Shadowmoor (de Lohr Dynasty #6) by Kathryn Le Veque

those dark blue eyes, there was a good deal going on. Calculating . Now, he had an idea as to finding out what this man knew. Where he came from. Perhaps he could find out even more than he’d hoped for.
    As many times as he had come up to the moor, named for an ancient Saxon king, he’d never run into anyone like the man standing before him. All he’d come across were frightened peasants who could barely speak, people scraping the land, trying to scratch out an existence. But not this man; he was well spoken and seemingly intelligent. But he was also in a very bad state and the Frenchman could smell the alcohol on him, even at a distance. It was a weakness that the Frenchman wanted to exploit.
    Something told him he had a prime opportunity right in front of him.
    “What are you drinking?” he asked Brynner. “Whatever it is, I know where there is better drink. And large quantities of it.”
    Something flashed in Brynner’s eyes, something that foretold of great interest in the Frenchman’s words, but that flash of interest was quickly gone. What replaced it was something that could only be described as humiliation.
    Sorrow.
    “I have what I need,” he said, lifting the jug. “Move your men and I will be on my way.”
    “I will pay for your drink,” the Frenchman said quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity. “You need not pay for any of it. I travel about with these three fools for companionship and it is rare to speak with a stranger. Come and drink with me. Your companionship is payment enough.”
    The thought of flowing wine was enough to cause Brynner to swallow any pride or fear he may have felt. He knew it was wrong; God help him, he knew it. He knew he could be placing himself in a horrible situation. But lured by the thought of endless alcohol, he couldn’t help the interest. Like a siren’s song, it called to him and he could not resist.
    It was stronger than he was.
    “Where?” he finally asked. “Where will we go?”
    The Frenchman pointed to the east, in the direction of the village of Ilkley. Nestled against the base of the soggy hills, it was a fairly bustling town with commerce.
    “There is an inn called The Bridge and Arms in town,” he said. “I have supped there before. Good food and drink. Come and join me. It looks as if you could use a meal.”
    Brynner didn’t care about the meal. He only cared about the drink. Everything in his body was screaming for it. Yet, he was still thinking cautiously in spite of his need. He presumed that the men wouldn’t try to kill or harm him if they were in a public place with witnesses and even people who might give him protection. More than that, he was fairly certain he didn’t have a choice in this situation. They weren’t going to allow him to leave. But he wanted the drink so badly that he was willing to dance with the devil to get it.
    “I know the place,” Brynner replied. “I’ve not been there in years.”
    “Then come with me.”
    Brynner didn’t say a word. He simply started heading in the direction the four men had come from, to the road that would take them back down the hill to the road that ran north and south along the edges of the moor.
    To the drink that await him.
    As the sun crested the horizon and cast rays of light over the wet land, Brynner and his four new companions made their way down the moor to the road below, heading towards The Bridge and Arms. They slipped and slid in the mud all the way down the hill.
    All the while, however, Brynner kept wondering what these men wanted of him, but he was fairly certain he already knew. He was certain they were the same men who had been harassing Shadowmoor for years. Bramley and his men wanted Shadowmoor and wanted Liselotte, and they’d already abducted one l’Audacieux son. Brynner didn’t know that Gunnar had been returned the night before, however, and assumed that he was now the second abducted l’Audacieux male. In his own stupidity, they’d managed to corner