Chapter Ten
The Black Cock
His name was Kane.
He was a dirty man. Not just physically, but in his soul. In his blood. In his heart. Everything about him was dirty.
His parents had been born on the streets of Paris to thieves and murderers, and they, in turn, became thieves and murderers.
That was the only life Kane had ever known.
He’d killed his first man at nine years of age, and now, thirty years later, he’d lost track of all of the men—and women—he’d slain.
Some were in the course of a paid job, but some were simply for pleasure. None of them were by accident.
Kane didn’t make mistakes.
He wasn’t about to make one now.
Atilla de Ghent had stressed to him the importance of this particular mission.
Kane had been working on it for almost three years, ever since he breached Breda Castle at Atilla’s side in search of the family of Anton de Ghent.
The bodies of Anton and his eldest son, Milo, had eventually been recovered, but that left two others outstanding—the duke’s beautiful daughter, Athdara, and Anton’s new heir, little Nikolai.
They almost had them at the postern gate, but Kane had gotten there too late.
Many Breda soldiers were killed, but the daughter and little heir got away.
Kane had gone in pursuit on that very day, and he was still in pursuit.
Atilla had paid him a goodly sum of money to find the pair, and promised even more when Kane found them.
Atilla wanted them returned, alive, and had promised Athdara for a wife or mistress—whatever Kane preferred.
Nikolai, however, had a different destiny. Kane was to hang the child from the battlements upon return to Breda Castle as a message to the villagers.
Anton de Ghent’s line would be dead.
On that day when Anton fell and his two younger children escaped, Kane had set out with two of his men to find the pair.
He didn’t travel with a large contingent of men because, in his line of work, the less attention, the better.
Being a bounty hunter wasn’t something he wanted to draw attention to.
He and his men had followed Athdara’s trail to Roubaix and Lens, and small towns between Lens and Calais.
She hadn’t been difficult to follow, for she was tall and lovely, with a little boy at her side, and people were more than willing to give him information for a coin or two.
He’d also tortured a couple of husbands in front of their wives, and the women had caved with surprising ease.
Athdara knew he was following, however, and he wasn’t the only one.
Atilla had sent out three more bounty hunters—whom Kane had killed over time.
If he came across one, he slit the man’s throat.
He didn’t want the competition, and, frankly, he was insulted that Atilla, the new Duke of Toxandria, found it necessary to send more than one bounty hunter after his niece and nephew.
Kane, in his own view, was quite enough.
And he wanted the former duke’s daughter badly.
So he and his men had followed her to Calais and then to Paris, where it was more difficult to track her.
She’d somehow lost herself in the underground there, with the filth that lived on the street, and they were less apt to answer questions when someone came around asking.
Finally, he found someone who told him that she had been taken into a beggar’s family, but someone tipped them off, and she and her brother were gone by the time he located the family.
He’d burned them alive in their own cottage in punishment.
After that, he was unwelcome on the streets of Paris and had even lived through an attempt on his life by those angry that he’d burned the beggar.
He still had his two men with him, though one of them disappeared when he met a prostitute who charmed him, so the surviving man managed to track Athdara and her little brother back to Calais.
Kane followed.
But the duke’s clever niece didn’t stay there.
She somehow managed to get passage for her and her little brother to England, to London to be exact, and after that, he’d had a more difficult time following her.
With his one milky eye, dirty hair, and hands that smelled of blood, the English seemed to have a strong aversion to Kane and were less inclined to help him out than the French were.
That was of little consequence, however, because he managed to track Athdara to a church on the north end of London, and from there, farmers delivering hay for city horses told him that they had seen a woman matching her description heading west. But he nearly lost his second companion when the farmer’s wagon broke the man’s foot, and after that, he could barely walk.
Travel was slower then.
Still, Kane and his man followed Athdara west, through small towns with names like Frimley and Broadmere. Tavern keeps were always willing to give him information for the right price. Kane had never found that to be a problem.
Somewhere before Andover, he caught a chill that settled in his chest and slowed him down, but it didn’t stop him.
In fact, he caught up to Athdara in Amesbury and even managed to ambush her as she worked as a bar wench for the local tavern, but she’d rammed a lit candle and white-hot wax into his milky eye and was able to escape.
But that brief touch he had of her told Kane just how delicious she was.
His lust for her grew.
By this time, years had passed. He and his limping companion, who went by the name of Darwish, had been chasing the lady so long that they almost forgot what it was like not to chase her.
She was heading west, as far as she could go, but at some point she was going to run out of land.
She could try to find her way to Ireland, and Kane was prepared to follow her there, but after all of this time, she had still managed to elude him.
For some strange reason, that had his respect.
Now, he felt as if he was closing in on her again.
He and Darwish found themselves in some small but bustling village on the edge of the Exmoor forest, having been sent in this direction by a man in Taunton who said he saw a lady fitting Athdara’s description heading along the road that ran straight through Exebridge.
They were heading up to the coast because there were towns up there, and the opportunity for Athdara to perhaps earn a little money before she moved on, so they were going to try to find her there.
This time, Kane was going to catch her.
But first, he had to fill his belly here in Exebridge, and perhaps get a night of sleep on a good bed.
He’d slept in too many terrible beds as of late, and his back was aching.
He still wasn’t over that sickness in his lungs, because he was still moving slowly, and his body hadn’t recovered well.
But he kept himself going with the knowledge that the former duke’s daughter couldn’t run much more.
Land was ending. The only direction she could go would be north, and he would find her before that. He was close.
So very close.
The tavern he and Darwish found themselves in on this day was surprisingly full for its somewhat remote location.
Clouds were rolling in from the north and the smell of rain was in the air, so people were venturing in before the storm began.
Kane was sitting by himself in a corner near the hearth because Darwish had already found a bed to rest in, needing that more than he needed food at the moment.
The wench serving Kane was an enormous woman with dark, curly hair and an accent.
She had given her name as Marina. She brought him bread and stewed mutton with wild onions and radishes.
There had been garlic mixed in there, too, making for a spicy but filling dish.
He’d eaten his fill, and when she came back with more wine, he gently grasped her wrist.
“Do you have to go so soon?” he asked. “Can you stay a while?”
Marina wasn’t impressed with his sweet tone. “Why?”
“Because it has been a long time since I spoke to a pretty lass.”
Marina grinned. Then she snorted and pulled her wrist away. “You’ve had too much drink if you think I am pretty,” she said. “But if you’ll give me a coin or two when you leave, I’ll stay a few minutes.”
Kane laughed. Marina laughed. She pulled out a chair, and he pushed a cup at her and poured some of the wine she’d just brought him.
“That’s a good lass,” Kane said as she took a big drink. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Marina smacked her lips. “Nay,” she said. Then she looked him over. “Where are you from, love?”
Kane gestured toward the east. “Far away,” he said. “I lived in Paris for a time.”
“What are you doing so far from home?”
“What are you doing so far from home?”
They both laughed again, and Marina took another drink of wine. “I came to train,” she said. “But I failed in my attempt. Now I’m trying to earn some coin before I decide where to go and what to do. I had hoped to become a trained warrior.”
Kane poured her more wine. “Train?” he repeated. “Train where?”
“Blackchurch.”
Kane blinked, surprised to hear that name out here in the wilds of Devon. “Blackchurch?” he said. “The place where they train the elite warriors?”
“The same.”
“Where is it?”
“Not far from here,” Marina said. “Did you not know that?”
Kane shook his head. “I did not,” he said. “I’ve heard of it, but I did not know where in England it was located.”
Marina nodded and drained her cup. “It’s just a short way from here.”
“Interesting,” Kane said. “And you said you were training there?”
“Hoping to,” she corrected him. “But I failed to claim a spot. I think I’ll try again.”
“Good lass,” he said, holding his cup to salute her. “Never give up if you truly want something.”
“I won’t,” Marina assured him. “Now you know what I’m doing here, but you’ve not told me what you’re doing out here. ’Tis a wild place, these lands.”