Margaret Moore - [Warrior 13] by A Warrior's Lady

Author:A Warrior's Lady [Lady, A Warrior's]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Three days later, Benedict slouched into a wayside inn. There had been no other inn between the last one and this. That damn Fitzroy and Anne must have stayed here last night.

After taking off his sodden cloak and tossing it on the nearest bench, he sat and bellowed for ale. Rain had been falling in a steady, demoralizing drizzle all day, making the roads a muddy mess. Water dripped through the louvered opening in the roof onto the fire in the central hearth. A skinny dog lay beside it, sleeping. There were other leaks through the thatch, but none fell on him.

“Curse you, Damon,” he muttered under his breath as his gaze wandered over the empty room.

He shouted again, his ire growing. Where was the innkeeper or his woman? He was of half a mind to fetch his own ale and the devil take him if they made him pay, when a woman sauntered into the room. She was tall, in poorly mended garments, but her measuring gaze took in his clothes and his sword, as well as the purse dangling from his belt. Her subsequent slow smile immediately ameliorated the worst of Benedict’s rage. He knew at once that she would offer more than food and a bed for the night. “At last, my beauty,” he said. “What’s a man got to do for some ale?”

She strolled closer. “Pay, same as if he wants anything else around here.”

He reached out and hauled her onto his lap. She laughed, low and throaty and knowing.

She wasn’t as young as he first thought, and her teeth were far from good, but she was a woman. He patted his purse. “How much for a meal and a night’s lodging?”

“Thruppence.”

“How much for more?”

She laughed again. “Five pennies.”

The sum made him frown and shove her from him. “Too much.”

She didn’t look at all nonplussed. “If you say so. Others pay it.” She gave him a sly, far-from-innocent smile. “I’m worth it.”

Benedict had been with enough whores to know the bargaining ploys. “Then let them pay it. I’ll settle for the food and bed.”

“Well, seeing as how you’re such a well-made man, maybe for you, I’ll charge less.”

He grinned, pleased. And Damon thought he was a spendthrift. “All right. How much less?”

“A penny less.”

He nodded. “Food first though, eh?”

“Of course.”

While she fetched it, Benedict shook his head to try to dry his hair a bit, then found a better seat, where he could lean against the wall.

Damon could go to the devil if he criticized his spending money on a whore—or he could follow Anne and her husband himself. Let him ride along country roads in all kinds of weather, trailing after them like a whipped dog.

And for what? Not money, not jewels, not pleasure.

Information.

If he thought that anything Anne could tell them was so bloody important, Damon should be here, not him.

The woman returned with bread and a beef stew that smelled surprisingly good. For the moment, all his inner grumbling about his brother and his task were forgotten as he ate heartily and downed two mugs of ale.

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