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Garreth watched the soldier, Scyrr, towering over Léof, hearing his wild talk, and scowled. When the man shook off Quin, he set his tankard down and half turned in his seat as if ready to get up and take matters into his own hands.
Harreld saw his brother's restive move and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Calm, Garreth," he said in his ear. "The man's had too much to drink. If all he has is words, there's been no call to act."
Garreth turned to his brother. "The moment he takes a swing at Léof or anyone else, I'm wrestling him down. You with me?"
Harreld hesitated, looking around. He noticed Coen standing against the wall, casting a watchful eye around the room, including Scyrr. "Wait and see." He nodded in Coen's direction.
"You wait and see. He's too far away. I'll keep this man from beating up our friend if nobody else will."
Harreld looked at his brother reproachfully. He'd come to Scarburg angry and stayed that way, had been spoiling for some kind of fight since the day he'd arrived. If Garreth got himself into a fight, Harreld knew that he would wrestle him out of it if he could. He hoped it wouldn't come to that. He was impressed that so far Garreth had kept his words to himself. That was something, but not much.
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