrounding tables letting the legs screech loudly across the floor. Reluctantly she set it down at the man's table and plopped the bowl of soup down in front of it.
"Thank you, Jillian," Marguerite responded, ignoring her obvious bad mood. "More ale please for me and-" she stopped and looked at the man.
"William," he finished. Jillian gave them both a hard stare and then swiveled on one heel and disappeared behind the bar.
"The rain is making her joints sore," Marguerite explained, not wanting to divulge the ridiculous tales she'd just heard about this handsome stranger.
"And what brings a lovely lady like you into a place like this?" William asked, leaning forward with an elbow on the table. He wore a crisp white shirt with a tie-up collar and frills on the cuffs.
"I am a simple traveler looking for shelter from the storm," she answered, batting her eyelids gently.
"There is nothing simple about you," William countered. "You're exquisite."
Marguerite felt herself blush as Jillian came back with two mugs bubbling over with ale. She set them roughly down on the table without a word and walked away.
"I don't think she likes me," William whispered, taking a sip from his mug.
"She is just jealous because I have all your attention," Marguerite said. "Or is that presumptuous?"
"Not at all, my dear. You have already fascinated me. I must know everything about you."
For the next hour Marguerite regaled her new friend with all the stories of her travels and all the people she had met along the way. Jillian came back occasionally to refill her mug of ale, always with a stone cold face and not a single word spoken. After a while she noticed her words beginning to slur and the room seemed to be wobbling.
"I think I've had one mug too many," she told William. She hiccupped and looked down at her now empty mug.
"That is my fault," William admitted. "I was so drawn in by your stories I did not pay attention to how much you were drinking. You're so beautiful you make me forget everything else around me."
He looked at her intently, his blue eyes shining. Marguerite smiled back, leaning slightly to one side.
"I don't usually say this to women I just met but I feel so compelled. Marguerite I think I love you," William told her.
Marguerite's eyes lit up but even as she blushed, something in the back of her mind told her something was wrong.
"He's not supposed to say that. Or I'm not supposed to say that. Which was it?" Marguerite tried to make sense of her jumbled thoughts but she was in such a drunken stupor it was no use.
"Come, my darling. Say you love me too," William pleaded, taking her delicate hand in his. She could feel her heart beat faster and she nodded.
"I do, I do love you," she told him.
William let go of her hand then and sat back in his chair. His face seemed to disappear into the darkness behind him but Marguerite could see what looked like an evil smile. She felt an odd sensation like chills go up and down her body and a warm happy feeling inside at the sight of William.
"What is happening?" she said out loud, not really to anyone in particular.
"You told me you loved me," William reminded her. "And now I have all the power."
In an instant, it all came rushing back. Jillian's words about the spell he could cast, her warning not to declare feelings of love for him. Had it all been true? Suddenly she felt stone cold sober and feelings of panic rose in her chest.
"Now you're going to get up from your chair, gather your cloak and meet me outside," William said. Marguerite heard his words and before she could think, she felt herself moving to obey.
William stood up, pushed his chair under the table and walked past her to the door. He disappeared through it as she walked across the room to where her cloak hung on a peg.
"Miss, are you alright?" Jillian asked, suddenly appearing by her elbow.
"I don't know," Marguerite said, absentmindedly. She took her cloak from the peg and threw it over her shoulders.
"What did he do to you?" Jillian wanted to know. She followed Marguerite across the room but to no avail. She walked through the door without even a look over her shoulder.
Jillian stood in the open doorway as rain poured down around her and watched as Marguerite climbed onto William's horse in front of him, he put his arms around hers and together they disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
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