There was no other explanation why I couldn't sleep at all that night. She had to be the reason.
Every time I so much as got close to switching off, her face appeared in my head. Her brown eyes shone like polished wood; her thick black braids danced in the breeze like earlier on that day; her coffee-coloured skin made her seem like she fitted in with the earth and nature around her like the missing piece of the forest's puzzle.
So different to what I was used to. Women from London always seemed to be so vain; so buffed-up and over-perfect. The effect of their faces being plastered in white make-up (making them resemble clownesses) and the illusion that they were tall due to hair flounced up at ridiculous heights...it always seemed too much for me. Ziio was simple, and I believed in 'Less-is-More'.
At around midnight, I gave up trying to fall asleep. I sat up in bed and reached across for the matchbox, lighting the candlestick on the table beside me. I stared wearily into the flame, watching it flap and flicker unevenly from side to side. It reminded me once more of the tips of Ziio's hair.
Jesus Christ, I just need to get her out of my head.
Why would you want to do that?
I'm tired. I can't sleep. Because she won't go away.
I put my head in my hands and sighed. Even then, when I closed my eyes I couldn't help but notice the slight twinge on my cheek from the fight earlier on in the tavern. What an eventful day it had been...
"Wait here- a Mohawk woman is likely to raise suspicion," I told her as firmly as my nerves would allow. I added my worst fear on the end: "if not muskets."
Ziio frowned in indignation. "This is hardly the first time I've been amongst your people," she hissed. "I can handle myself."
With that, she gave a very gentle but well-meant shove with the back of her hand. I let go of the door in surprise and stepped backwards. She opened the inn's door and strode briskly inside.
Yet again, I breathed a heavy sigh, watching the crystals of cold air swirl around my nose and mouth. "I hope so," I thought aloud, before turning to follow her in.
Though the warmth of the crackling fire in the corner seemed to act like the Kiss of Life for my frozen muscles, there was a very grim edge about the place. All the men in red jackets talked in dark, low voices and huddled together in small groups. It was rather grimy and the floor was a murky wood, like a damp tree. It was so different to the happy atmosphere of the tavern we were staying in; what, with the chirpy folk music playing in the corner, the babble of content voices and click-clunk of board games spread around various tables.
I kept a concerned eye on Ziio. She seemed to stick out like a sore thumb in her beige fur piece, Mohawk jewellery and dark skin. Nobody seemed to notice her but me as she seated herself on a barstool and asked the surly-looking man behind the counter for a drink. Perhaps she was right; perhaps she was used to being in this tavern.
I knew exactly what to do. We were here to eavesdrop.
Ziio nudged me. "I think we have enough information now," she murmured.
I dipped my head in agreement. We were raising enough suspicion as it was. It was time to go. I drained the contents of my goblet and slid off the barstool silently. If anybody saw us creeping outside, we were likely to be caught. If we walked out normally, it would look unnatural for us to be in there for a short time then walk off. There was going to be no easy way around this. I huffed.
"You first," she urged.
Taking one look around to see if anybody was looking or listening, I crept further away from her. slowly- very slowly- I edged towards the door. My muscles tensed with every step I took.
Please make it. Please make it. Please make it.
At last, my hand reacher the door handle. I was safe...so I thought.
"Oi! Where are you goin' cully?" I jumped like a frightened piglet and swivelled round. The whole pub had turned deafeningly silent. All eyes were fixed not on Ziio- but me. The hostility in every face gnawed at my nerves like rats.
The man who had spoken marched fiercely towards me. Ziio shot me a furious look from behind; fire seemed to spit from her brown eyes. I felt guilt and failure burn my face in an instant.
"Who? Me?" I replied, attempting the old 'was-someone-talking-to-me?' trick.
"No, the other cock robin," he shot back sarcastically.
"I- well, I was leaving..."
"Oh? And now?" He rounded on me, wagging a finger in my face like a naggy mother.
Oh no, what do I say? I cannot say I was going to stay!
He knows you were eavesdropping. There is no escape!
But I have to say something! He will kill me!
"And now..." I looked across at Ziio again. Despite all that was going on (and the anger in her face), her beauty seemed to grow in my mind once again. It gave my babbling, panicky tongue strength. I looked back up at the man, darkness clouding my face. "And now...I'm going to feed you your teeth."
The rage in Ziio's face disappeared. For the first time, she broke into a smirk. "And you thought I was going to be the problem?" she snorted.
The man looked startled, but his face too now resembled a bull ready for a fight. "Bring it on!" he roared.
Punches flew at me from all directions. I lashed out wildly with my fists at anyone who approached, adrenaline spurring me on. A few lay unconscious on the ground after about a minute; some were still on their feet.
I received a savage punch across my cheekbone from my left. Blood spattered across my face. I spun around, grabbed the man by his collar and hurled him on a nearby table. It cracked in two and toppled to the ground instantly. Five down. Surely there are not that many more?
My cheek throbbed as I scanned the inn for any more opponents. The men had cleared the area at the beginning of the fight. People crammed into the corners and cheered fierce cries:
"Get 'im! Throw 'im to the floor!"
"Come on! Give 'im your best!"
"Fight! Fight! Fight!"
"Go on!"
Only two men remained. One of them charged determinedly like a galloping war-horse. In a panic, I threw my fist in his face; once, twice, three times. Blood leaked from his nose and lip. He howled in pain, returning to the sidelines.
During all this, Ziio had taken refuge behind the bar, blending in and pretending to jeer me on. Why wasn't she helping? Couldn't she see I was struggling?
The last man and I circled each other. We were dangerously close. The soldier took his turn first. He tried to hit me across the cheek (where blood was already dripping down my face). I ducked...but it was too late. It collided with an excruciating amount of force. I winced, feeling the bruise throb and protest.
At that moment, I would have given up. There were so many other men on the sidelines to fight if this continued! But something gave me strength: as the man smacked me once more across the jaw, Ziio's stone-hard expression disappeared instantly from behind. She gasped, clasping a hand to her mouth.
"Haytham!" she cried, horror-struck.
My jawbone felt like it was screaming in pain at me, but I carried on. Swinging my leg across his face, I managed to knock him to the ground. My heavy boot smacked into the side of his head. He twitched and was still.
The rowdy battle cries subsided. Every man rose from table to help the injured. The dark murmurs had turned to concerned whispers and moans of agony. I winced in pain, ambling towards the bar stool. Ziio sat back down beside me, her expression still horrified.
"You are hurt," she stated softly.
"Agh, it's nothing," I barely whispered.
She kept her eyes fixed on my injury. I watched her hands in confusion. She reached for a bottle of wine behind the counter, pulled out a piece of white cloth from inside her garment and pour some of the alcohol onto the handkerchief.
"Here." She dabbed it gingerly on the bruise. The liquid, as it seeped through the blood, stung slightly. "This should stop the bleeding."
That must have been the moment. As Ziio's eyes (filled with concern) gazed up into my own, their blazing beauty pierced me. I felt a lump grow in my throat. Just about twenty minutes ago, she had seen me as some sort of clumsy and useless man. Now...I was a baby in her arms.
She pulled her hand away, a little more coyly than I had expected. Our eyes met again. Was she feeling this- this spark between us?
"That was not necessary," I rasped. Why did my voice sound so unusual? "But- thank you."