A Soul For Trouble

Chapter 1

"Trouble, you have a special customer," Hal said as soon as he entered the kitchen.

Arden Lesstymine, known to everyone in the village as Trouble, slid a sheet of freshly baked meat pies onto a cooling rack. "Please don't let it be Conn again. My ass is still sore from his pinching." She peered out of the cracked door, praying the lecherous blacksmith wasn't sitting in the main room.

"No, this one's a stranger, and a real kook at that." The beefy innkeeper leaned against the door frame, pointing him out. "You must be some kind of magnet for the crazies."

"Why do you think I ended up here?" She smoothed her apron and shoved the swinging door open.

Arden approached the table and studied the new customer. His frail body trembled like the last leaves on the branches outside, and his snow-white hair stuck out in every direction. What troubled her the most, though, was his constant muttering. She waited for a lull in his private conversation with himself, but when it never came, she cleared her throat. "Can I get you something?"

His body jerked at the sound of her voice, and he lifted his head. Feverish bright blue eyes ringed by a yellow-green halo stared back at her so intensely, she took a step back. Yep, definitely crazy. And definitely a foreigner based on his coloring. Most of the natives of Ranello had dark hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. "Yes," he whispered before resuming his low, incomprehensible ramblings.

She flicked her thick braid over her shoulder and went back to the kitchen. Hal and Jenna, the other barmaid, stifled their laughter as soon as she entered. "Let me guess—you led him right to my table, didn't you, Hal?"

He shook his head. "He walked straight past me as if I wasn't there."

"Besides, you know how to handle his type better than me," Jenna added. "He probably wanted to stare at you or something."

Arden's jaw tightened. Every time she walked in a room, she felt dozens of eyes on her. Her golden hair stood out in the sea of brunettes that surrounded her, along with her blue eyes and delicate features. All gifts from her father, according to her mother. Unfortunately, she'd never had a chance to meet the man who sired her and thank him for making her the only freak in the kingdom.

"I think he's too busy talking to himself." Arden filled a tankard with ale and placed one of the meat pies on a plate. Maybe the aroma of rosemary and mushrooms that rose from the meal would pull him back to reality. "Here's to hoping he pays."

With her chin held high, she marched back into the main room and set the meal in front of the old man.

"Thank you," he said and reached a shaky hand for the pie.

She paused for a moment to take a good look at him. His threadbare cloak hung limply off his bony shoulders, and the skin on his hands wrinkled like onion paper when he moved his fingers. How old was he? Poor man. He probably has no idea where he is. "I'll come by and check on you later."

She spun on her heels and collided with a hard mass behind her. A hand grabbed her arm to steady her. "Excuse me," a voice said from under a heavy brown hood.

The warmth from his touch spread through her body like a wildfire. A soft, musical accent marked him as a foreigner as well, along with the bright green eyes that burned from under the hood. When did this little village on the remote edge of Ranello begin to attract so much attention? Not that she minded meeting new people, especially ones who spoke like the new stranger. She'd much rather listen to his ramblings than those of the old man's.

She tried to peer past the shadows and catch a better glimpse of his face. "Can I get you anything?"

The stranger sat at a nearby table and focused his attention on the old man. "I'll have what he's having."