Tongue dexterity, Adrián believed, was an art worth cultivating. However, his meaning of dexterity had little to do with eloquence or communicating.

The rhythmic gallop of distant horses caused him to pause, his attention momentarily drifting from the savory exploration of a beautifully contoured landscape, marked by a navel that crossed the path his nimble appendage had taken from the twin peaks he had tenderly ravished moments before.

"Don't stop now, Adrián. I was just about to—" she giggled, a suggestive lilt in her voice hinting at unspoken delights.

The clatter of fast-moving horses stopping further broke the mood.

"Surround the inn!" The command barked with authority, completely shattering the intimate spell. "Ensure no one leaves before being inspected by me."

"I'll make that son of a whore pay!" The angry voice continued.

Adrián's heart clamored for escape. The thrill of forbidden pleasure rapidly receding, evidenced by his diminished physical prowess, now that his discovery was imminent. If only he had known that girl was the Captain's daughter. But still to chase him a whole fifty leagues.

"Do whatever it takes to capture him, but I want him alive!" Well, that was a relief. Alive meant he could use his second-best weapon if caught. He looked at his crotch. You're the first, don't get jealous.

Adrian's trousers were now back on, and he was working on his left boot when he heard the door to the adjoining room burst open. The window, down to the courtyard, and into the rain barrel. Better wet than dead.

"I'll pay my debt the next time I pass by, my beautiful Lucinda," he said to the girl who still lay naked on the bed while pointing to her nether region.

If there was a next time. Have to think positively! For the hundredth time, he swore not to get involved with these silly town girls.

As Adrián quickly dresses, a fleeting thought crosses his mind—another reminder of the perils of entanglement, much like the Baron's niece's debacle.

He still couldn't show himself in the Alcázar Barony three years later. Some lessons his weapon refused to learn. Which was a shame because there was a tavern with the best ale in the country and Carmen. I miss Carmen and her ample— concentrate!

He willed his hands to move faster. His heart raced. He glanced at the window and caught sight of his lute.

"Keep the lute, Love, as a token of the passion we share," he told her.

I'll get another one in the next town. He'd have to do a little gambling first to have the funds, but he was confident in his skills at dice.

He should have kept going, but missing a night with Lucinda was a crime in itself. And he hated committing crimes of that sort.

"Bard's promises are like their songs—sweet to the ear but forgotten by the next melody," she quipped, "let's see if the next one can service me better!" She continued in a disappointed tone and licked her lips suggestively.

"You pierced my heart, fair Lucinda," Adrián's exaggerated gestures brought a smile to her face, and she blew him a kiss.

"The piercing is exactly what was missing tonight, Master Bard!" She complained mockingly.

He answered with his own blown kiss, winked, and, with his right boot in hand, climbed on the ledge of the window. Thankfully, it was a moonless night.

Lucinda started to dress herself, then she turned to Adrián and whispered, "I'll stall them as long as I can! Be careful, Adrián. You know you're my favorite."

He held on to the boot with his teeth. Then, he stretched with his free hand while balancing precariously on the narrow foothold, grabbed the rain pipe, and pulled himself onto it. Then, as if the pipe was a rope, he used it to scale down hand over hand to the ground. At the foot of the pipe, to the left, against the inn's wall, there was a large, almost full rain barrel.

The shouts of the other patrons being roused from their beds added to the cacophony of complaints, screams, crashes, and even the occasional sword clash that permeated the inn.

The small private courtyard, which served more for storage than anything else, was dark and quiet as he reached the ground. An iron gate about five meters to the left led to a garden through which he could reach the road and escape, but he was sure that men waited on the other side.

He climbed into the water and suppressed a scream. Goosebumps rose on his skin. His teeth chattered uncontrollably. His hands and feet were numb, and he started to shiver. His breathing was sharp and painful. The scream fighting against his will.

The sounds of the guards breaking into the room he had just exited and Lucinda's voice protesting their entrance distracted his attention from the discomfort. The girl can handle some country guards easily enough.

"The bard was here but left hours ago. He couldn't pay, so he left me the lute. If you hurry, I'm sure you'll catch him camped by the side of the road," he heard Lucinda say.

The image of a perky eighteen-year-old blond climbing through the window flashed in his mind. Her sweet voice lingered in his memory as she innocently said, "Master Bard, I thought you might need a better bed warmer this chilly night," and climbed into his bed.

From the moment they met years back, they had gotten along and become occasional lovers. He held no illusions he was the only one, but it was usually a mutually beneficial exchange.

I'll be extra attentive next time. Even worse than a Bard who couldn't sing was a Bard who couldn't... satisfy!

Men entered the courtyard, and he submerged. He held on, the cold seeping into his being. The guards searched the courtyard. One stuck his sword into the barrel and barely missed him.

After a couple of interminable minutes, the gate closed again. He climbed out of the barrel, breathing raggedly.

He heard the sound of horses as the guards left the inn, intent on catching up to him. He smiled.

As he left the courtyard, the sound of his boot against the gravel echoing off the walls, he looked back at the window. Although it was known territory, he mused, it was nice to explore it again. The image of Lucinda sprawled on the bed flashed in his head, and he felt a physical longing.

He cautiously walked toward the road. The horses could barely be heard.

He sighed. Would he, could he ever settle for known territory, or was the allure of the new too great?

He moved cautiously in the shadows around the buildings. His senses strained for any sign of danger.

He was nearing thirty; perhaps it was time.

He paused, drawing deeper into cover.

"I'm meant for the road, boy. Just like you," Rodrigo had sentenced him as he handed him his first lute. Then, a year later, he'd found the old man penniless, throat slit, and dumped in a ditch. His breath caught for a brief moment as the memory washed over him.

He moved to the next building and paused again.

So, he had tried it with Olivia. But what right did he have to a wife, a family? He could barely take care of himself. Three months later, the doubts and his yearning for the road were so great that he left in the middle of the night. Somedays, he blamed the decision on alcohol, but deep down, he knew.

His head ached. Too philosophical! He cut the train of thought.

He reached the road and turned in the opposite direction of the riders. The danger seemed to have passed.

There was a tavern about a league away, and he needed ale. Lots of ale.

Better wet than dead.

He winced with every step. He pulled on the inside of his pant legs, trying to relieve the annoying rub. He grimaced as he pulled the fabric, aggravating the tender skin.

Then, as if the heavens had illuminated him, he stopped, took the boot from his teeth, and put it on.

I might need to rethink that.

Eloquent discourse was a Royal's defining trait, Ana Belén believed. However, what she meant by eloquent and discourse had more to do with bar brawls than court balls.

"I'm going to sever your groping hand and shove it so far up your ass. You'll be puppeteering yourself!" The princess yelled as she smashed the ceramic ale tankard at the man's head.

The crunching sound echoed in the otherwise empty tavern. The force of the impact made the bewildered man spin around. The warm ale dripped down his face onto the tile floor where the remains of the vessel lay.

Ana Belén threw the handle in her hand at the back of his head, adding to his injuries.

He stood motionless for a brief second as if teetering on the edge of consciousness. Then he shook himself and used his sleeve to wipe the liquid from his eyes, catching his breath.

How dare this reject from the imbecile choir grope me? She delivered a roundhouse kick to his backside that sent him sprawling to the floor.

Lying Bards! She hated bards most of all.

Chairs flew as the man tried to grab anything in his path to break the fall. He plopped face-first to the ground with a groan. Then silence. His labored breathing was the only clue that he was alive.

She moved closer to continue kicking when an older woman with light brown hair moved to intercept.

"Elara, that's enough. I'm sure he learned his lesson!"

One last chair fell as if announcing the end of the altercation. The dimly lit room returned to its previous calmness. The candles flickered as if applauding the diversion. The only witnesses in the barren common room.

The barkeep jumped over the counter as if to intercede, but the look Ana Belén gave him seemed to make him reconsider, and he set about straightening the chairs.

Ana Belén took a deep breath looking squarely at her maid, mentor, protector, surrogate mother. What was she? She settled on friend. The only one I have.

"Yes, Luisa. Perhaps I overreacted!" She answered with a sheepish grin.

Her primly dressed friend glided behind her and started to redo the braid that had come undone with the quarrel. Luisa, what would I ever do without you? She sighed mentally.

Ana Belén turned to the barkeep and tossed a gold ducado. The promise of restraint she had made lasted almost the whole day. Tomorrow will be another day, she mused. She would count it as progress!

"That's to cover damages and that filth's injuries," she told him.

The man snatched the coin from the air and with a wide smile said, "Yes Mistress Elara, I'll take care of everything!"

"Luisa, let's go to our room."

Then, as an afterthought, she addressed the barkeep again, "Since tonight's 'entertainment' is canceled, we'll dine in our room."

Bottled boldness, Adrián often thought, was an artist's true muse. Yet, for him, it often heralded desperation rather than inspiration. Nursing his third tankard, he eyed the lute at the bar's end. Its neglected presence was a puzzle, its fine craftsmanship begging for a player's touch.

The guards' pursuit made him wary of revealing his bardic talents, but the lure of the lute, coupled with the liquid courage warming his veins, nudged him towards inquiry.

Unconsciously, he fished his Aetherlyre from his breast pocket and started to flip it. The small, worn copper medallion, a symbol of a Bard's mastery, had seen better days. Yet, for Adrián, it remained a trusted companion through countless adventures.

"Barkeep, that strummer there," he nodded towards the lute, "it seems lonely. Got an owner?"

The barkeep leaned in, weaving the tale of a fair maiden's clash with a lecherous bard, concluding with, "So, I reckon it's hers now."

"And she might be willing to part with it?"

"You play?"

"A bit. Been looking for a good piece."

"Mistress Elara's upstairs, first door on the left. Was about to take her supper. Could mention it."

Adrián mulled over his next move, the alcohol emboldening him. "How about I take that supper up? Might discuss the lute with her directly."

Securing the tray, he ascended, each step buoyed by a mix of anticipation and apprehension. What manner of woman would Mistress Elara be? Formidable, fiery, lovely. His imagination created visions of bliss.

As he neared her door, the prospect of acquiring a new instrument quickened his pulse, as did the intrigue of the woman behind the deed.

After all, his night's entertainment had been rudely interrupted, and no maiden had ever resisted his formidable charm. Perhaps he could find a warm place to "rest." At the door, he straightened his clothes and prepared to knock.

That's Adrián and Ana Belén. The sparks start to fly in the next chapter. Don't miss it.