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“Jinniver!”
Shaking with fear, for she knew the voice all too well, Jinniver froze, her tankard still in her hand, halfway to her mouth. A wave of coldness swept through her whole body and her stomach lurched. She did not move, only her lips sought to make words. Her eyes widened and the black centres contracted as she struggled to compose herself.
The hand remained on her shoulder, and the man drew closer. She could feel his breath on the back of her neck and suddenly she shook her shoulder roughly to be rid of him, the whiteness in her face replaced by a deepening, red as fury started to descend.
“Why are you here?” she said, coldly, not turning around. She did not wish to look him in the face. Her angry frustration brought her quickly to the verge of tears and she knew that to look at him would bring them pouring down her face.
The man snorted and Jinniver sensed his movements as he stood up straight. Anger was also in his voice and he struggled to keep calm as he spoke.
“I am here to find out what is going on.” he said in an overly measured tone, pronouncing each word harshly so she could not be mistaken in what he said.
Jinniver saw eyes in the Inn turn to watch the scene, taking it in, and then turn away as folk spoke to one another about what might be going on. She looked down at her hands for a moment and then up again, tossing her head proudly and defiantly.
“And. What business is it of yours? You are not my keeper. Who sent you here?” she said in a choked but insolent voice, her throat rasping as she struggled to make the words. Why was he here? She struggled to make sense of it. She ought to be greeting him warmly, but she found herself angry, and this was partly due to the threatening way he had approached her. He had no business doing that.
“I came of my own accord,” he said. “I was troubled and I do not trust you to behave yourself as you ought. I know how silly you can be.” He was somewhat sarcastic with her. “I can see now I was correct.”
Jinniver bristled and turned round in her seat to face him, any thought of tears or shame now passed, and replaced by a full serving of her anger. Her eyes blazed and she sneered, waving her hand dismissively at him.
“Go back to Bree, Pegram”, she said loudly, almost shouting. She did not care who might be listening in, and she was filled with a sense of her own courage. “I don’t want my brother breathing down my neck any longer”.
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