It was late morning, so the place was mostly empty, except for a handful of customers still lingering over a late breakfast. Alexandra paused in the doorway and pushed back her hood. She then pulled down her scarf. She’d decided that her feminine wiles might serve her better in this instance than the disguise she wore for Michael’s benefit alone.
Looking around the murky place, she quickly spotted a man who fit the bill of innkeeper—an older, portly fellow with a grizzly beard and rolled-up shirt sleeves who was drying off some freshly washed glasses with a dish towel.
Alexandra straightened her back and strode toward him. “Excusez moi, monsieur,” she said in flawless French—the result of a very determined tutor.
The man glanced up at her, one eyebrow slightly rising as he took in her overall appearance. He paused at his task, and then set the glass he’d been holding down on the bar counter. He said nothing, though the corners of his mouth began to twist themselves into a mocking smile.
Alexandra chose to ignore it. “I was hoping you might be able to help me.”
“Oui?”
“My companions and I are in need of transportation. Do you have three horses available for purchase?”
“As it happens, I do have a few horses in my stables. But they are champions and will not come cheap.” The man leaned toward her until she could smell the wine on his breath. “How well are you prepared to pay for them?” His eyes wandered over her, then came to rest upon her chest. There was no misinterpreting his meaning.
Alexandra flinched in spite of herself, a faint taste of bile rising in her throat. “I’m terribly sorry,” she told him between gritted teeth. “I believe I may have come to the wrong place.” She wasn’t looking for trouble, and the mere act of allowing this awful man to look at her was making her feel sullied enough to want to poke his eyes out. She turned to leave, only to find herself face to face with a skinnier man who, if his eyes were to be believed, was having the exact same notion as the innkeeper. Alexandra pasted a haughty expression onto her face. “May I help you with something?” she asked as she placed both hands on her h*ps and gave him a look of disgust.
Perhaps not the correct thing to say, she realized a moment too late when the skinny man’s face broke into a rather disturbing smile. Given the chance, she would have taken a step backward, but in this case, that would have landed her straight in the arms of the innkeeper. She threw up her hands instead. “I have no desire to cause any trouble,” she said in a voice far calmer than she felt.
She’d always considered herself to be on equal footing with her brothers and had never considered that other men might treat her differently. It was true that she was skilled at handling weaponry, but this situation turned her stomach. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that she might have to fight to protect her innocence. It was not at all what she had expected and the possibility of losing was most assuredly a fate far worse than that of dying in battle.
“Oh, it won’t be any trouble at all,” she heard the innkeeper say.
A moment later, she felt his grubby hand upon her backside. Instinct overruled any lack of confidence that the situation might have stirred in her. Without so much as turning her head, Alexandra jabbed her elbow backward and up into the innkeeper’s neck. She then ducked to avoid the blow she knew would follow from his friend. The skinny man’s punch flew over her head and made contact with the innkeeper’s nose.
“Putain!” the innkeeper wheezed.
Taking quick advantage of the situation, Alexandra sprang to her full height, drew her sword and rammed the hilt of it down until it made contact with the back of the skinny man’s head. He uttered a loud groan before sagging to the floor in a sorry heap of unconsciousness.
Swirling around in one fluid motion, she pinned the angry innkeeper with her sword, her glare speaking volumes about her feelings toward him.
He looked like a rabid dog, eager to attack. Alexandra paid him no heed. She was now in full control of the situation—her momentary lapse in confidence completely evaporated without a trace. “One should never underestimate an opponent . . . or a potential victim, as I believe you intended me to be.” She was conscious of being watched by the few guests present as they’d abandoned their food in order to take in the whole scene. Nobody moved a muscle. The room was shrouded in silence.
“Only a woman with no morals would dress like that.” The innkeeper almost spat the words at her. “Indeed, you are no lady, and you should be treated accordingly.”
Alexandra merely cocked an eyebrow. She would not allow this sorry apology of a man to see just how offended she was. Instead, she pressed the tip of her sword against his chest, drawing what little gratification she could out of watching him flinch. “I was willing to pay handsomely for those horses of yours—though I now believe you ought to give them to me as some form of . . . shall we say compensation?”
The innkeeper’s eyes darkened with rage. Alexandra merely smiled at him as she needled the tip of her sword a little closer. A single drop of scarlet blood beaded around the tip before trickling down the frightened man’s chest. He winced before nodding vigorously, his eyes quickly flooding with fear.
“Excellent,” she said, easing back a little. “Now then, would you be kind enough to show me the stables?”
Ten minutes later, Ryan and Michael spotted Alexandra racing toward them, leading two large stallions and one smaller mare along by their bridles. “Hurry up,” she yelled, her voice conveying the urgency of the situation at hand. “We’ve no time to lose. Hell will be on our heels before you know it.”
“What the blazes?” Michael muttered. He still looked pretty groggy.
“I suggest you do as she says,” Ryan said, jumping to his feet with enormous effort as he grabbed his bag. He took Alexandra’s too and tossed it to her. “I see an innkeeper who looks quite displeased. He has a pistol, Ashford.”
That got Michael’s legs working. Picking his own bag up off the ground, he hurried after Ryan, taking the reins of one of the stallions from Alexandra. “What the devil have you been playing at, Summersby?” he asked as he swung himself into the saddle.
“I don’t like to be insulted,” Alex called out over her shoulder, her mare already carrying her off down the road. “I suggest you keep that in mind.”
For a split second, Michael couldn’t help but stare at the disappearing back of the reckless youth.
Bloody hell!
With a quick kick to his horse’s flanks, he raced after the two siblings, just as gunfire rang out behind him.
The lad is going to get us all killed before we even reach Paris.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was six thirty in the evening by the time they reached Rouen. They’d ridden hard, pushing their horses to the limit and were all extremely exhausted. To top it off, it had begun to rain—a steady downpour that had them soaked to the skin within minutes.
Forced to slow to a more measured pace as they entered the city, they clopped along the streets, heading toward the cathedral that rose like a beacon from the town center.
Rounding the corner, Alexandra drew a sharp breath as she took in the magnificence of it—the spires, beautifully adorned in lacy stonework and the flying buttresses a testament to the skill of the craftsmen who had once made them. “Isn’t it incredible?” Michael asked as he drew up beside her.
“It is indeed,” Ryan remarked.
“Remarkable,” Alexandra muttered.
Michael grinned. “Just wait until you see the one in Paris. It’s far grander.” He looked about and then nodded toward a hotel on the opposite side of the square. “Come along . . . let’s get out of this miserable weather.”
Water trickled down Alexandra’s forehead as she dismounted—her boots splashing a puddle as she hit the ground, wetting her breeches even further. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and glanced around the darkened town. A couple of lone figures roamed between the gaslights, lighting them as they went—the yellow glow of each lantern casting a shimmering glare upon the wet cobbles.
Leaving their horses with one of the grooms, they went inside, their clothes dripping and their boots squelching as they walked across to the front desk.
“Shall we meet downstairs for dinner in say . . . half an hour?” Michael asked a short while later while they headed upstairs in search of their rooms.
“Certainly,” Ryan said. “Though I do believe I’d like to make an early night of it. In truth, I don’t believe I’ve ever felt this rotten in my life.”
“More so than when you and William emptied Papa’s case of champagne last Christmas?” Alexandra asked.
“I suppose not. There’s still much that I don’t recall about that incident, except that I was practically bed-ridden for a full week after.”
“Hm . . . I must admit my heart went out to the poor maids who had to clean up after you two,” she said. “That cannot have been a pleasant job.”
They reached the landing and as they waited for the porter to show them to their rooms, Alexandra turned to Michael. “I will take my dinner elsewhere.”
A puzzled expression came over his face as if he were putting a great deal of effort into figuring out why she would choose to eat alone. “I will have to remove my scarf,” she continued, in answer to his unspoken question. “I doubt that the lighting will be dim enough to conceal my features, and I would hate to be the cause of someone losing their appetite.”
Michael visibly balked at that. “Surely it’s not that bad,” he said. “And your brother and I won’t mind—that goes without saying. If some of the other guests have an issue however, then to hell with them.”
Alexandra wanted to creep away under the carpet and die. Why the devil did he have to be so damned pleasant about it? It just compounded how awful she felt for all the lies she kept dishing out at him. She felt rotten to the core—especially because she’d begun to acknowledge that he wasn’t quite as bad as she’d hoped he’d be. How easy it would have been if he’d truly been the monster she’d conjured in her head. Instead, he was kind toward those who were less fortunate. He probably took in stray puppies and donated money to the homeless. She groaned inwardly, because once he discovered that she’d tricked him and lied to him over and over and over again . . . he’d probably despise her for the remainder of her days.
“I insist,” she told him as she stepped inside her room. “I shall see you both in the morning. Bright and early.” The door closed.
Too bad.
Michael sighed in frustration. He’d taken a liking to Alex, and it bothered him that the lad still feared showing his face in front of him.
“My brother’s a bit self-conscious about his appearance,” Ryan said, offering Michael an apologetic smile.
“He need not be,” Michael muttered. “I wouldn’t think any less of him for the way he looks.”
After a quick dinner, Michael headed out. He needed some fresh air, if for no other reason than to ease the headache that still bothered him. Besides, he was too agitated to be able to sleep. Something about Alex Summersby troubled him. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but instinct told him to stay on alert. It seemed as if Alex was keeping something from him. He shook his head to rid it of the uneasiness that plagued it. Perhaps it was nothing. And with Alex’s condition, having a face he dared not show in public, it was probably natural for him to be unsure, awkward, and skittish. Still, Michael decided that it would be wise to keep an eye on him—just in case.