All Roads Lead To You (A Skyrim Romance Mod fanfic)

Chapter Five

Late the next morning, Bishop awoke with a hangover, lying shirtless across his bed at the inn. He raised his aching head blearily and looked around the room, disoriented. It took him several long seconds to remember where he was, and several more to remember the night before. Everything was a haze, but he did remember the woman with the disarming smile and he remembered trying to outdrink her after she challenged him. He rose unsteadily and his stomach lurched. He was alone in the room. He scowled, trying hard to recall how he got into the room, and if he entered alone. He leaned forward and put his aching head in his hands. He remembered gentle, warm hands on his skin, and a low voice chiding him, teasing him, and...nothing else. He groaned and looked around for his shirt. He found it folded neatly over the back of a chair. He definitely had company in this room last night. He pulled it on and had tugged on one boot before he noticed that the pain in his shoulder was gone. He frowned and yanked off his shirt again, craning his neck to look at the wound. A large pink, puckered scar marred his shoulder, as if the wound were weeks old instead of mere days. Someone had used a pretty effective healing spell on him.

He finished dressing, located his bow, quiver, and bag- all neatly waiting at the foot of his bed- and banged the door of his room open. Several patrons in the tavern jumped and looked up, startled, as he stormed into the room, his narrowed eyes scanning faces for one in particular. She wasn't there. Bishop frowned and turned to the innkeeper, who looked up wearily and stifled a yawn.

"Did you happen to see the woman I was in here with last night?" Bishop asked, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice. His head was pounding.

"Aye," said the barkeep, Orgnar.

"Where is she? Did she stay the night here?" Bishop demanded.

"She's gone," said a woman's voice from behind him. Bishop turned to see an older Breton woman with pale hair gazing at him coldly. Bishop could never remember her name and only knew that she owned the Sleeping Giant and wasn't the sort of person who could be bargained with.

"How long ago did she leave?" Bishop asked.

The woman crossed her arms, "right after she tucked you in for the night. You passed out and she and Orgnar had to practically carry you to your room. I guess she didn't find that very charming."

Bishop could feel his temper rising, "where did she go?" he asked, clipping his words.

The woman shrugged, "I didn't ask. Now, if you're finished making a scene, would you kindly leave? My patrons would like to have their meals in peace."

Bishop only barely stopped himself from letting her know what he thought of her hospitality. Instead, he glared at her and brushed past her to the door, which he slammed behind him. Outside, he whistled for Karnwyr, who came bounding around a corner, a chicken feather stuck in the corner of his mouth. Bishop sighed. He'd already gotten himself banned from entering Markarth, been chased out of Dragon Bridge, and was watched like a hawk any time he needed to visit Solitude. He couldn't really afford to get himself kicked out of yet another town. No matter. He was a ranger, after all, and it wouldn't be difficult for him to figure out which way the woman had gone on his own. He headed north out of town, feeling that it was the most likely direction. As he walked, he tried to think about why he was so angry. It wasn't that she hadn't spent the night with him, although he'd been slightly disappointed. No, he had a bad feeling about this. He felt like he'd been tricked, but couldn't figure out how. He found it strange that she had somehow managed to outdrink him; usually, he could hold his liquor fairly well and often ended up in trouble long before losing consciousness. And if she hadn't spent the night with him, then how did she know about his shoulder? He assumed she'd been the one to heal him, and that she'd used a healing spell. He didn't like that. He was no fan of magic and someone using it on him without his consent didn't sit well with him.