***
The tavern reeked of roasted garlic and salt, mingling with the smell of olive oil and the tang of spilled wine. Brand wrinkled his nose from the smell. He looked up. Lanterns swung from low ceilings, their flickering light casting mosaic shadows across the rough-hewned tables and plastered walls.
Lawrence had abandoned him to the wine, Stephen, in favour of his wife's company. Perhaps he should not have allowed her. In keeping his foreman content, he had lost the man entirely, except when work demanded his presence. He nearly hissed, hating the unfamiliar feeling in his gut.
From the main room, the low hum of conversation and the occasional scrape of a chair filtered in.
The door swung open and the maitre'd entered with another bottle of whiskey. She poured, set it before them, and departed without a word. Ramsay drank a wholesome glass, smiling with the abandon of a schoolboy caught in mischief.
