Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Their destination for the night was Peillon, a timeworn village set right on the edge of a cliff in the Cote d’Azur with a spectacular view of the valley and the little chimney-topped farmhouses that inhabited it.
Alex had stayed in Pellion several times during her trips up and down the region and she knew it well.
It had stone walkways with an elaborate network of steep streets and uneven stairs.
Grey green olive trees decorated its small gardens, and a modest church stood at the center with a pearlescent red mosaic fountain before it.
The town itself had been untouched by the rebel group, but the patchwork farms in the valley below had not been so lucky.
These were the closest attacks to Chevalerie to date.
As the party traveled the valley, Alex could see Peillon up ahead, jutting out into the late afternoon sunlight.
But the farmland they were crossing was steeped in a smoky haze that stung her nose and caught in her throat.
As they continued through the heavy air, they came upon the remains of the latest attack.
They would investigate the farm in the morning, but the party still slowed as they passed.
Alex remembered the farm. Once a cheery place with olive trees lining the drive, it was now a black skeleton that still singed the air.
Even the animals had not yet returned to investigate the area, shrouding the valley in an eerie silence which was broken only by the tinkling of sheep’s bells, reaching their ears from far off herds.
A short while later, after having come through the valley, they reached Peillon and arrived at the inn. Alex settled her horse and entered the stonework building, to find Philippe already negotiating with the innkeeper.
“I just need the beds in the barracks and the one private room, monsieur,” said Philippe.
“I tell you, I do not allow prostitution in this establishment,” the wiry haired innkeeper blustered.
“She is our guide. I assure you...” Philippe started.
“I mean the girls can do what they want in the tavern next door,” the innkeeper continued. “That’s none of my business.”
“The private room is not for prostitution,” Philippe said to the man. Philippe rubbed his forehead, looking frustrated.
“In fact, I quite enjoy the little redhead myself,” the innkeeper said as if Philippe had not even spoken. The man held a finger up. “But not in these rooms.”
Philippe put the money on the counter and reached across the desk to grab the key. He pushed the key into the innkeeper’s hands. He nodded towards Alex. “Her,” he said.
The innkeeper bustled over to her. “Come, girl. No male visitors. There are several spots available outside the tavern for that. But not in here.”
Alex looked back at Philippe. He shrugged and turned to join the rest of their party.
She knew this inn and this innkeeper. She’d battled with him before.
Whenever in towns, she always tried to get herself a private room, but they were usually double the price and innkeepers were suspicious of single female travelers.
Instead, she would often eat, pay to wash, and then camp outside.
But traveling with this party, she had standing she wasn’t used to.
So she kept her mouth shut, nodded three more times to promise she wouldn’t bring any men back to the inn, and let herself be left alone in a lovely little room. With access to a private balcony!
For a moment, Alex forgot the disturbing scene they had passed in the valley.
She rushed across the room and threw open the balcony doors.
She leaned over the edge as far as she could to see the valley they had crossed.
The sunset blazed the smoky fields in gold and blended the sky from the bright blue above her to fiery orange on the horizon.
She breathed in the clean air, thinner and sweeter this high up, as the wind pulled the curtains out to flutter around her.
In all her time on the road, she’d never had a view like this all to herself.
It was so much more than she needed, and her first instinct was to give it away, or share it, or...
something. She didn’t know why Philippe had gone out of his way to allow her this extravagance.
But she couldn’t deny, it sure felt great.
A little while later, after taking the chance to wash and luxuriate in her beautiful room, Alex entered the dining hall of the tavern.
By then, the men were well into their drink, and the opportunistic women from town were well into the men.
Bernard and Luc led the pack, smashing their cups together before every drink.
Sébastien, far more interested in the women than the alcohol, had a light-haired doll on his lap, who was busy giving him chances to look down her bosom.
The newly married Auguste shook his head at a dame and took a hard drink from his mug while another pretty woman with thick powder on her face picked several coins from Maurice’s belt.
Before Alex could decide if she should tell him, Maurice stole them right back while the woman gave a flirty grin over her shoulder to someone else.
The barmaid brought Alex some stew and crusty bread with a plate of olive oil.
Alex’s stomach growled as she tore at the bread.
The only one missing from the hall, she noticed, was Philippe.
She imagined the other private room in the inn had gone to him.
Was he already there with some woman who had charmed him?
That bastard, she thought, her mood changing.
She picked up her fork and stabbed at a chunk of meat in the stew.
It wasn’t long, however, before he arrived.
He was dressed in the same clothes he wore on the trail and still looked haggard from the road, haphazard hair pushed to the side.
He scanned his men and when he saw her, he smiled.
He shared a quick exchange with Laurent.
Then he sat at the far end of the table for his meal... and stared right at her.
Alex felt like an animal caught. She looked away and then back again, but he was still watching her.
A flame of panic went over her. What was this all about?
Did he want her to see him choose a girl for himself?
So she would be sure he was no longer interested?
Maybe seeing him kiss another like he had kissed her—hard, but at the same time soft—would take away its magic.
She fluttered inside, thinking about the kiss.
She grabbed her cup to take a gulp of water but missed her mouth and splashed it down her shirt.
She looked up, and he was still watching.
Dammit. If every night was going to be like this, she would go eat in the stables with the horses.
She focused on her bowl, determined to finish her meal and get out of there before she saw Philippe with his hand up some maid’s skirt.
But every time she looked, he was still alone, just watching her.
No hands in any maids that she could see.
By the time she was taking the last spoonful of her meal, the men had begun disappearing with their dates.
Auguste fell off his seat in a drunken stupor to a raucous round of laughter.
Alex took the commotion as her own cue to stand up and stretch, ready to head back to her room.
But once she did, she saw Philippe, across the hall, do just the same.
She dropped a coin on the table, and he did the same.
She wrapped her shawl around her; he adjusted his coat.
Then as she turned and made her way to the exit, she felt him do so as well.
In the cool night, they crossed the short alley that led to the inn, watching each other.
The doors to the inn were propped open and Alex went inside.
For a fleeting second, she wondered if he planned to follow her to her room and a cascade of yeses and nos went through her.
But when she turned to go down the hall leading towards her room, Philippe remained at the archway to the barracks.
“Goodnight, Alex,” he called. Then he smiled and winked at her and disappeared into the darkness of the room.
She stood there a moment, wondering what had just happened. Then she shook her head. It had to all be a coincidence.