Brian paused just inside the trees, stroking the neck of his mount to ensure that the animal remained silent. He hated leaving Arianna all alone but it was important to keep a close eye on the enemy tracking them down. Unlike them, he could move more quickly and easily through the countryside for he knew it well. He also knew exactly where to position himself to watch the little village below without being seen, and what he saw now made him relax a little.
The men who had been following them were obviously going to settle in the village for the night. There was no doubt in his mind that the men he now watched were Arianna’s hunters for they were certainly not his countrymen. There was no real need to hear them speak, either. The clothes told him what he needed to know. After working with Captain Tillet for so long, he now knew what they wore in France—something he had never imagined might prove very useful aside from helping him to decide what goods he wanted brought in.
He dismounted, secured his mount, and began to creep down the hill. Brian needed to get closer, needed to try and hear what the men were talking about. What he most hoped to learn was whether or not the men knew what direction he and Arianna were headed in. It also would not hurt to get a closer look at a few of them, he mused.
By the time he reached the inn, the men were inside. Brian hesitated, realized none of these men knew what he looked like, and slipped inside. Moving to a shadowed corner, he sat on a bench. One of the serving maids quickly appeared and he paid her for a tankard of ale. It gave him something to hide behind as he watched the ones who were so anxious to kill two children they would ride around a country they did not know just to find them. Brian wondered what tale they told when they tried to get information.
One of the men acted as if he was the leader, although the men with him showed him only grudging respect, and little of that. Brian wondered if the man was the Amiel Arianna spoke of for he could not believe the men would be so carelessly disrespectful of a DeVeaux, not if even half of what Arianna had told her about that family was true. If it was Amiel, Brian then wondered just how closely the man resembled the brother he had killed. He could see little about the man—who wore clothes more suited to a court appearance than to riding around a rough countryside—that would make one think him a man capable of killing his own brother, or hunting down his own nephews for the slaughter.
“I will pay for three rooms and the stabling of our horses,” the man Brian thought was Lucette snapped. “I will take one of the rooms and the rest of you can decide who will sleep inside the inn and who will sleep in the stables with the horses.”
“My lord,” began one tall, almost too lean man.
“I do not believe I asked for your opinion on the matter, Sir Anton. Do as I say and leave Jacques here so that I might have someone to see to my needs.”
That had to be Amiel Lucette, Brian decided. There was no one else who appeared to be leading the men. Some women might consider the man handsome, but his voice and manner would be enough to make most men want to kill him. The way the men eyed Amiel when the man was not looking their way told Brian that Lord Lucette was lucky to still be alive. Brian suspected only the man’s alliance with the DeVeaux was accomplishing that miracle.
Everything about the man was thin or narrow, although Brian knew that did not have to mean that the man was some weakling. His hair was black and shoulder length, pulled back from his long, narrow face. There was a sullen curve to the man’s full lips as well. He had the look of a spoiled child.
“I cannot understand how they keep slipping through our fingers,” muttered Lucette, halting Sir Anton’s attempt to slip away. “These barbarians should not be able to thwart us so.”
It was a good thing he was speaking in French, Brian thought, or he would be dead. That sort of sneering insult was very akin to what many English aristocrats were fond of saying. Since Scotland and France had been allies more than enemies for many, many years, it surprised him that there was such distaste for his people among the French aristocracy. But then, most of the time all they wanted was extra men to fight their battles and to keep their old enemy the English beleaguered at home.
“This is their land, Lord Lucette,” replied Sir Anton. “And their skill at fighting is well known, my lord. They have long made up some of our mercenary force.”
“As arrow fodder so that good Frenchmen might stand back until it is safer. No, this puzzles me. I also think it was wrong for us to divide the men. We only need to catch hold of one of the men helping that bitch and my brother’s get and that one would soon tell us where the boys are.”
“Why should they? This is not their fight and they gain nothing from it.”
“So why should they fight or die for either that red-haired bitch or those two common little whelps?”