“Foolish whelp,” Achilles muttered as he came to stand with Kress and Gart. “No man will accuse me of sullying his daughter when all I was doing was talking to the girl. And she was not all that attractive to begin with.”
Kress simply shook his head, resigned, as Gart spoke. “You have made a mess out of the place,” he observed, watching as the merchant was being helped to his feet by his plain-featureddaughter. “Mayhap it would be wiser for us to wait outside for The Marshal. I do not want him to see the state of this room and think we are men without control.”
Achilles looked puzzled as Gart and Kress turned away from him, heading back to their table to collect their possessions. “What do you mean without control?” the big knight wanted to know, trailing behind them through the upended tables. “I have perfect control. Moreover, we have not eaten yet and I am starving. I am not leaving before I have been fed.”
Gart was collecting his saddlebags. “We will eat somewhere else,” he said. “The tavern keeper will more than likely poison our food and wait until we are dead to steal from us to pay back the damage you have done to his tavern. I will not be robbed by a vengeful innkeeper.”
Achilles was frowning greatly but, in a way, he understood. He, too, began to collect his bags.
“I would not die easily,” he insisted. “It would take a lot of poison to kill me.”
Kress snorted. “Do you care to test that theory?”
“I do not.”
“Then pick up your bags and let us move on.”
“But what about Marshal?”
“I shall have to send word to him that we have moved to another tavern. He can find us there.”
Achilles slung his saddlebags over his broad shoulder, well-used and repaired bags that had been purchased second-hand from an old French smithy when they had left Baux-de-Provence. He didn’t like them, but he didn’t have the money, as of yet, to purchase finer. All of his possessions, including his fine horses and weapons, had been confiscated by forces loyal to the pope when they had been arrested last year. Achilles, much like Kress and Maxton, hoped to one day be outfitted to reflecttheir quality and status once again. Right now, all three of them looked like paupers.
“Max,” Kress hissed to his friend in the corner. “Let us depart.”
Maxton of Loxbeare was what most women would call deliciously formed. With dark hair and deep blue eyes, he was square-jawed and handsome. He was also aloof for the most part, at least towards women, and could be aloof towards men as well, which was why his sudden change in nature over the past several months had seemed so strange to his friends. Maxton was a complex man at best, but he was also extremely brilliant and an infallible commander, which made him something of an odd character. When the man heard Kress’ call, he turned to look at him with a complete lack of concern.
“Why?” he asked. “My business is not yet complete here.”
Kress grunted, displeased with the denial, as he looked to Gart for support. Forbes fixed on Maxton.
“Your business is our business, and our business is outside of this tavern,” he told the man in a tone that was not meant to be contested. “Gather your things, Loxbeare. We must depart.”
Maxton eyed Gart a moment, simply to convey that he was not so easily ordered about, before finally rising from his chair and moving back to their table where his worn saddlebags lay across the wooden surface. Gart and Kress were already moving for the tavern door, a warped panel that was barely able to close. They were nearly to the door when it abruptly pushed back and blinding white light from late afternoon filtered in. Gart actually staggered back, momentarily blinded, as a well-armed man entered the tavern.
For the Executioner Knights, their moment of destiny had finally arrived.
CHAPTER THREE
“Forbes,” William Marshalgreeted, amused when Gart stumbled back and tripped down a step, down onto the dirt floor of the tavern. “You looked quite staggered to see me. I was unaware my presence had such an impact on you.”
Grinning, Gart blinked his eyes, as the light from the open door was still bright. “Always, my lord,” he said seriously. “You cause me to stumble every time I see you.”
William chuckled, noticing that Gart was with three other very large men. Knights, he assumed, although they weren’t wearing any protection and a quick perusal of their weaponry showed it sorely lacking. He pointed to Kress, who was the closest man next to Gart.
“Introduce me to your companions, Gart,” he said, inspecting Kress from the top of the man’s blond head to the bottom of his enormous feet. “I would assume this is either Loxbeare or de Dere or de Rhydian.”
Gart nodded, turning to indicate Kress. “My lord, meet Sir Kress de Rhydian,” he said. “You have never met a man more deadly with a sword.”
William cocked an eyebrow at the knight. “We shall see,” he said vaguely, throwing a finger in the direction of an empty table over near the front windows of the tavern. “Let us retreat away from the entry so our business is not heard by the entire world.”
So much for them leaving the tavern to find another, less-hostile place. Gart simply followed William as the man headed for an empty table over near the front window.
“As you wish, my lord,” he said. “But truthfully, we were not expecting to see you until tonight.”
William waved him off. “We made excellent time with our travel,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the men following him. “If the big blond man is de Rhydian, then the other two must be Loxbeare and de Dere.”
They had reached the table, which was empty except for a small man sleeping at one end of it. As The Marshal’s men roused the man and chased him away, the group began to collect their seats. Gart indicated Maxton, who was closest to him.
