The older woman nodded her head as if Amelie’s words mollified her. “You won’t be disappointed, mistress,” she said, gathering up the coins and turning away to fetch their order.
“That was not what I came here to eat,” Derrik said, frowning.
The smile faded from Amelie’s lips. “I do not care,” she hissed. “Did you forget that the inn keeper has yet to speak to us? If you insult his wife, we may get kicked out of this establishment, and never get a chance to interview him.”
“’Tis unlikely that would happen,” he grumbled. “And I’m certain that we could gain information without me having to eat cod’s liver and hashed fish.” He stared gloomily at the man next to him who spooned a large portion of rabbit pie into his mouth. “I despise the dish.”
Amelie looked away, feeling a twinge of guilt for making Derrik look so despondent. But her role here was not to make his life more comfortable, she reminded herself. If he wanted comfort, then he shouldn’t have followed her to the village. At least the inn keeper’s wife was appeased. And hopefully being in her good graces would help them find the intelligence that they needed.
She scanned the room again, and noticed that everyone mingled together as if they knew each other well. The people sat and stood in various clusters, ale in hand, and looked as if they enjoyed themselves.
The blushing bride seemed as though she came from a rich merchant family, judging by the simple yet excellent quality of her clothing. She wore a freshly dyed green tunic that reached her calves. On her head was a lovely coronet of ivy and yellow wild flowers, although the colors were now faded.
An older version of the bride broke away from the group, and began to sing a rousing, raunchy tune. The groom set his wife down and led her to the cluster of people who formed a large circle in front of the singer. But while a large portion of the guests gathered around the performer, many more remained in their places. Her eyes swept across the room, and she was startled to find a middle-aged, balding man staring back at her from a corner of the room. He was dressed in a rust colored tunic, and his narrow features suggested that he was somehow related to the bride. Both he and the stout fellow next to him appeared uneasy amidst the merrymakers. The portly man said something to the bald man, and he momentarily turned his attention back to his companion.
“Wipe that fierce expression off your face, Derrik.” she said. “People are staring at us, and I do not want you to prematurely scare them away before I determine who I should approach.”
Derrik shook his head at her. “I have told you already. I don’t think that ‘tis a good idea to ask these people about your father, my lady. ‘Twould serve you better to keep a low profile. The inn keeper will tell us all we need to know. There is no need to involve anyone else at this point.”
She frowned at his answer. “My purpose here is to find as much information about my father as possible,” she said sharply. “Whether I ask the inn keeper or someone else, it does not matter. I am satisfied as long as I obtain some clues as to where he might be. Anyhow, I cannot ask my questions and keep a low profile at the same time.”
The two men in the corner stopped talking to one another, and looked curiously over at them.
Derrik grabbed her arm, preventing her from getting up from her stool. Her gaze settled on his hand.
“Keep you voice down, my lady,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “You’re drawing the attention of strangers. I would caution you again that you shouldn’t be so bold as to approach these people with your inquiries, or to trust any one of them.”
“Release me,” she said, pulling at her arm. And when he didn’t do as she commanded, her eyes flashed with anger. “You are a stranger to me as well,” she pointed out. “And if you really want to know the truth. I do not trust you either.”
When he didn’t react to her comments, she pressed her lips into a grim line. Turning her eyes, she looked over at a group of men who sat at a table near the fireplace. “Besides,” she continued. “If I can gain information from these villeins then there is no need for me to lodge here for the night.”
With surprising strength, she pried his fingers from her arm. Amelie got up and started to walk toward the group that she spied earlier.
“Stay with me,” Derrik said, abruptly getting up on his feet and standing in front of her. He was plagued with stubborn, willful women. This was the second time in his life that he wanted to strangle a woman over her stubbornness. His fists clenched at his side, and he willed himself to calm down.
“You will not tell me what to do.” Amelie straightened her spine and looked up at him, her expression as cold as stone.
“Someone has to stop you from your foolishness. Or have you forgotten about that attack at the cottage?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to retort when a deep voice interrupted them.
“It appears that the maiden doesn’t want your attention, friend.”
Derrik glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see a large man. Instead, he was surprised to see the middle-aged, balding man who had stared at them ever since they walked into the inn’s common room. The man moved to stand close to Amelie, a tankard of ale in his hand. He looked at her. “Is he bothering you, mistress?”
“Mind your own business,” Derrik said, his voice curt.
The man peered into his face as his hand around the wooden tankard tightened, showing the whites of his knuckles. “I was not asking you this question.” His voice squeaked a bit, and he cleared his throat nervously. “I was asking the mistress.” He glanced over at Amelie, and offered the crook of his arm. “If you would come along with me, I’ll take you away from this swine.”
“I am fine,” Amelie said.
The man scanned her face, and his eyes wavered as if he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not. Looking briefly over at Derrik, the uncertainty in his face deepened, and he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. After a moment, he appeared to make up his mind, and was about to leave them. But then he abruptly spun around and tossed the contents of his cup onto Derrik’s face.
The man looked at Derrik’s ale splattered countenance, a brief look of astonishment crossing his face. “I — I’m sor —”
But Derrik didn’t hear the man’s apology. The ale stung his eyes, and a roar ripped through his chest. Using his sleeve, he wiped the strong-smelling ale from his face. No one dared to cross him like this before, not even his enemies. When he was finally able to open his eyes, he saw that the man had grabbed Amelie, and was dragging her halfway across the room.
“Let go of my wife!” he roared.
The bald man threw an alarmed glance over his shoulder, and his fear caused him to walk faster.
The stunned wedding guests created a wide berth, allowing them to pass.
Facing forward once again, the bald man said, “You need to trust me, my lady. I know —”
But he didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Derrik wrenched the other man’s grip away from Amelie. And then catching the man by the collar, he punched his iron fist into his jaw, the explosive impact spinning the man’s entire body around. His opponent staggered and let loose his own fists, blindly aiming at Derrik’s head. But Derrik was too quick for him. Seeing the jabs, he ducked, and dove at the interloper’s legs, knocking him over. The man landed on a nearby stool, the weight of his body smashing the wooden furniture, scattering the fragments all over the straw strewn floorboard.
People scrambled to get out of the way, overturning tables, benches and stools. The children began to cry, and the dogs barked furiously at the mayhem.
Added to the chaotic clamor, the inn keeper’s wife rushed to the broken chair, her hands clutching at her headpiece while she wailed at the top of her lungs. The bride meanwhile screamed hysterically as her special day took a violent turn.
“Uncle!” she sobbed, trying to go to the bald man, but her husband pulled her back.
“Stop this!” the inn keeper cried, dashing over to the scuffle,
his hands pulling at the sparse hair on his head. “’Tis madness! You’re destroying my inn!”
Derrik seized the prone man by his shirt front and pulled him up. “You will not be taking my wife anywhere with you,” he growled. He then tossed the older man onto the ground where he landed in a heap.
The man groaned and rolled over, blood oozing down from his forehead. The bride tore away from her husband and threw herself down by the injured man.
“Come with me, my lady,” Derrik said, his voice sharp and commanding. Grabbing Amelie’s wrist, he hauled her away from the thinning crowd.
The inn keeper blocked their path, his face red with anger. “I cannot let you leave,” he said.
The wife stood beside him, her headpiece askew and tears streaking down her face. “The damages to the inn will cost us a fortune! All the money we made tonight will be gone,” she wailed, angrily dashing a hand across her eyes. She pointed an accusing finger at Derrik. “You are to blame for all this, and you should pay for all the damages.”
“The inn keeper wanted us to lodge here, and both of you have taken money from us.” Derrik’s eyes glittered dangerously at the couple. “You could have avoided all this if you told us what we wanted to know.”
“I don’t know anything!” the inn keeper said. “Now you brought trouble to my business. My customers have scattered and my furniture destroyed…” He looked up at them, his eyes shimmering with anguish and fury. “Like Matilda said, you need to pay for this,” he gestured widely at the destructive scene in front of them. “And then you need to leave.”
“How much money will you require?” Amelie asked.
With the talk of money, the inn keeper’s enraged demeanor changed instantly. He regarded Amelie with interest, a greedy light appearing in his regard. “There is quite a lot of damage,” he began.
Derrik glared at Amelie before turning to the roly-poly man. “We won’t be leaving the inn, and we definitely won’t be paying any more coins.”
Ignoring the knight’s look, Amelie leveled her gaze on the inn keeper. “I can give you the money that you require, but you need to tell me everything that you know.”
The man licked his lips. “There isn’t much to tell. The lord that you’re inquiring about came here about three weeks ago.”
“I am already aware of that.” Amelie put her hand in her pouch, and drew a gold coin. She held it up, tempting him with it. “What did the lord look like?”
The inn keeper stared at the coin as if mesmerized by the shiny glint that the firelight cast on it.
“I don’t think I can remember much about him,” he said slowly. “All I recall is that the lord, he was tall, his face narrow… I see a lot of people come and go in my inn.”
“You lie,” Derrik interjected.
Amelie dropped her hand to her side.
The other man gulped at the cold tone in Derrik’s voice, and sweat began to form on his forehead.
Derrik walked up to him and lifted him up by the shirt front. He stared into the man’s eyes. “I know that you’re not revealing the entire truth. Either tell us what you know, or I will personally string you to the rafters, and make a mockery of you.”
The man’s eyes bulged, and he grasp at Derrik’s hand, desperately trying to free himself from the hold. “’T — twas Lord Stanbury that was here,” he said, his voice choked.
“Now that you’re more cooperative. I want to hear everything you witnessed.”
“R — release me, goodman. I will talk.”
Derrik freed the inn keeper from his grip, and the man dropped to the ground with a thud. The inn keeper’s wife rushed over to him and helped him up.
The plump man dusted himself off and swallowed nervously. “I — I do remember that the good lord was here to meet with another man — a brother, I think,” he said in a rush. “The two men looked so alike, although the second man,” he dropped his voice, and looked fearfully around as if to make sure that no one listened, “he seemed rather mean-spirited. That was the impression I got of him when he arrived here, that is. When both of them became seated, they ordered ale, and began to talk amongst themselves.”
Amelie leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat. “Did you hear what they said?”
The inn keeper wiped his forehead with his sleeve and shook his head. “They were speaking in hushed tones, but they didn’t stay here long. Oh wait,” his brows pulled together in concentration. “I do recall hearing some snippets of their conversation.” He exchanged an uneasy glance with his wife, as if he was unsure whether it was wise for him to continue.
“Well,” Derrik said impatiently. “Don’t keep us in suspense, man.”
“They spoke about treason.” The inn keeper swallowed audibly, causing his jowls to move. “Not the details, mind you. Just the word.” His small eyes dropped to Amelie’s hand, looking at the shiny coin with longing.
“Then what happened?” Amelie asked, even though she was afraid to hear the rest of the recount.
“Lord Stanbury’s brother suddenly jumped up, and said, ‘you will regret this.’ In fact he said it loud enough for everyone to hear, didn’t he Matilda?” he said, looking at his wife.
She nodded and confirmed grudgingly, “’Twas the mean looking one that stormed out of here first.”
“Aye,” the inn keeper agreed. “’Twas what happened. Lord Stanbury continued to sit at that table over there, and when he finished his ale, he too walked out of the establishment.”
“And apparently his brother was lying in wait just outside my stables,” the wife added. “There were shouts and screams, but when we ran to see what it was all about, there was no one to be seen.”
“The stable master informed me later that Lord Stanbury had left his horse behind,” the inn keeper continued, picking up where his wife left off.
Derrik had been silent all this time, but then he spoke up. “Who else witnessed this altercation?”
“The stable master might have witnessed something,” the inn keeper said promptly. “But the stable boy — he told me that he saw what happened.”
“I want to see the stable boy,” Amelie said.
“You can go see him, although he won’t be out back at this time of night. He’ll be at his Mum’s house now, which is on the other side of the village chapel. Or you can wait until morning. He should be back at the stables at first light to help the stable master care for the horses.” He paused. “I cannot control who comes into my humble establishment, mistress, but just so I’m clear, I don’t gladly suffer criminals here. There, now I’ve told you all that I know.” The stout inn keeper put out his sweaty palm. “My payment?”
Amelie reached to put the coin in the outstretched palm, but Derrik stopped her hand. He watched the other man squirm under his scrutiny. “You have already received much more payment than you deserve, Inn Keeper. Be glad that you still have a tavern to run.”
The inn keeper paled under Derrik’s frigid gaze, and took a step back, bumping into his wife.
“Ensure that we’re not disturbed in our room.” Derrik sent a piercing look at the fat man. “And you had better pray long and hard tonight that this stable boy has the intelligence that we seek.”
Chapter 17
Derrik pushed Amelie into the small room. An angry breath rushed out from him just as he flung the door shut. The candlelight flickered while the sound of the slamming door reverberated across the chamber.
“What the hell were you doing down there?” he demanded, raking his hand through his hair. He leaned his large frame against the door, staring at her with a furious look on his countenance.
The light from the candle cast the room in a warm glow. Except she wished that it had gone out, and she didn’t have to witness the fury in his face.
“I am sorry that you missed your supper tonight,” she said pleasantly while she lightly clasped her hands in front of her.
“I’m not talking about supper.” A fierce frown settled on his chiseled lips. �
�Why did you encourage that man?”
But Amelie was not cowed by his intimidating stare, and she dropped all pretenses of being polite. “Why are you asking?” she placed her hands on her hips. “I was never in any danger.”
“Never in any…?” he sputtered. His face turned red and his expression became even more irritated. “Do you know how delusional you are? Do you have any idea?”
“I told you this already,” she said tightly. “I am doing what I came here to do, which is to help my father.” She folded her arms, focusing her gaze on the crack above the wooden door frame. “If you were not here to prevent me, I would have gained much more useful insights by now.”
“For the love of God,” he exclaimed, raising his eyes to the ceiling and blowing out a blast of air from his lungs. He leveled his stare at her. And then shaking his head, he made a clicking sound with his tongue, chastising her as if she was a troublesome urchin.
Her own anger surged up into her chest. “Do not treat me as if I am a child.”
“All right, I won’t treat you like one if you act like a full-grown woman. Heed what I say, Amelie. You cannot trust everyone you speak to. We’re dealing with high crime here. If you speak to the wrong people, you will get killed. That,” he stressed, “is the truth of the matter.”
“I was not in any danger downstairs,” she said, averting her face, too angry to look at him. But then she turned her defiant eyes to him. “I was handling the situation just fine.”
“How?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “The man seemed intent on dragging you out of the tavern and possibly taking you to his hovel. Would you handle it just fine if he ravaged you?”
“’Twould not have to come to that,” she said stubbornly. “And besides, I have taken care of myself my entire life. I do not need your interference.”
“’Tis truly amazing to me that you’re still alive then,” he said acidly. “From the short time I have become acquainted with you, you have had more attacks and accidents than any woman I have ever known.”
A Knight's Duty (The Knights of Honor Trilogy, Book 2) Page 11
