The large building had an enclosed central courtyard with a gated arch that provided access to the street. Galleries on the upper two floors overlooked the courtyard accessible from the main rooms at the front of the inn, as well as several outside staircases.
His shoulders relaxed when the welcoming lights of the inn came into view. They moved on. He turned into the archway and waved to the innkeeper who stood by the window as he entered the enclosure.
The innkeeper hurried over to him, wiping his hands on his apron.
“Lord Eden? I wasn’t expecting you. You are early for the archery tournament.” The man looked at him, Andrea, and the wounded animal. He turned toward the door he’d just come through. “Bette, come quick.”
They must have looked a sorry sight with a horse bleeding, and Andrea muddy and still wet from her dip in the river.
“What happened?” The man came to the horse’s side.
“Étienne Fournier, let me introduce you to Mademoiselle Andrea Ricard.”
“Monsieur DuClare’s niece? Good eve, Mademoiselle. Your uncle has mentioned you often.” The innkeeper turned to the woman rushing out of the inn. “Quick, Bette, help Mademoiselle Ricard.”
“Does everyone know Uncle Claude?” she asked Donald.
“In a word, yes,” Donald said and handed Andrea down into Bette’s strong arms. On the ground, the woman fussed over her skirt.
“Please, madame. I don’t want to get mud over you.”
“Nonsense,” Bette grabbed Andrea’s satchel and was ready to go. “Come with me. I’ll take you to the Lady’s Guest Room. It’s your uncle’s favorite. It’s a quiet room, the only one in that hallway, and away from the tavern. But more importantly, it has a bathtub. I’ll draw you a hot bath and get you into clean clothes. You won’t be disturbed. I’ll take these and see what we can do with them.”
Donald dismounted and gave Andrea an encouraging smile.
“You have my thanks. A bath sounds wonderful.” Andrea followed Madam Fournier inside.
“What happened at the river?” Étienne came to his side, a bloody rag in his hand.
Donald watched the door close behind Andrea and Bette, then turned to his friend.
“Two men laid in wait for us by the Avre.”
The innkeeper, a retired soldier, stiffened. His friend didn’t want trouble, and he didn’t want to bring him any.
“There is no need to worry. I retrieved my arrows and picked the men clean. I took my dirk to them. Whoever finds them will have a difficult time thinking it wasn’t a knife wound. It will look like a robbery.”
“DuClare told me you were an asset. And I thought it was because you put money in his purse with your archery.” The innkeeper smiled and led the injured horse into the barn. Donald followed behind.
“We left Châlons two days ago. We rode these animals hard. They deserve a rest.”
Étienne gave Ebony a carrot and patted her as he examined the injury.
“The wound is not deep. With salve and rest she’ll recover. I’ll keep her while you are here.”
“I’m not sure how long that will be. I’m in Amiens to return some lost items from the Crusades to the Abadia family.”
Étienne drew in his breath.
Donald tilted his head and searched his friend’s strained face.
“I would tread lightly.”
Donald took his satchel, bow and quiver off his horse. “I have no intention of stumbling around as those two men did in the woods.”
“The Abadia family is tied to the Valois line, who are in turn connected to our King Phillip IV.”
He stopped, his quiver strap halfway over his head. “I will be careful. Can you tell me anything about them?”
“They are respectable. Lady Abadia goes to the cathedral three times a day since her son died in Tunis. They live in a small cottage near the Cathedral Notre-Dame. When she is not in church, Lady Abadia is in the small shrine she had constructed in his memory.
“Go clean up.” The innkeeper sniffed the air around Donald. “Yes, the horses smell better than you. Don’t worry about these beauties. I’ll brush and feed them.”
Étienne was a good friend, one whom Donald could trust as much as he trusted his brothers. He went to the small room near the kitchen and bathed. Feeling more like himself, he went into the common room, poured an ale, and found a place to sit in the back while waiting for Andrea.
He thought the quest, this treasure hunt, was some fanciful notion. For him, the trip to Amiens was to help his sister-in-law fulfill a pledge to her grandfather.
However, he told Andrea the truth. He also wanted to go on this adventure with her and would not have let anything stop him.
The attack was more serious than he had let her believe. He drummed his fingers on the table while deciding what to do next. The journey should end here. She belonged with Claude in Paris instead of looking for some relic.
He’d have to carry her out of Amiens kicking and screaming. The thought made him wince.
Or he could go to Lady Abadia without her. He took a deep drink of ale.
No. Neither option would sit well with her.
Perhaps she’d give the map to Lady Abadia and be done with it. No. Rea had every intention of finding this treasure beyond measure herself.
He worked on his ale and ordered a mead for Andrea.
He stared at the table as if the answers to all his problems could be found there. What did they know so far? They had pieces of jewelry and a treasure map. The path led them here to Amiens and Lady Abadia. They were attacked on the road. Did the assault have anything to do with their quest or were the two thieves looking for easy pickings? What would have happened if those men knew they carried pieces of a treasure map?
And now this connection between Lady Abadia and the King of France. Was young Abadia a Crusader, or was he on some mission for his King? He straightened in his seat. A chill ran up his spine. Was
