What possible reason could there be for a woman to be here? The dangers to her were many. Did she work in the brothel behind them?
“Find them, and we will pay you handsomely!”
Glancing back to the man speaking, he attempted to get a closer look at him. Unfortunately, his hat was pulled low, his face in the shadows.
“How much for information?” someone shouted.
The sum named would feed a family for many months. Nathan swallowed down his anger.
“Find the information, and we will pay. Names of the nobles, or names of the informants who supply them with information. We want both.”
The man who’d spoken first stepped forward again, and the other blended into the shadows and was soon gone. “If you find anything, come to me. I’ll see you get payment if the information is good.” He let silence settle over the small gathering. But there was tension in the air, so thick Nathan could feel it.
“We can’t live like this,” the man then said quietly, but his voice carried. “We need more in our lives, in the lives of our families.”
Some men were born for this kind of thing. Born to raise armies, born to speak and be heard. This man was one of those.
“Aye!”
This was deliberate. The first was a call for action, appealing to what every father, husband, or brother knew. They needed money to ensure they and theirs were safe and fed. He understood that, just not the need for violence to achieve it, and make no mistake, if they protested, it would come to that.
“We leave,” the taller of the two men in front said. “Now.” He nudged the woman.
The men roared their agreement to something that was said, and the man stumbled as someone banged into him. He lurched forward, knocking the woman into Nathan. He steadied her, lifting her upright, his arms gripping the slender shoulders.
“Thank you.”
His grip tightened. Definitely a female voice, also with a trace of an accent. Why was she here? He pulled her closer. She looked up. A mask covered the upper half of her face. Something shot through Nathan. Awareness? Whatever it was, it had him desperate to know who she was. Her cloak had fallen open, and he noted the generous swell of her breasts barely concealed by the bodice of her dress.
Was she a prostitute?
“You are a fool to come to such a gathering, no matter your profession,” he said.
“Release me.” Her accent was thick.
Leaning closer, he tried to see her face, but the man at her back stepped forward. His hand closed over Nathan’s.
“Let her go.” He was American. The grip was tight, but Nathan knew how to defend himself; he’d spent years practicing.
He released the woman, twisted, and took the man’s arm up his back.
“Why are you here?” He looked at the woman.
“That is none of your business. Now release him so we may leave.”
There it was again, the awareness, which was ridiculous. He knew no woman with that accent.
“Please,” she said, her voice softening.
Who was she?
A loud shout told him the men had grown restless and someone was about to throw a punch. He dropped the man’s arm, grabbed the woman, and thrust her behind him.
“We must leave,” he said, and soon they were hurrying back down beside the brothel, the woman now between him and her companion.
He heard the sound of fists hitting flesh behind them. They reached the street, but the danger was not over. A group of men stood here also. Clearly, they’d been drinking, as they were loud and boisterous, shoving each other as they talked.
“Alcohol and women, the root of most fights,” Nathan muttered. “Do you live close?”
