The Golden Season Page 32
“What an extraordinary creature. Whatever is she doing here?” the young gentleman asked, turning his bemused gaze to a man sitting tipped well back in the chair opposite him, a dark, broad-shouldered gentleman with sooty, overlong hair and piercing blue-green eyes currently riveted on the scene outside.
Before he could reply, the inn’s rotund barkeep arrived at their table bearing two tankards of ale. “That be Amelie Chase,” he said. “Our witch.”