Page 254 of The Daughters of Avalon
Sour-faced, the innkeeper led them, complaining over the imminent displeasure of his benefactor. “She won’t be taking to it kindly,” he said.
“Morwen?” inquired Giles, as he opened one last door, and peered into another empty room.
It was Eustace he was tasked to retrieve, but he wouldn’t turn away the opportunity to return the Welsh witch to her prison in the White Tower—for what, precisely, he didn’t knowyet, because so far as anyone knew, Morwen had done naught recently save to eschew Stephen’s court. That was no crime, but for the sake of his wife and her sisters, he would endeavor to think of something. And, if he could not, he’d take the bitch’s head, and accept whatever consequence arose. Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately, as the case might be—it was not a decision Giles would be forced to make. In the end, there was no sign of Eustace, nor his guileful benefactress—or at least no indication she’d been there in quite some time, or even that she was meant to return. “I don’t know any Marwen,” said the innkeeper, purposely mispronouncing her name, but there was something in his shifty eyes that called him a liar.
“Who then?” demanded Giles.
“None o’ yourn,” the man retorted.
Removing his hand from the hilt of his sword, Giles narrowed his gaze, considering his options…
Burly as the innkeeper was, he had enough arrogance and mettle to stand up to a lord bearing the King’s seal. Sweaty though he might be, and shifty as he was, there was naught about the look in his eyes that betrayed any fear. So, then, he must feel quite reassured by the influence of his benefactress “Marwen.”
“What of Eustace?” snapped Wilhelm.
The innkeeper snapped back, “I don’t know ‘im!”
“So, you’ve never heard of the King’s son?” pressed Wilhelm.
“What makes ye think our good Prince would lower himself to come here?”
“So, you admire the man?” asked Giles, turning on the innkeeper at the end of the upstairs hall, giving his brother a quelling glance. As strapping as Wilhelm might be, the innkeeper was bigger yet, with shoulders as wide as a barn door, and legs as thick as tree trunks. “You seem well fed,” remarked Giles. “Your benefactress must be generous?”
“I do well enough,” he said with a mealy-mouthed smirk, and then hitched his chin. “Now that ye’ve turned the place o’er, why don’t you be awa’ now like ye said?”
Weary as Giles was, and weary as the horses must be, there was nothing about Darkwood that made him feel like testing the night. And yet, he sensed down in his bones that his brother was right: The King’s son might not be here this moment, but it was only a matter of time before he would seek out Morwen. Darkwood was the best chance to catch him before he caused more trouble. But perhaps there was no need to wait. There was a look of impatience in the innkeeper’s gaze that made Giles feel the man was itching to send a message.
He nodded politely. “Apologies, good man,” he said, more respectfully. “We had word that our Prince would be traveling these parts. But I can see they were mistaken.”
The burly man’s arms uncrossed, relaxing.
Giles continued. “In fact, I can see you’re a man of enterprise,” he said. “Perhaps you’d be willing to feed our horses and grant us a bed for the evening?”
Giles could see the man’s thoughts churning behind beady eyes. Thankfully, Wilhelm had by now become accustomed to his sophistry; his brother said naught. Moreover, if the innkeeper was surprised by the change in Giles’s attitude, his body language conveyed only relief.
“We’ve been traveling for weeks, dead on our feet. I’d kill for a cup of soup and a pillow.” He produced a single silver coin, and the man’s eyes glinted greedily. “Grant us a boon, and we’ll be asleep quick as you please, then gone by first light.”
“One mark for each o’ ye?” the man dared.
That was shameless robbery.
“You bloody?—”
“Shut up, Wilhelm,” said Giles, producing a second coin. “One now, one when we go?”
The man eyed both silver coins, looking from one brother to the other, and then back to the marks.
“Please, forgive my brother,” said Giles. “He sometimes speaks out of turn. He’s baseborn and lacks the manners God granted better men.”
God’s bones.Later, when they were alone, he would pay for his high-handedness, but Wilhelm must be made to understand. The innkeeper grudgingly reached out to snatch the coin nearest to him. “Aye, then,” he said, glaring at Wilhelm. “Take this room at the back. There’s only one cot between ye but ye’ll have to make do.”
Giles smiled evenly. “You drive a hard bargain,” he said, and Wilhelm snorted his disgust. The innkeeper took the coin with a greasy hand, and Giles had little doubt he would go away now and do whatever it was that he must do to contact his benefactress, reassured that his new patrons would soon be fast asleep in their beds. No doubt, given the chance, the man would slit both their throats without a backward glance.
“Dinner ain’t served at all bells,” the innkeeper groused as he marched away. “Eat when I call ye, and if you ain’t down in the tavern to get vittles, ye won’t eat.”
“Fair enough,” said Giles.
“Bugger ye both!” the innkeeper said, then grumbled beneath his breath. Still clutching his silver mark in his fat fist, he left them without another word—at least none that were immediately discernible.
