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He paused as if awaiting further commentary from her, which she staunchly refused to provide, given how he used everything she uttered against her somehow.
“He seems the reasonable sort,” he allowed. “Got a protective streak a mile wide. I am never wrong about these things. I read people like open books.”
“What are you reading on my face right now?” she couldn’t resist challenging him with her oft-used glare.
If looks could kill, he’d be flayed to the bone by a thousand blades.
Ere batted his lashes and widened his eyes.
“Why, that your esteem and affection for me cannot be expressed by paltry words,” he quipped. “There, there. Never fear. We are sympatico, you and I. I understand perfectly.”
Sorin choked on his bite of mutton at that bit of nonsense and washed it down with a gulp of wine.
Meanwhile, Rui’s ire had enflamed to such volcanic heights, she could practically feel the steam coming out of her ears.
“Anyway,” Ere continued in a sing-songy voice, unperturbed, “we need money, information, lodging and transportation. The other tables are quickly getting soused, thanks to your generous round of alcohol for the patrons. I hear gambling games in progress. Luckily, I’m excellent at all sorts of games, and only slightly drunk. Give me a few coins, and I’ll quintuple them by the end of the night.”
He held out his hand expectantly.
Rui considered him with narrowed eyes. Sharp intelligence and cunning reflected back at her.
She slapped a few gold pennies into his palm. He saluted her and clapped a hand onto Sorin’s shoulder.
“Come along. I’m going to need a convincing protector to defend me from the angry losers very shortly. You’ll do nicely, gorgeous.”
With that, Ere sauntered to the table of drunken soldiers with Sorin in tow. Before long, he was deeply embedded in their game of dice, chatting the players up like he was their long-lost cousin.
Left to her own devices, and away from Ere’s too-perceptive eyes, she snuck a glance at the big brute’s table again.
He and his companion were gone.
Rui released a breath she didn’t know she was holding and rubbed her belly soothingly. It was only a bit of indigestion at the tasteless, boiled, human food.
Surely, the heavy weight in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with disappointment.
~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~* ~ *~ * ~
“Who do you suppose they were?” Tristan said from his corner of the hayloft, his muddy boots too close to Wolfe’s head for comfort.
But given the limited space, and the fact that they were lucky to have secured covered lodgings at all, there was no help for it.
Wolfe turned onto his side so that at least he wouldn’t be kissing the questionable, stinky bottoms of those boots.
“Foreigners,” he answered decidedly.
Though the trio in the tavern spoke the common tongue well enough, their words were sometimes strange. Said in ways folks around here didn’t typically employ.
“I mean, what do you suppose theydo?” Tristan amended.
“Are they traders? But I didn’t see anything of value worth trading. The small one didn’t even have coin. Are they travelers with news from faraway lands? If so, where? And what news? They’re dressed too well to be peasants or farmers. Too foreign, as you say, to be townsfolk and tradesmen. Pirates perhaps? Or spies?”
Wolfe didn’t bother commenting.
In his experience, it was easier to get to the end of Tristan’s thoughts if he just let the lad ramble there himself. Interjections tended to lead to additional twists and turns down various tangents, and the night had already grown too long.
Though Wolfe didn’t contribute much verbally, he had his own suspicions.
The tall, dark-haired man seemed cunning enough to be a spy. He sounded well-read, one of those intellectual sorts who liked to pontificate, from what snippets Wolfe was able to catch of their conversation.
