Free Meghan's Dragon by E. M. Foner Page B

flames.
    Dagger didn’t like what he saw in the younger man’s eyes any more than Meghan did, and he turned suddenly and strode out the door. Bryan waited until the three men were outside before he sat down with a lazy grin.
    “I told you to let me handle it,” Meghan reproached him, though she found herself strangely drawn to his aggressive attitude at the same time.
    “How many fights have you been in?” he asked her offhandedly.
    “What?”
    “You heard me. How many fights have you been in?”
    “None,” she said. “And I want to keep it that way.”
    “I took my share of bullying,” Bryan told her, ignoring the latter part of her response. “Every couple of years in school I’d have to fight some guy to keep from getting picked on. I’m not saying that I ever intimidated anybody, but I know how to stand up. And whatever you think, I had those guys beat.”
    “You would have killed them and burned down the inn!”
    “Yes to the first, maybe to the second.” Bryan reached across the table and took one of Meghan’s hands in his, and she noticed for the first time that she was trembling. “Are you sure you’re up for this adventure? I’ll admit I don’t have a clue where we’re going or what’s going to happen to us, but I’ve played enough fantasy games to imagine I have a better grip on what we’re headed into than you do. Your friend Phinneas didn’t get his scars eating prickly fruits, and he wasn’t training those guys with wooden swords to be chefs.”
    “Aren’t you afraid of anything?” Meghan asked softly.
    “I used to be afraid of almost everything. Then I died and you brought me here. Now I’m, I don’t know, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anybody push me around or take my treasure.”
    He released her hand and sat back, looking rather pleased with himself.
    “I’ll talk to the cook and see if I can get a chicken to go,” Meghan said.
     

Chapter 17
     
    By the time they stopped for supper, Bryan could bring the falling gold ring to a dead stop in the air. He could also make it come to him, though he found himself more and more reluctant to hand it back to Meghan each time he touched it. There was just something about gold.
    “We’re making good time, and it would be nice to sleep in a bed tonight,” Meghan hinted after their picnic meal was finished. “It will be dark in a couple of hours, so maybe we should stop at the next inn or settlement to ask.”
    “Bad strategy,” Bryan replied, wiping his hands on his T-shirt. He couldn’t get over the fact that the grease came off of his fingers, but rather than staining the cloth, it balled up and fell to the ground like tiny beads of water rolling off a waterproofed poncho. He wondered if there was a magical landfill somewhere overflowing with the stuff people wiped off on their shirts and pants.
    “How is sleeping in a bed a bad strategy?”
    “If somebody from your castle is trying to chase us down on horseback, they’re sure to stop at every place we could take shelter. You already have us diving in the bushes every time I hear horses coming.”
    “But nobody will ride at night.”
    “They might if they want you badly enough,” Bryan said. “Besides, the last inn we passed had their prices posted on the hanging slate, and it was five coppers to share a bed.”
    “Share?” Meghan couldn’t believe she had momentarily forgotten all of the stories about sharing beds with strangers on the road. Only the wealthy could afford rooms and beds to themselves. “Maybe you’re right.”
    “That’s ten coppers for the two of us,” he continued, not noticing her discomfort with the concept of sleeping with strangers. “Ten coppers would buy five bowls of porridge, or two loaves of bread, or one roasted chicken. How many coppers are there in a silver again?”
    “Ten in the small silver, twenty five in the big silver, though if you’re buying from one of the tradesmen in the castle, they usually weigh them